Mountain Biking In Costa Rica

Pura Vida!

Mountain Biking In Costa Rica

by Adam Chambers

Publication Date: December 1999

My parents were the first to introduce me to the tropical, mountainous country in Central America called Costa Rica. They stayed at a resort on the pacific coast and enjoyed massages and tropical rum drinks after spending the day driving the backroads in their air-conditioned, four-wheel drive vehicle. One look at their pictures and I knew Costa Rica had extreme adventure potential - this country was rich with uninhabited sandy beaches, endless surf, and jungles overflowing with monkies, sloths and reptiles, not to mention the miles of single-track through the coffee fields and rainforests. It is no wonder why Christopher Columbus named it Costa Rica (spanish interpretation "rich coast"). Actually, Mr. Columbus named it Costa Rica because of the wealth of goods that he believed the land possessed, such as gold and spices. If Chris had only packed his "rig" in the galley of the Mayflower, he would have named this country "Mountain Bike la Rica." In the winter of 1995, a high school friend and I had the opportunity to spend three weeks mountain biking in this lush, rugged environment.

My good friend Michael Bomarito and I landed in the capital city of San Jose, Costa Rica on December 19. Our M.O. was to spend the next three weeks traveling by mountain bike through the remote roads and trails of this chlorophyll-laden country. Due to a death defying airplane ride through a thunderhead bigger than the state of Texas, we arrived later than planned and opted for a hotel room on our first night. Our hotel of choice - none other than The Hotel California. This place was as interesting as the lyrics of the Eagles' tune. The owner was a pudgy gringo from Jersey. He was full of energy and welcomed us to his crib. Although it was nice of him to offer us an Imperial (Costa Rica's most consumed beer) and the opportunity to play in his "one-man band," we were feeling a little rattled from the flight and opted for a good night's sleep.

Our first morning was early, thanks to the continuous crow of a rooster. The lush, green landscape was awake, although the sun was still hiding behind the mountains. We enjoyed the beauty and serenity of the morning while unwrapping our mountain bikes from their travel boxes, like children unwrapping presents on Christmas morning. While assembling our bikes, we discussed the travel plan for the day. The route would include three big climbs on paved roads followed by several rolling hills once we got on dirt. We donned our backpacks and helmets and departed.

Day one would not give us great single-track, but would get us into the less-populated countryside and allow for future days of railing rides. The mountain climbs were slow going with 30 pound backpacks strapped to our bodies. Grueling climbs made our lumbar regions cry for mercy.

Our first day came to a close with 60 miles covered. We indulged in a big plate of "arroz con frijoles." Black beans and rice are the staple food items for Costa Rica. Served with all meals and obtained for very few Colones (Costa Rica Currency), this high carbo and protein dish would sustain our bodies for the next three weeks. Before retiring to dreamland, Michael and I reviewed the Lonely Planet Guidebook and map as we charted our course for the following day. This evening planning session would become ritual for the next twenty days.

The next several days proved to be much more fun - there were no mountain passes to negotiate, and we were treated to beautiful views of the rocky Pacific coast. We caught a ferry from the town of Puntarenas to the Nicoya Peninsula. The riding on this peninsula would be mostly on dirt roads and uninhabited beaches. The days were spent grinding along the coast toward the town of Tamarindo. At night we would pitch camp on the beach or fight the mosquitos and sleep out under the stars.

Each morning we would wake up to sunny skies, warm breezes, obnoxiously loud parrots, and the scream of howler monkies. The riding was fabulous, but in a demented way. The biggest problems we encountered were pinch flats (expected) and constant swervings to avoid hitting five foot iguanas (unexpected). Iguanas like to sun themselves on the dirt roads and trails, and when they heard us coming, they would sometimes scurry into our path. These lizards were big enough that if you accidently hit one, you were a satellite...you know, O.T.B. (over the bars). Somehow, we managed to avoid any iguana confrontations.

On Christmas Eve, we broke out the Santa hats, bummed an old surf board from a tick (Costa Rican natives call themselves "ticos" and "ticas" - male and female respectively - and indulged in a little 'santa surfing.' We had miles of prime Costa Rican surf all to ourselves. There were no other signs of human life for as far as the eye could see. Unless you count the one plastic soda bottle that had washed up on the beach.

We spent Christmas day slogging through muddy roads that had been 'post-holed' by livestock. The mud was ankle deep and the travel was rigorous, but we were in Costa Rica and everything was "Pura Vida" (a common Costa Rican phrase for "everything is good"). We spent the night in a moderate hotel in the town of Samara. Since it was a holiday and we had worked hard all day, we treated ourselves to a pizza. It was a feast to rival only the most outrageous holiday meals. This dish is not typical Costa Rican grub, however, an Italian family had settled in Samara and opened a restaurant.

In the morning our front wheels pointed east and we began our journey across the entire country to the Carribean coast. The trek to the Carribean took us through the scorching grasslands of the Nicoya Peninsula and into the mountainous cloud forests of Monteverde. Again, we found ourselves grinding up steep mountain roads past coffee fields and cliff bands. The air was refreshingly cool and hung thick with moisture. While camping in this region, we wore all of the clothes we had brought and even sported santa caps for warmth. Michael and I had packed for warm weather, having no idea we would end up in the cool mountainous region.

Descending to lower elevations and warmer temperatures, we enjoyed miles of twisty double-track roads. The gravel road spit us out on Lake Arenal with a great view of the active Arenal Volcano belching steam from its mouth. We camped within a mile of the base of the volcano and had a groundshaking experience every couple of hours. The volcano never blew its top while were were there, but it sure grumbled often.

Three days of steady riding landed us in the banana producing port town of Limon. We traveled south of Limon to the town of Puero Viejo, which is located ten miles north of the Panamanian border. We spent New Years Eve in this small carribean town enjoying the comforts of a hammock and dining on fresh fish and black beans and rice, of course. The carribean coast has much more Jamaican influence and the inhabitants are African decent.

The final days of our trip were spent in the capital city of San Jose, cruising the streets and enjoying the museums of the city. The gold museum was definitely worth our time. While in San Jose, we stayed in a hotel called the Ticalinda. This place is definitely one of the most economical places in the city at two dollars per night per person. It came with a few interesting perks; strategically located next to a mariachi bar, all rooms came with free musical entertainment until 4:00 AM. The second perk, if call it a perk, is that you got to listen to the rodents dance through the walls of the hotel in the late evening. My guess is that they were just dancing to the mariachi music. I had trouble adjusting to this scurrying, but after a day or two, I got over it.

As our adventure drew to a close, we packed our bicycles back into boxes and caught our return flight to Atlanta. As we lifted off, Michael and I shook hands and exchanged a "Pura Vida" - for three weeks, we had lived the Pura Vida lifestyle.