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by Ross M. Levine
photos by Ross M. Levine
Experiencing Costa Rica’s beauty from a bicycle seat
For
years, my partner, Roberto, and I had been itching to use
our passports—we hadn't been out of the country
since a long-ago jaunt to Tijuana. Being inveterate nature
boys, we both badly needed a shot of the wild, so I started
searching around for eco-tours. Most of what I saw, though,
had me envisioning binocular-bound nonagenarians searching
for sapsuckers and fancy lodges packed with gringos trying
to escape civilization with all the comforts of home.
Plus, I was training for the Los Angeles Triathlon, with
our vacation to follow, and I didn't want to go cold turkey
from swimming-biking-running to eating-sightseeing-more eating.
Now don’t misunderstand—I said “triathlon,” but
I’m no ironman, just a tail-end boomer making up for
a sports-aphobic childhood. And Roberto, too, is a late-budding “jock,” still
more at home on a heated car seat than the bench of a pickup
truck. Nevertheless, we both wanted something more challenging
for our getaway buck than just tanner flesh—and more
of it—than we started with.
That’s when a light went on (in my computer) and I
Googled “adventure travel.” One result trumpeted
Costa Rica, land of the myriad microclimates. Next thing
I knew, I was e-mailing various outfits down there that deal
with adventure trips, mostly cycling and whitewater rafting
(Roberto being water shy, we nixed the latter). There were
a number willing to provide bikes in-country and the option
of a set or custom itinerary. Because we were planning to
go off-season (September/October, generally rainier but so
much greener and prettier than sweltering March/April), we
found a few operators who said they’d put together
a package exclusively for us.
I e-mailed them our must-sees—Tortuguero for nesting
sea turtles, lava-spitting Arenal Volcano, Monteverde Cloud
Forest—and requested that biking be woven into the
mix. Voila, two operators came back with exciting, reasonably
priced itineraries.
Again, this wasn't going to be the “Ruta de Conquistadores,” 225
miles in four days, Pacific to the Caribbean, make sure you
wrote out your will. No, just some sport added to the travel
experience. We chose the operator—Bi.Costa Rica—who
seemed more knowledgeable and wasn't putting us into turista-factory
hotels (thanks, tripadvisor.com); he’d provide all
the equipment, even helmets if we didn’t want to bring
our own.
Roberto and I felt some minor qualms about taking on more
than we could pedal, but it was purely psychological—overcoming
the mindset that “getting away” means “taking
it easy.” Relaxation, sure, but sometimes, that’s
hard to come by without a bit of physical exertion first.
Our departure date finally arrived, and after a nonstop red-eye
from L.A., we landed at Juan Santamaría International
Airport in Alajuela, Costa Rica, to find (after getting past
customs and a cardboard policeman warning us not to have
sex with minors) our guide, Kevin Hill (an ex-pat from Marin
County), and his sidekick, Pablo (a native “Tico”),
awaiting us in a tank-like Land Cruiser with four mountain
bikes up top. Fortunately, Pablo wasn’t a minor but
a guapo 20-something, so we already had a better feeling
about what we’d signed up for. We were driven a few
thousand feet up to a picturesque pueblo in the central highlands
where, at a local inn, we threw on our bike gear. Soon, with
Kevin driving on ahead and Pablo at our side, we were on
our bikes on a quiet mountain road cruising through high-elevation
rainforest. We were ecstatic; after being cooped up in a
plane all night, to be riding through such a stunningly beautiful
landscape in the cool, misty air was the ultimate travel
high.
 We were promptly introduced to the joys of biking over “baby
heads” (small round boulders), something neither of
us had done, but, hey, we couldn’t be wusses in front
of Pablo. For a while, we felt like a pair of maracas, but
the road eventually got better, and once we spotted our first
toucan, we forgot all about the bumps.
We were now baptized in active travel, and the rest of the
day sealed our conversion. After some moderately hard riding
on an up-and-down but mercifully paved road, we arrived at
a restaurant with a patio overlooking a waterfall. There
we had our first casado, a Costa Rican specialty that weds
rice, beans, vegetables and meat, fish or chicken in a beautiful,
single-plate array. Having fired up our appetites, we ate
voraciously while hummingbirds with phosphorescent feathers
darted to and fro at the nearby feeders. No lunch ever tasted
so good. Afterwards, we hiked down to the base of the fall,
then back up to continue riding another hour or so as the
air chilled and storm clouds gathered overhead. Yes, we ended
up getting soaked, and had to navigate a parted herd of slightly
scary Brahma bulls coaxed along by a stoic farmer, but, at
the risk of sounding corny, we felt we were not just sightseers,
but an integral part of the life around us.
The rest of our two-week trip was much the same—gorgeous
bike rides, rejuvenating swims in warm oceans and hotel pools
(just me), incredible nature hikes with howler monkeys bellowing
above and more bike rides. Although we never quite got the
hang of simultaneously riding a bike and looking through
binoculars or taking photos, the point is this: When you’re
90, you can sit in a temperature-controlled bus and watch
the world go by. But if you’re reasonably fit and young
at heart, then put a little “action” in your “vACaTION.” Just
decide on the mix you want—whether you’re a fearless
Type A-er, who needs to ride hard and wouldn’t know
or care if a quetzal landed on your handlebars, or game enough
to do a bit more than work your biceps lifting piña
coladas at the poolside bar—there’s a world of
possibilities out there.
After all, when it comes to R&R, it doesn’t hurt
to stimulate your whole body, not just your backside.
The Details
Bi.Costa Rica
www.bruncas.com/bicostarica.html
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