The first day was largely uneventful, thankfully. I ended up dragging Bob through 50 miles of which the last 10 were excrutiatingly painful, mostly because I wasn’t aware the front pads were rubbing the brake disc. I spent the night in Ponce, where I managed to score a Couch Surfing host at the last minute. So no camping needed; real bed!

The second day I had no such luck. I rode the longest 25 miles ever.  All uphill. I went from Ponce to Villalba, all the way to the outskirts of Toro Negro, which unbeknownst to me is right smack in the middle of the highest peaks in PR. And when I say peaks, I mean peaks. None of this Colorado sissiness where hard gradients are 5%.  I’m talking 10%+. I’m sure the civil engineers who designed these roads couldn’t design a slanted sidewalk in a place with snow.

And yes the Bob weighs like I would imagine carting around a guy named Bob would, if you had to drag him uphill all day. At 3 hours (mostly) uphill, I decided to call it quits, when I realized the only
convenience store was all there was until the next mountain pass (ok, they’re not mountain passes, but with Bob slowing me down, they’re a lot harder than the Boulder molehills I did last summer).

So here I am in Divisoria, which is technically Orocovis despite what Villalbenses say. And I must say, good old traditional Puertorican values are alive and well in the center of the island. I am in make-shift
gas station that also doubles as convenience store, bar, restaurant, cafe, dance club, casino, and meeting place. This is what I envision Cheers would be like, if Sam would’ve ever gotten around to
diversifying.

Here mothers still bring their kids for alcapurrias after school (ethnic for deep fried treats), grandpas buy shots and beer for their grandchildren, dad’s train pool sharks posing as 15 year old girls, and most importantly, store owners let complete strangers camp in the cafeteria terrace
after hours.

Edwin, the store owner and empire manager for the entire Orocovis/Villalba frontier owns the cafeteria, gas station, bar, convenience store, rental cabins, and apparently half of the 12 houses
in all of Divisoria. The man is a credit to capitalism, and kind soul to boot. He has not only let me camp here, but has poured me endless cups of (free) coffee, stuffed me with all the leftovers from the cafeteria, and has given me enough financial advice to fill a senior level accounting textbook. With a man like him at the helm, Lehman Brothers would’ve never folded.

Yano was worried about this trip, mostly because of the exaggerated crime rates in Puerto Rico (well, and my propensity to fall off of bikes face first). But as I expected, the farther you get away from the coast, the kinder and good natured people are. I’ve been fed, clothed, given extra blankets, and given a kick ass (mostly) water proof roof to shield me from the 60F rainy and windy weather up in the middle of nowhere.

Welcome to “La Cordillera Central”, where at my current average in the mountains of 4mph, it may take me until June to get to get back home.  Yanory better hire a taxi  when she arrives on Monday.

There is this episode of Friends where Chandler  asks Joey if he’s ever had an impotence episode.  Joey thinks for a while and admits he has.  Chandler asks “so, what did you do?”.  Joey shrugs his shoulders and says, “I did it anyhow”.

So what do you do when you have no vacation time, but you want to go on vacation?  That’s right, you do it anyway!

My Christmas gifts this year were 3 chickens (which have yet to lay eggs, and are looking more like chicken stock material), and a Bob trailer. Yanory and I want to cross the Andes with it later this year, but I’m dying to try it right now.

It turns out Yano is taking a CRNA test review in Florida this week, so it seems like the perfect time to stay behind. The perceptive reader would ask why would someone who routinely scores in the 95th percentile on official practice tests need a review? That of course, is beyond me. When I scored 51 percentile on my ACT/SATs I was ready to take on the world! I concluded, “it’s official, I’m smarter than most”. I was obviously ignoring the fact that 49 of people are smarter than me, but who cared. Yano, on the other hand, seems to have a grudge against that other 5% who did better than her, and expects this review will help narrow the gap.

So… no wife, no vacation time, a bike trailer, a tent, and a laptop: sounds like a working holiday to me! There are a few open questions, like where I’ll camp given that Puerto Rico is the least traveller-friendly country in the world, and what I’ll do come Monday when I need to pick Yano up at the airport… but I’m sure it’ll all work out in due time. Besides, how bad can it be?… I have an internet capable phone, and worse comes to worse, Tato can bail me out with his pick-up. We’ll see…

In the immortal words of Heber, who just came back from doing most of South America with another Bob, “when choosing a course of action, do either the most extreme, or whatever pisses off the most people”.

I leave tomorrow. Expect updates throughout.

p.s. Oh yeah, I’ve never really camped. And the only times I’ve been in a tent, Yano has set up everything. She says tents are moron-proof, but I think she underestimates the creativity of the average moron.

Just when you thought Yano was the only one with sudden attacks of laughter, you find out there’s a whole tribe of 5 foot uncontrollable women; and most of them are single!  Order your chickens now! This video pretty much sums up the past 3 weeks.

I have uploaded all our pictures so far. In all honesty, most of them are quite boring to the masses, as they’re family pictures of people you probably don’t know. But for the bored; take a peek.

 

 

 

 

I’ve noticed there aren’t many thanks being thrown around Uncle Marcos’ home.  Everybody has their chores, and they’re expected of you, as part of the Concepcion family.  I, on the other hand, am used to saying thank-you a lot– perhaps far too much.  I mumble it like the repetitive mantra of a guilt-ridden bum who is clearly doing nothing to share the family burden.

Today I came back from an 1:20 run: dehydrated, tired, and hungry.  As I walk in the door, Uncle Marcos comes up to me and says “what are you doing in a few minutes”?  Fuck!  I know this is a trick question.  He clearly knows my schedule is as open as a four-lane highway on Christmas morning.  Anything I answer will be used against me, and it will likely involve some family task– some man chore for which I am clearly unsuited for.  I look around nervously, trying to say something exonerating.  The only excuse I can come up with involves RSI, and as soon as the words start coming out of my mouth, Yano says “don’t even try to be funny– what he means Uncle, is that he’ll be right there”.  At a loss for words, I give up, while Yanory giggles, and I suit up in borrowed work clothes that are 5 sizes too small (Yano’s the tall one in the family).

So off we go– all four men, well 3 and a half, to cut a big tree.  By the time I get there 5 minutes late, the tree is felled and partially chopped.  I quickly notice there is a hierarchy of work.  The motorized equipment is clearly for the older men, while the children are raking leaves and picking up branches.  I’m not even allowed to comment– “go with Aaron and help him with the leaves”.  My scrawny uncalloused hands hint of no manual labor in the past 15 years, so it’s a no brainer the uncle.

Aaron says “do you want to rake or pick up?”.  This is definitely a trick question.  If I choose pick up, I’m obviously a wuss.  If I pick rake and am incompetent, I’ll be laughed at.  Trying to be manly (as manly as one can be picking leaves with an 8 year old) I pick rake.  Aaron let me rake for about 2 minutes, and then yanked the rake from my hands.  “You pick.  I’ll rake.  We’ll be done faster”.

After two hours, I’m already moving up the work chain, and am holding something that looks like a girl’s machete– something larger than a chef’s knife, but obviously less than the Samurai sword the uncle wields.

Tree cutting is as boring as it sounds, and is a lot more tedious.  The logs are HEAVY and it doesn’t help that 8 year old kids can carry logs twice as big as you.  I, on the other hand, have to roll them by kicking them ever so slowly.

To make matters worse, our white fat bastard of a master comes by every 10-15 minutes and makes some nonsensical suggestion like “why don’t you put the log over here” or “can’t you cut it lengthwise?”.  He drops by and picks up some random tool and shakes it like he’s actually doing something besides injuring himself.  Every time he gives an order I try to explain how I’m doing this because I want to, that I’m actually on vacation– but I know I’ll only be whipped or something, so I just turn my head down.

This is how most of today went.  Running 8 miles, drinking a coke, eating as much as humanly possible, and going out to the field… to bear the brunt of ridicule from pre-pubescent children while I dreamt of beds, air conditioner, and doughnuts.

After the tree was over and done with, white fast bastard comes back and decides he wants us to cut down another tree.  By then I notice he’s just giving orders to watch us work.  Luckily, the next tree is a small one.  We pile up all the branches, and stand up the logs by another tree.  Right when I’m about to pass out, Marcos says “I just talked to the owner, he’s going to let us keep the logs.  Let’s put them on the pick-up truck and take them to grandma’s, it’ll save her a bundle on cooking gas”.  You gotta be shitting me?  I’ll pay for the fucking gas; just let me lie down like the pansy that I am.  Take me back with the women: let me bake, clean, and take care of 107 year old great-great-uncle Manuel.  Heck, I’ll wipe his butt; I don’t care.

Luckily Yano was waiting for me to buy bus tickets to Costa Rica, so I was allowed to go while the men did other manly chores.  I’m sure they were glad to see me go so they could unleash the full force of their laughter.

Whatever, I think it’s time to cross the border.

p.s. Pictures have been uploaded here.

 

 

 

The good thing of being married to Yano, is that no matter how bad your race goes, the Hernandez-Concepcion family always brings home the bacon.  No matter how bad you suck, she’s always there to make a personal best, get on the podium, or at least bring home $200 just for trying.  Often, all three.

Last Sunday Yano and I ran the half-marathon at the Panama City Marathon.  Yanory, aka “Hitler”, has been training me to improve my pathetic time of 1:49.  If pain is in any way related to performance, I’m bound to run 4 minute miles any day.  Because up to a week ago, every thing south of my belly button was hurting, and I do mean everything.

Before, I publish the results let me explain something about athletes the world over.  With few exceptions, an athlete could’ve always done better, and he/she’ll take any opportunity to explain why he/she didn’t.  Endurance athletes are even worse, because they can seldom blame anybody else, so they have to get even more creative.

The first 24 hours after an event is spent explaining to everyone you know why you didn’t do as well as expected.  Typical excuses include: “I had fried chicken last night”.  “I have this pain in my meta-blastic-tendoniting-ligament-hoobah.”  “My shoe-laces came untied 17 times”.  “I couldn’t sleep my usual 12 hours before an event”.  You get the picture…

At first, you see these excuses, as just that– excuses.  But after years of training, you start seeing an inkling of truth in them all, and you start coming up with what I call “normalized times”.  These are the race times you could’ve had, had everything gone according to plan.

So without further ado, here is my race time for the half-marathon… well first, let’s normalize things a bit.

• We were out sightseeing the night before, came back late, and I could only sleep 5 hours. (1:30– deduct 1 minute 30 seconds from the finishing time)
• Had dinner late, at 9pm (1:30)
• …ham and cheese sandwich (1:00)
• …with Mayo (0:30)
• Had diarrhea 2 days before race (1:00 because of dehydration)
• It was 90F (4:00)
• …with 90% humidity (3:00)
• Shoelaces became untied twice (0:30)
• Yano’s cousins didn’t pour cold water over me at KM 10 as promised (0:30)
• Time spent opening gel during race (0:30)
• …dropped the gel (0:30)
• 4 overpasses at 7% inclination (1:30)
• Water-in-a-bag at oasis’ required much biting (1:00)
• Made a wrong turn (1:00)
• I couldn’t pace myself because KMs or miles were not marked (2:00)
• Water I poured over myself weighed my clothes down (2:00)
• Mosquitoes while I slept (1:00)
• Jetlag (1:00– Panama is one hour behind Puerto Rico)

So… even though I ran a 1:46, my normalized time is more like a 1:22, which is a quite respectable improvement.  Had everything gone according to plan, I would’ve easily beat Yano, who only did a 1:27 and came in third amongst the women.

So yeah, even though I technically ran a 1:22, Yano’s performance was much more appreciated, and she managed to get on the podium, and bag $300 to pay for her airfare.  I, on the other hand, will have to keep my day job.

Damn ham sandwich!