San Diego de Banos to Las Terrazas
“You’re going the wrong way!”, shouts a gentleman sitting on a spiffy, red motorcycle. This is not the first time this has happened. Enough people cycle here along the same network of roads that the locals seem to know where we want to go before we do. We screech to a stop and start using our best Spanglish to ask him to clarify what he means. “Speak English, speak English,” he says, “I am Enrique and I work as a bicycle guide for CicloCuba. I need to practice.” We happily oblige and start showing him our maps and talking about our plans right there in the intersection.
“Oh no, a cyclone has taken out those roads, don’t go there. And over there, it is boring. Three days of sugar cane farms, hot highways, wind and nothing else. You need to take a bus.” Neither Weezie of I had any intention of that and besides, she needed to wrap up the conversation because of an excruciating need to use the bushes, so we thanked him and biked away. In the right direction this time.
After a full day of biking, we arrived at our casa particular, this time high in the mountains. The owner had just finished cementing a new pool that was fed by cold water caught high in the mountains and he invited us to christen it, which we did. It felt like a baptism. He seemed so happy with our happiness. After our swim, he emptied it to prepare it for painting and we began to do a bit of bike maintenance.
Suddenly, a very familiar spiffy red, motorcycle roared up the drive. It was Enrique. This time he was prepared with maps, business cards, guide books and the time and energy to make sure we enjoyed our bicycle ride on Cuba to the utmost. After insisting that we would not take a bus, we sat together at an out door table and worked on rerouting our ride, choosing several beautiful pueblo that to the north that he was familiar with instead of other less inviting ones that we had planned on and avoiding areas destroyed by the cyclone, as well as, the “boring parts” of Cuba.
We shared “the cyclists campagne”, a combination of a Sprite-like soda and felt thoroughly refreshed, invigorated and much wiser. And then he was off, bouncing down the road and racing 45 miles back to his home where his family was waiting. Unbelievable kindness.