Day 1

    Three months of pondering, two months of planning all boiled down to thirty days of cycling in Cuba. I had my doubts given all the hoops I had to jump through. The Treasury Department requires US citizens to pick one of their twelve categories within the general license, being a tourist isn't allowed. With diplomatic relations restored, this requirement is in name only. As a "journalist", I am gathering facts on how to navigate the regulatory  regulator shoals in order to visit Cuba. By the way, I was told not to mention to Cuban immigration that I a journalist; that requires a special Cuban visa. Don't bring dollars, there is ten percent surcharge on top of the three percent conversion fee. Canadian dollars are easy to get at any major bank free of charge if you are member. Hiding it is the innovative part. Any ticket you book to Cuba includes a $25 charge for the Cuban medical insurance policy. Hold onto your boarding pass for the final leg to Cuba; it is proof of you having paid for a medical policy. At your last port/airport before flying to Cuba, the airline sells the Cuban tourist card/visa good for thirty days, $50, credit card only. Upon arrival, immigration takes half of the tourist card. Save the other half for getting out of the country, guard it with your life.
    The flight was uneventful but my departed from Boston at 5:35am was an ungodly hour, considering that I rose at 3am to get Login with an hour and a half to spare; bright and ugly as they say. God bless brother Robert for getting me there on time. His dachshund, Simon, insisted on boroughing under my covers which made for a restless three hours of sleep. In my zombie state, I slept most of the flight. The plane touched down safely and we weren't strafed by Cuban fighter planes; however the plane sat on the tarmac for thirty minutes until the right government official was found to open the plane door.  Welcome to Communism. As for the real fun, my luggage took two hours to recover at the Havana terminal.   Schlepping over sized luggage only added to the misery. The bicycle was delivered to one end of the terminal, me not having a clue. The other bag was delivered to another conveyor belt other than the one announced. No one spoke English and my Spanish was close to non existent. It was a screwed up arrangement. Too much fun for one day. Now, to exchange currencies into Cuban CUCs, in essence, tourist currency.    As I read before the trip, going up to Departures made for a much shorter cue at the bank conversion area. The line still moved at a snails pace. Nothing moves fast in Cuba. To avoid the wait, I asked around for people trading in their CUCs ( which are worthless out of the country) and scored eighty CUCs for $80 thus avoiding any exchange fees. Hailing a cab was equally as easy. Taxis needn't wait in line in arrivals if intercepted immediately after dropping off departing passengers. Nice driver, new car and he found my casa in the middle of town without much problem. Yany, the proprietor, immediately step out on the sidewalk to enthusiastically great me, hugging me with big smile as if I were family.  Finally, finally I had arrived, a bit worn down but still coherent. She offered me a cold beer as I crossed the threshold, good brew of which I will have many during my ride through Cuba. Everything I saw driving to the casa looked in need of repair. Yany has a nice place (based on Cuban standards), one guest room which she had redone less than a year ago. Here I am finishing up my blog, getting settled. Tomorrow, the bike gets assembled.

Day 2

  I assembled the bike after Yany made me breakfast. Great coffee like no other, decent breakfast: guava, scrambled eggs, pineapples juice, bread and cheese. Assemblying my bike was a cake walk compared to trips before when the entire bike was totally disassembled. Only two hours tops this time around compared to an all day affair and loads of frustration. Afterwards, Yany and headed out for lunch, buy food and see Old Town. I treated her to lunch at a local restaurant nearby, quiet, nice atmosphere and good food. I never would have found it on my own. She called her bicycle taxi friend, Rauol, who drove us around much to my delight, two rides in all. He sang as he pedal, shouting greetings to people he knew along the way, so much fun. Yany gave me the inside scoop as to where to shop and how. It would have been a struggle had I tried to figure out myself. She lead me from one store to another helping me buy road food. Tourism is the Country's main source of foreign currency.  Old Town is ground zero for tourism, old restored fifties cars are everywhere. Unlike the rest of the city, which is in terrible shape, the old capital and several old hotels are being brought back to life. Starting after the US and Cuba normalized relations. Americans began flooding the island and the government, who owns everything, is scrambling to "capitalize" on this influx.  The US embargo has destroyed the country's infrastructure and put the people through enormous hardship. Realistically, if there weren't an embargo, Cuba would still be screwed up. The government ensures everyone a roof, enough food to subsist, a great education, decent medical, equality amount all races, but beyond that the people have zip.
     Ok, so here we go, tomorrow if I hit the road on two wheels, leg power only.  My knee hurts when I walk because of some injury I sustained from either jumping from a boat to the dock or when I slipped off a rafter when redoing my kitchen.  Pedaling is no problem.  I pray that my knee will hold up through the trip.  After a long day cruising around Havana with Yany, I made it home pretty much worn out, I packed my bags, loaded the bike and blinked twice before I was dead to the world for eight hours.

Day 3

I shoved off at 8:30 after Yany fed me. Not much traffic And the cars and trucks gave me loads of room. They all ride bikes and have empathy for the bicyclist. It rained like hell up until about 1pm. Suited up but it still was a wet affair. Despite the bag covers, the intensity of the rain aggravated by poor road drainage, everything got pretty soggy. To make matters worse, there is no emission control on any of the vehicles. The factories and power plants pour out black smoke like no one every heard of global warming. I couldn't get away from the exhaust fumes, not a good situation. The roads are marginal at best, pot holes everywhere, bridges with broken or missing railings. My route took me along the coast until I dropped down at La Boca and eventually found my way to A4. The highway was devoid of good scenery; thank god my Bluetooth headset and itunes. The skies cleared and humidity took its toll, I poured down bottle after bottle of water. My goal was Las Terrazes, much longer than I wanted to ride my first day. The turn off to Las Terrazes was a never ending climb for several miles. I rolled into the park resort totally wasted. Found a Casa Particular from a man who flagged me down who knew led me to a casa particulare.   Nice folks, fantastic diner for all of ten dollars. The bathroom though clean had only cold water and no toilet seat. I was not impressed but didn't say anything. The language barrier didn't"t help,  Thank god for my offline Spanish translation app. I may hang out here for another day to recover and take in the sites.

Day 4

Chilled the whole day, exchanged money at the hotel up the hill, read my novel for several hours, zonked out in the afternoon and had a restless night. The lower GI reared its ugly head and fearing I might be coming down with dysentery I downed a pill to nip it in the bud. Their seatless toilet was not up to the job which was a bit of embarrassing the next morning. Jesus The Husband's name)was under the house banging on the sewer pipe. Their pressure was no match what it had to handle. I suspect this is a recurring problem for them. Perhaps it was the chicken that Bianna fed me. Toughest bird I ever ate, damn near had to get a chainsaw to cut it.

Day 5

      Sleep was a foreign word come morning. With hand gestures and pathetic Spanish, I explained about the clogged toilet. They didn't seem to upset. Moving right along, they keep hustling me to shell out more money for this and that, including a CD of his band. i was forewarned about the ripper off mentality of the Cubans.  They are desperate for money. Foreigners are rich in their eyes. Now I write it down the rate and show the owners so there will be no misunderstandings.  I feel sorry about their plight, communism and all, but I reached my limit this morning. Set off at 8:15, mistakenly took the long way out, tacking seven miles onto the day's ride. Took highway A4 which is boring but direct; stopped for almost two hours to get through the hottest time of the day. Sat in the shade, ate, read, chilled and then setting out again. Being Saturday, the hitch hikers were abundant as were the rides offered by passing traffic. Hitchhiking is legal in in Cuba and is encouraged by the government. A dump truck full of riders even stopped to offer me a ride. "Muchas Gracias, yo OK, I am set" .He figured it out and drove off in a cloud of exhaust. Rode for an hour and poured down water every few miles, went through six liters of aqua, at least. Stopped off at a nice roadside tourist stop and downed a pint of strawberry ice cream, the worst stuff I ever had but I didn't care, it was cold! The heat and lack of scenery was remedied by my itunes. With a few kilometers to go before reaching Pinar del Rio after covering over seventy miles, a rare Cuban racing bicyclist with tights pulled up along side me.  Josef and I hit it off, especially since I was an Americano.  He lead me to a nice casa particulare where we sucked down a few well deserved beers. During our ride through the town, I was solicited by a driver for another casa particulare. These people are husking for every buck, things are tough. After I had myself to myself,  Sixto's wife fed me a delicious dinner on the patio under a Mango tree, chicken, fruit, Cole slaw with tomatoes, veggies, Mango-guava juice and more. Josef, Sixto, Pedro and I had a good talking about cycling and politics. Their "special period" after the Soviet Union collapsed was brutal on them. Now the Chinese are helping them meet their oil needs. back in the 1990s when there was no fuel, everyone road bikes, if they could afford one, and grew as much food as they had space to plant around their casas. Times are better now, kind of.  "The special period"  must have been a ten year nightmare.  Back to the casa particulare and Josef; he called a friend over, Pedro. They all wanted to speak English and helped me with my Spanish. I told them about the States but they are forbidden to leave Cuba.  Maybe in five years when Raul is dead and the government loosens its grip will they be able to travel outside of the country. Tomorrow Josef and I ride south from Pinar de Rio twenty Kilometers. I have made a friend. There is a cigar factory he wants to show me. After the visit I head west. Who knows where I will end up tomorrow night. My body is getting warmed up and adjusting to the long rides. The heat is another issue.

Day 6

   As usual, a great breakfast. Josef showed up before nine as did Pedro and another friend. What am I , a celebrity? Pictures of us all, thanked Sixto and hit the road with Josef. Stopped at the bank on Sunday, no less, before riding twenty clicks out to a famous tobacco plantation for cigars. Robaino cigars started in 1845, which Castro did not nationalize. Had the complete one man tour until a group of men from Ohio showed up. Very informative, the tour guide really know her stuff. Before I could leave I had to visit the cigar store. I bought five because that was my plan but once again my money was suck away. Five cigars of different types, $28! Josef and I headed back a few kilometers where we hugged and went our different direction. Nice guy, crazy laugh, needs a few teeth and I thoroughly enjoyed him. He helped me with my Spanish all morning, I am very slowly getting better. A course is in order when I get back. We promised to write, Josef in English, me in Spanish. The heat cranked up and any hope for clouds disappeared. Stopped at Martin by the town square, had lunch from my food supply, bought some pina (pineapple) and then headed out. The heat and sun beat on me so I took an hour break at a road side out door watering hole. Along the way to Santino, I met up a naturalize Cuban American who grew up in Santino. He was in a rented car with his girlfriend. Gave me his father's motel address along with some cold water and juice. Nice enough guy hustling for his father. Coming into town after near fifty miles, I checked into the wrong Casa Particular and couldn't back out once I committed. I felt bad about it. Maybe on my way back I will check the father's place out. The place I am at presently is owned by a doctor, real nice house in Cuban standards. Great dinner, nice room with the refrigerator loaded with beer (one cuc/each) and more. Ivan and his wife raise pigs, chicken (real good looking rooster), Mango, avocados and other fruits which I have never seen. Great folks but can't speak a word of English. Castro would not allow it to be taught in the schools. Can you believe it? They served me lobster tails and no chicken for a change, pork was on the menu also. The Ivan helped me book a place down the shore, La Bajada, where I am headed tomorrow, only one Casa Particular there. Forty-four Ks and I hope to get in a swim and some chill time. My body is getting into the groove despite the heat.

Day 7

Another hot one and I shoved off around nine. I need to get off by eight, tomorrow manana? The road to Bajada was a jaw rattled for much of the way. With virtually no cars and trucks I had the entire road to myself, weaving around potholes and craters. Two hours, no one but me no cars, trucks, horse drawn carts, just me. Even no trash, a welcome site. Finally around a bend, out in nowhere, just forest, a whitish horse stood in the middle of the road. By its side was an egret, a very peculiar site. I slowly pedaled by offering my greetings with no reaction from either of them. With heat, the shade from the road had me riding in the right side of the road. Finally After fifty-five kilometers of abuse coupled with the heat. Thinking the town was in a national park, I checked in at the control point where I was issued a pass, once again my passport and visa exchanged hands. Every day at some point my passport is needed. The casa particulars always require it. After a few Ks I turned back finally had the soldiers direct me around the corner to the town. Talk a sleepy little seaside hamlet, this place was it. The casa de Mars was one hundred meters down the dirt road. Dogs, pigs everywhere, I checked in. Kiki could not speak a word of English and my Spanish severely lack, Henrique was summoned to save the day. He rounded me up a cold beer from his open bar with thrashed roof. patio. My blue tooth worked On their sound system, great to hear my tunes. Henrique and I bonded over few brews followed by the arrival of a French couple. Dinner wit lobster again either works. Hit the bar for a night for some Cuban rum and apricot juice. Read until midnight. The power went out along with the a/c for the second time. Such is Cuba. Tomorrow is a relaxation and some beach time with my french friends, Corern and Henri from Strasberg.

Day 8

5:20 came early so I could catch the 6:00 bus to Sandino. It poured so hard during the night, the rain came thorough my window louvres (no screens) and soaked one half of my bed. Came face to face with a huge spider which I wasted no time in neutralizing. Anyways, the driver would not allow the bike so I tried to catch some zzzs before Everyone stirred. My French friends, Corine and Philip, were surprised to see me again, but we had a nice breakfast before I set out for Santino. At about forty miles, I pulled into a check point and asked if they could find me a ride to Pinar del Rio while I had lunch. Everyone hitch hikes and I don't like covering ground I have already covered. Having just planted my self, the check point official stepped out onto the road, stop a truck and secured me a ride. Three of us lifted the bike on board and off we went. It was fifties model good size truck with a metal dashboard and no seat belts. Boris drove with abandon, Carlos rode shotgun and we had a fun time figuring out what each other was saying. They drove me thirty miles right into downtown Pinar del Rio, along the way Senor Boris pass cars and trucks in death defying maneuvers; I managed to stay cool, at least on the outside. With a business card in hand, a local black kid brought me to the casa in question. Henrique, the English speaking bartender who worked at Bahada who worked at this Casa, was not there and the place was booked. I checked into a casa across the street. This place had the best bathroom yet, toilet seat, nice full shower head, very clean and professionally built. I let Ivan know. As usual, the quantity of food was massive and I slept reasonably well. Finished the book, "A Time to Kill" and started another about William Tecumsa Sherman, good so far. My Spanish is improving ever so slowly.

Day 9

A real long ride, over 115k, 72 to the Havana city limits, 20 through town to the boat shuttle, 25 west to the seaside town of Guanabo. Running on empty and dripping wet, I finally found a casa that wasn't full. Anna the owner ordered for me Take Out along with two cold beers,$5! Nice casa, relatively speaking, toilet seat and TP, nice layout and almost everything worked. Her place has an eight foot wall with barb wire on top, rebar boxes covering her windows and cemented in glass shards on the wall separating her neighbors. My bike stayed in my room? She has a good stream of customers who bring in enough cash for her to build a second floor, step by step. It is tough doing. The roads are a wreck outside her house. For the first time I saw a first class casa. So wealthy individual from the Chek Republic who married a Cuban woman restored an old house. Foreigners can't own land. The town has potential but the liter is everywhere, no street trash cans plus no one seems to care, sidewalks broken up, holes the roads. The beaches are nice but that is it. Prices may be low here but I couldn't see living here. Cuba is a mess!

Day 10

Burned out a bit from the long hot ride from San Cristobal to Guanabo but I rallied. Got a late start after going to the bank and three stores to get the food I needed. Anna led me around and, as usual, there was a line everywhere I went. The food selection was poor although everything was dirt cheap. Started cranking at 10:15 and the temperature was already climbing. The energy just wasn't there. Then came the granny gear hills, up and down over several. Took a break at a concrete bus stop which gave me shade but was rundown and poorly maintained. Sat out the heat for almost an hour then start off with only one water bottle left. At long last, I found a tourist area with a thatcher roof open air pavilion. I knew I needed to find a place soon; I had replenished my water but the body was calling it a day. As advised in Spanish, a seaside village was five kilometers ahead. The turn off took me down a very steep hill into a valley where a very modest resort was located. The camping and cottages was designated for Cubans only. Renewal of diplomatic relations didn't help nor did my exhausted appearance. The director indicated that a place was up the hill. Off I climbed , stopping four times to gather my strength, the hill was a monster and the heat was blazing. Bingo, the place was an organically run casa where I could set up my tent, shower and meals included. Only five CUCs to camp with lunch and breakfast twelve CUCs. There is a god, Elissa, not your typical Cuban, welcomed me with open arms. The place was charming. Her cooking under the thatched roof dinning area was outstanding. Three German kids and an Estonian family were there. Flo, Christopher, Katherine, Mikel,(can't get his wife's and daughter's names). We Drank rum and had a good time talking it up. My first night in my tent was home sweet home. Tomorrow is a rest day. 

Day 11

Restless night with only my sleeping bag liner. Great breakfast followed by walk with everyone, led by Elissa. Down a very step and shaky path. Same Cuban resort as we leveled our. Hung out at the water's edge, did some snorkeling and relaxed. Climbed the monster hill and Elissa cooked us a killer organic lunch. Fish was the only meat. Napped, read, showered, washed clothes, ate again, and shot the breeze. Mikel went into great detail as to how he makes beer. He grows his own hopes which I want to do. Of all the guests, Flo (German guy) and I bonded. He is off for three months traveling down through Mexico into South America. Elissa and everyone helped me map a good route which hopefully won't be too strenuous and end me up in nice places. The alarm is set for seven; I need to beat the heat. I hate to leave this place.

Day 12

Left Bucunayagua, made tracks for Cardenas, followed the coast through Matanzas and Varafero. I rolled int a big ugly town 200,000) but found a decent Casa ( in Cuban terms) just on the edge of town on a side street. The street looked beat but the casa had a decent operation going. Juan Carlos and Maria have several apartments in the casa and are pushing towards making iir nto hotel. He has no car, only a old bicycle to haul his gear for setting up hot water tanks for bathrooms. Typical of Cuba, well educated as an engineer but makes a pathetic income. Juan Carlos took me via a horse taxi, which are everywhere, to the bank and a bar for a few cold beers. His English is as bad as my Spanish but we communicated well enough to have a good time. Video taped the taxi ride back, music and all. Apparently, the town was a big American hangout before Castro took over. The city is a pathetic shell of what it once was. The casa rents also to a company who works with epoxy coatings, Cuban entrepreneur hooked up with a Montreal company. After dinner, Raoul, Rudolpho and three others hung out with me. The two partners spoke decent English. We talked their business, baseball and how t he government stifles business. Acquiring a simple pickup like mine takes an act of god. Funny time we had together, about six of us.

Day 13

A short ride to Colon, not much of anything to talk about, the same old rundown conditions everything I find everywhere. My room has a steel door which gave the room a prison effect. The older woman who greeted me told me I had to store my bike in the back room. Apprehension set in so I locked the bike to a rail and set the alarm. Not to soon afterwards, the alarm went off. I raced out and saw the woman standing by the bike. She made hand jesters that something had fallen off the thatched roof and I should pull my bike further under the roof. Little did I realize that she was lying and, in fact, had stolen my light. The next morning the owner acted strangely and she was abrupt in saying goodbye. I had to return because I still had the room key. I could see her concern, not realizing what it was about. Not until I was ten k down the road did I notice the light missing. American woman who had visited Cuba and a French resident warned me never to let woman into my room, referring to the maids. My gears are whirring on this matter. I will keep an inventory of my gear and trust no one.

Day 14

Anxious to get an early start, I pushed off from Colin at 7:30 and rode all day. Took a forty-five minute break, found water, had a small lunch and talked up with the local boys in Cardagena. No one spoke English so I managed with my limited Spanish and a lot of sign language. Nowhere really to stop along the way so I pushed on through the heat, drinking liter after liter, one pokey town after another. Everywhere I go, people stare, it is constant. 110k later I rolled into Ceinfuegos; used my offline gps app and wove my way through the city. At the town square I was bombarded by men hustling Casas, tropical of cities here. One guy on his bike intercepted me. I checked him out and the Casa business card, whereupon he led me to a pretty nice casa on the water. The bike came into my room this time. After a few hours of down time, the Cuban guy on the bike, Ivan, came by. Just a hundred feet down the road there was a restaurant where he had a beer and I dinner. Everyone there was a tourist, Cubans can't afford to dine out. Ivan lamented about the Cuban plight but times are slowly changing. Tomorrow I staying put. Mountains await me on my way to Trinidad after which I may take a bus to Santiago de Cuba. The mid section is nowhere and not worth riding. As well, I am running short of time.

Day 15

The casa owner, Rosa, and her boyfriend, Derry, took me around to find food. No cheese to be had anywhere. We must have gone to five stores trying find what I needed, lines everywhere as well as basic food simply not available, communism has cripple Cuba. Rosa and Derry think I am rich, they can't afford to out to restaurants or any such luxury. We went into a bar/restaurant which I never would have found is the door hit me in the face. I paid almost all the bill, $10 because I knew they couldn't. In talking about Castro early over a beer in an open cafe, they warned to keep it down when talking about Fidel, they motioned about handcuffs and being arrested. That night here woman Friday prepared a killer dinner for me. Eating at the Casas is the cheapest and the best way to go. From $7-$10 I dine like a god.

Day 16

Got off at 7:30 and rode fifty-five miles. The hills were tough for a while but I cranked along, brazing heat for the last fifteen miles, and made it to Trinidad in 5 1/2 hours. The nicest town so far, cobble stones, historic buildings and hordes of tourists, every country but the USA. A bicitaxi, I said hi to in passing, tracked me down seeing that I was in need of a casa Particulari. Apprehensive as always he took me to his mother's house, nice people but I trust no one when it comes to my bike and gear. My bike is locked to my bed with the alarm on and the door locked. After a shower Yoel drive me down tin his bicitaxi too the bank to exchange money. Met some older French couples where I tried my best to speak their language, we had a fun time waiting in line. The bank door guard only let's in a few people at a time. Sauntered around town two for a few hours finally finding a small bar filled with only Cuban men with guitars, singing it up, guitars and all. Very professional and only ten of us, no tourists but me, it was very cool. We hit it off, switched to run from beer as they suggested and avoided getting sucked into paying for a round, only one guy persisted. Somehow found my way back to the casa via help from several passers by. Mercedes, the mother, and her daughter, Louisa, cooked me a feast. Without much persuasion, I am staying two nights. Tomorrow I will check the train and buses to Santiago de Cuba, a long ride either way.

Day 17

Slept in until 7:05, luxury! Found the bus station, signed up, went to the bank, loaded up on CUCs, took in a revolutionary museum and a church on the town square, found a local place for lunch and dodged tourists, bicitaxi, buses, motorbikes, 1950's American cars and whatever else was coming my way. One thing which I find appalling is the lack of concern for the street dogs which fend for themselves and are half starved. At my casa way in the back I can across a house dog on a chain no more than three feet long. When I went to pet him, he began peeing immediately.. It was a pathetic scene that clarified to me just how screwed up things are down in Cuba. Cruelty to animals says a lot about a society. I actually picked up an internet card. Talk about a Lousy deal, in and out it went, wifi was on the square but close to useless. I should have used the money to feed the starving street dogs. After trying for an hour to connect my tablet to download a book, I quit and went back to the casa. Is anything in this country that isn't FUBAR? Cigars, rum, beaches, perhaps? I am off to Santiago de Cuba at 7:30 and will guard my bike like my life depends on it. I am still undecided about my plan of action after a day in Santiago. Do I hang out at some small beach community or do I make run for Havana via the north shore or close to it? Maybe I can get in some stealth camping, no one seems to mind. Heading west and living off the land out in nowhere is enticing. I thrive on challenges.

Day 18

Up before day break, breakfast was on the table. Yoel arrived on his day off to escort me to the bus station on his bibitaxi. Traversing the stone streets is tough for them, talk about being in shape. Yoel did the talking and hung around until I left. Cuba men kiss on the cheek when the hug goodbye, not an air kiss either. In Rome do as the Romans do. The ride was over thirteen hours, sat next to a Brit. Had to take off the front wheel and seat then cable lock the bike and bags to the bus storage frame; I am hyper paranoid about getting ripped off. Rode in an old Chinese greyhound with engine problems, Cuba as usual. My casa particulari people were waiting me for when I arrived. Yoel's brother's mother-in-law who owns the casa in Trinidad made the connection. Big city, no place to arrive late at night without something arranged. Someone is looking out for me. The Santiago casa owners met me in their 1956 chevy. I assembled the bike and followed them home. Nice pad on top of a short steep hill, great view with a balcony patio. With over 650 miles to Havana and not enough time, I will spend two nights in Santiago, cruise the coast and then take the bus back to Havana. Like Ireland, thirty days is not enough but the tourist visa is for thirty days, no extensions.

Day 19

Once again the electric set up in my casa is frightenin; just be careful what you touch. This place has a upper deck overlooking the city; great spot for breakfast. Stripped the bike down and cruised the city, small motorcycles everywhere, deafening but didn't take and crap from them. Checked out the Commie monuments and Fidel's tomb...... Santiago is dramatically cleaner than Havana, generally nicer place. Good roads as well. It took me over two hours, countless bad directions and six stores before I found bread, cheese and fruit. A local who spoke English saved the day. My perception is that the folks are a bit dim and have never travelled beyond their light cal neighborhood. What a screwed up place, be real grateful for what you have. And, everyone is always extracting a tip from you with a shrug that it should be more. The Cubans are treading water. Joel, my savior for the day, knows my casa owner. We had a beer together whereupon I chilled in my room, ate some decent bread, for a change, cheese and beer. After a nap, I woke to a group of guys across the narrow street on the second floor, tuning up for some Salsa music. Bass, sax, horns, keyboard, etc., gorgeous night overlooking Santiago; my personal band over a delicious diner, pretty cool! Tomorrow I attack the mountains on my way to Baracoa. Six days to squeeze in what I can before busing back to Havana. Cuba is trying but it makes for a fun adventure.

Day 20

Fumble around getting a bus ticket to Havana for early March 12, Alexis was with me and found a guy exchanging money on the street for a better rate. My first experience with the underground economy. We found a dark corner on the pedestrian shopping street. Finally shoved off around 9:45. Clocked 40 miles, late start and the heat shut me down..With the exception of a feel climbers my ride was excellent, followed the ocean on my left and had the wind at my back. Pulled into Guama where I was hailed by Roberto, total wack job. He found me a store with water and nectar and showed me his place, a total dump. No way, but he took me to a nice casa which was one of the best. Met some Americans which was a pleasant surprise. Wifi in the park so I caught on some of news and 365 emails. Everything revolves around Trump, what a jerk, a dangerous one. Off early tomorrow and hope to get fifty miles in.

Day 21

I endured one of the worst rides I have ever experienced. At fifty miles of deteriorated roads, three collapsed bridges which were barely passable and partially collapsed, washed out roads by the shore due to last falls hurricane. The fill used to make the roads passable again made for difficult bicycling. The hills became more frequent, longer and steeper; the heat cranked up. Thankfully I brought along extra water. The roads with all the potholes and bad patching jobs jarred me silly. At what seemed an eternity, I arrived at the arranged casa pretty much on empty. I passed on dinner and hung out with a fun French couple, Yul and Claire, and drank some rum with them. They are cycling Cuba for three months. No way I could tolerate this island for that long. Yul was once a world class sailor but almost died doing so. Now he and Claire renovate old houses. The more I size this country up, the more I am disgusted with the place. Most people are decent folks but everyone is out to suck the money out of you one way or the other. People are desperate to make ends meet, a doctor only makes $50 a month. It is irritating and always has me on guard. Every time I ride into a town for the night. I am hustle to stay in a casa particulari. Always, they want to know how much my bike costs. Telling any Cuba I am American is putting a price tag on my head. I am learning how to survive down here, but the lessons are painful. The owner of the casa has a Canadian significant other who spends six months out of the year down here. God bless him.

Day 22

The French couple and I set off at 7:30 whereupon we encountered a monster hill/mountain. Grinding up the grade made me think of the needless equipment I brought with me. After this climb we rode for twenty kilometers through more or less level terrain. We part ed as they were heading south to nice seaside town. Had I had more time, I would have joined them. With the wind in my face I forged on to Manzanillo. Ninety-two k/57 miles in total, Had two coconut Frescas at a local stand as I rode into town. These drinks are thick and frosty and add new life to a tired body. At the stand, a local, Peter/ Pedro, knew where my casa was and led me there. The town is big, hustlers everywhere and the casa not easy to find. Peter navigated me through the jungle, god bless the man. He was a mathematics profession at the university level but shifted over to taking care of the sick, washing them and such, at the local hospital. In two days I have met two university professors who could not make a living do what they were trained to do. Communism is a horrible nightmare down here. The casa owner, Reuben, was on the side walk and called out my name as I rode up. Beautiful layout with no funky Cuban arrangements. My bike is downstairs and he assured me it would be fine. I told him about my light being the ripped off. My cable lock is around the bike and through a chair back, paranoia is always lurking. No dinner tonight just a pitcher of fruit Fresca. Another long ride tomorrow.

Day 23

Got the earliest start yet, 7am. An hour into the ride to Bayamo, a rough set of railroad tracks sprung the lower attachment hook from one of my front panniers. The repair took forty five minutes and fortunately I had the tools necessary. A bit further down the road I passed a French Canadian. Hauling on our brakes, we chewed the fat, exchanged information and the along came an English couple going my way. Pictures, laughs, exchange of information and the Brits and I were headed for the same casa in Bayamo. Via a nice casa the previous night and their recommendation for the next town/night, the Casas have been pretty decent operations. It eliminates being hustle upon arrival in each new town. It was nice to cruise with someone I could identify;we arrived at noon, dodged the afternoon blowtorch. It is definitely hotter on the eastern side of the island. After scribbling some laundry, I walked to the city center and checked out the stores, museums and people. The town is clean even if one large historic structure was braced on two sides with long steel beams; fairly typical of the condition of buildings down here. Craving a classic coke (from Mexico), I found a food store with some but spent twenty minutes in line waiting to pay for it. Everyone spends probably in hour a day standing in line, it is a communist thing. Had dinner with the Brits, wonderful time. An elderly British woman, 74, who Cadi and Jamie met a few days before, has bicycled around the world. Roselyn is biking 50 miles tomorrow; blows my mind!!!! Where are the American woman?!! There is no excuse for our lazy, over indulged American women. I want an American cycle partner in the biggest way. In all my bicycling, I have come across only two American couples. How pathetic is that? I am disgusted and frustrated. Tomorrow, the ride would be a torturous 130k and not much to see. I will take the bus to Havana the day after tomorrow a so I can't screw around. The bus it is, Santiago at 8:30am.

Day 24

For some reason, my body clicks on about 6am. Had a very pleasant desayuno with my British friends on the roof top patio. Telling the casa owner that I am writing an article for Adventure Cycling Magazine got his attention. Stealing from a guest is the kiss of death for their business. Before leaving for bus, the casa owner called forward to another casa in Santiago, one less thing to worry about. Now for bus experience. Not remembering that there were two bus stations, I found myself on a peoples' bus, essentially a crude metal container with steel benches facing each other and grates to see out. These cattle crates are bolted to the chassis of old 1950s trucks. They are everywhere. They leave the station when the bus is full, I mean packed! If I had gone to the bus terminal down one block, I would have ridden in a coach. Three hours of being bounced around, elbow to elbow. Thank god for a nice guy who spoke good English. Talked the whole way to Santiago, he is a computer science software guy, clued me in the bad dudes on board. With every stop, hawkers of snacks would board and sell their goods, quite the scene. We are meeting tonight for beer and dinner. I offered to pay but he said not to worry. Maybe he works for the government, who knows. Good English and no money concerns aroused my suspicion, paranoia strikes again. Found the casa, nice folks. They will provide breakfast at 4:45am manana before I bike down to the bus. My friend from the bus, Alvin, did not show as scheduled so I walked up to the pedestrian walk and had dinner at a nice hotel, refined for the tourist but a bit much for my austere taste. Bicycling solo in Cuba has been challenging, an experience like no other. My first third world ride, difficult breaking through my comfort zone to pull it off. If I can convince someone to join me, preferable a female companion, I may make the trip again, focusing on the small coast villages, short rides under thirty miles before mid day. Hoping for an American rider may be pipe dream but I will persist.

Day 25

Sixteen hours on a bus from Santiago to Havana through inland nothingness was a day I will never get back. New bus, Chinese of course, but a long slow slog. Met up with with an older Brit gay couple, David and Chris, had a funny time, especially when the bus stopped for lunch. The restaurant was virtually invisible from the street but they were all set up and ready for the hordes. Chicken leg and thigh with rice and beans for the fiftieth time. David had fish that could have sufficed for a piece of wood. There being two drivers for the long trip, one tried to get me to buy him a bottle of water. Once again the Cuban hand was in my pocket. Watched a subtitled shoot 'em up flick and a dubbed James Bond movie. Bond (Brosman) and Judy Dench are just not themselves in Spanish. In the beginning the music videos blared and I was greatful to have my Bluetooth headset. Finally upon arrival (16 hours) I climbed under the luggage compartment and extracted my bike, assembled the seat and front wheel, loaded up and road several kilometers to Yani's where she fed me peanut butter and bread avec cerveza. Her friend across the street put me up for the night; tomorrow and the next I move back to Yani's casa. Tomorrow, I go shopping for coffee beans, a Havana hat and a Cuba flag, maybe some rum as well.

Days 26

Yani put me up at a neighbor's casa particulari, slept like I was dead. The casa next door had at one point been a nice place but over 60 years of neglect has taken its toll. Met and English couple staying at her place, fun guy, turned me on to an English hat maker. I want a linen pork pie hat. Spent the morning disassembling the bike and packing everything.. I am heading home! Yano and I cruised the tourist district and witnessed the standard issue tourists thinking they were experiencing Cuba..not. A craft beer in a converted open dockside warehouse, government owned, had decent dark beer with mediocre food. I was too Hungary to care, just as long to could have a cervasa. The government thinks they can do it all but it falls short just about in every category. Purchase a Cuba flag and a halve kilo of java beans. Prices were outrageous. Bargainer as best we could. We worked our way back to real Cuba. Yani cooked me dinner, I bought the beer. Wonderful person with strong a desire to improve her life, taking a huge financial gamble to do so. We discussed her plans and life. Getting into mind of a Cuban was an eye opener.

Day 27

A day to shop, to buy those items on the list of must have Cuban item. Yani turned me on to a huge market where the deals were. Walked part way and flagged down a bicitaxi the remainder of the way. Impressed that I had bicycled Cuba, he suggested I take his place. I made him the tourist as I did the pedaling, funny for both of us. I could biked for several blocks. He was amazed that a tourist had the legs to do the job, a first for both of us. The market was a zoo of small vendors selling the same old tourist crap but did manage to score a cool Havana pork pie hat. Also found a guy who had a woman hat maker who can make a custom hat. Yani will work the deal so I don't get hosed. Found a good artist section and picked three small prints. Met a very interesting guy (a physiologist) selling the art. Once again another highly educated person who had to settle for much less to make ends meet. So much talent in Cuban gone to waste. With the goods in hand, I wove my way back into real Cuba where I had lunch at two left food stands. Looking like a tourist but paying in pesos drew some curious looks. Throughout the day I took a good look at all the deteriorating buildings, documented it. A tragedy in the works, old Havana had such charm. With every living in the edge, only a few buildings have been maintained. Once home I washed my shorts for my trip back to the states tomorrow. Yani's Casa has been my regfuge from the madness of Cuba. She stored my bags while I was on the road. Payback, I took her Out in the town. Via some communal taxis of old American cars we made our way over to a nice restaurant, pulled out the stops, red wine and dessert included. Yani took up to a bar on the thirty-third floor for a drink and good music. Service sucked but rum mellowed me out. The restaurant and bar had never used an American credit card that worked, I was the first! Tomorrow is lift off, I am so real to leave Cuba; an experience I will never forget.

Day 28.

(Lost a couple of days somewhere) Up early, the same cab and driver drove me to the airport, three hours to spare, remember this is Cuba. Here the aggravation began. Checking in at JetBlue, they required payment in CUCs. For my luggage. Assuming an American airline would use dollars, I was surprised and irritated that the Cuban government was once again bleeding tourists of their money. I had to go to the currency exchange and wait for over forty five minutes after their official opening time to get the 85 CUCs. Finally got checked in, went through security and bought a bottle Rum to rid myself of the worthless Cuban currency. I thought about opening the when I reached Boston. Walked aboard, America at least. Lift off, praise Jesus! I am kissing the ground when I land in Fort Lauderdale. Cuba is one screwed up country.