There have been moments on this trip when it honestly feels as though the travel gods are smiling on us – moments when I just look at Dave and say “Can you believe this is actually happening? What did we do to deserve this luck?” In equal measure though, there are times when I say these exact same words….but not because the gods are smiling on us. These last three days have definitely brought us to both extremes.

After leaving, Nebaj, we headed for Lanquin, home to a few of the most beautiful but little visited tourist attractions in Guatemala. The reason few tourists make it out this way? Well, let’s just say the road isn’t exactly a superhighway….much of the route is unpaved, single track and in poor condition. There are zonas de tumulos (man-made speed bumps), zonas de hundimiento (cave-ins and sinkholes), and areas where parts of the road have been covered by landslides. Little is done to repair these areas but a sign is sometimes posted to give us a heads up on what we’re in for (there may also be rocks placed in front of areas where the road has fallen away). On this trek out, we were lucky enough to encounter a never before seen sign: “zona de derrumbas”. As Dave drove on, I found “derrumbarse” in my dictionary: collapse, crumble, cave in, go to rack and ruin, fall apart at the seams…as I read this aloud, Dave calmly nodded and asserted his agreement that this was indeed an apt description of the “road” we were on.

Nevertheless, we made slow progress and ultimately reached our destination. At the park gates, we met Carlos, a happy-go-lucky guide who found us a great little campsite beside the river just outside the famous Lanquin bat cave. When I asked about showers, he gleefully answered “Of course, you can shower in the river!” We laughed and signed on for three days, happy to be parked for a while. Carlos tried hard to sell us on his “extreme tour” of the bat cave or his “extreme tour” of Semuc Champey but, after the drive, the most we were up for was a good nap. We spent the rest of the day relaxing and hanging out with the young family who ran a makeshift snack shop by the cave. They were incredibly friendly and open. I was feeling a little homesick and sharing dinner with these lovely people definitely helped. The young boy and little girl reminded me so much of my nephew and niece, Ian and Ivy.

The only real excitement that day came when a bus full of Guatemalan tourists came to see the cave. After the tour, we were visiting and sharing photos with a few of them when one fellow asked to have his picture taken with us. We happily obliged, not realizing what this would set off. All the others seemed to think this was a grand idea and insisted on their own photo with the two “Canadienses”. Once again, we unwittingly became a tourist attraction and sat there nearly blinded, as flash after flash went off, with a new person slipping in to each photo. The fellow that started it all just laughed and joked that we should be charging $5 per photo. After that, a few of them wanted to see our little house so I sat back and watched as Dave “toured” them through our tiny space.

The next day we were refreshed. We explored the town in the afternoon and, when we returned to camp, we allowed Carlos to sell us on both of his extreme tours. We would see the bat cave at dusk and spend all of the following day at Semuc Champey. He was pleased and we were looking forward to the adventure.

We had heard that the bat cave (formally known as “Grutas de Lanquin”) was incredible but it honestly surpassed any and all expectations I may have had. Estimated to house more than a million bats, the massive cave system is shrouded in darkness and stocked full of stalactites, stalagmites, and named limestone formations (we were shown everything from the dog and the whale to the penis, the virgin and “the American symbol” – aka the middle finger). Carlos definitely delivered on his promise of an extreme experience. With only headlights to guide us, we scrambled across slippery limestone surfaces, climbing up and down near vertical walls with ambiguous hand and footholds. We did notice that Carlos felt the need to show us all the extreme nooks and crannies in the cave. He seemed to periodically venture off course to show us some little known formation or in pursuit of a particularly large spider. The real treat, however, came as feeding time approached. At dusk, the bats leave the cave. Given the massive number of bats, this exodus takes approximately 3 hours and is nothing short of spectacular. We stood there and watched as the walls literally came alive. Bats took flight and within minutes we were surrounded by a cloud of bats. I could hear the collective flapping of wings, feel the rush of air as they passed by. It was an experience that will live forever in my memory.

When the next morning rolled around, I honestly didn’t think Semuc Champey had any hope of equalling the previous day’s experience but Carlos would certainly do his best. I was a little concerned when our bus arrived. The driver immediately hopped out, crawled under the front end and started pounding away. This apparently resolved the problem and we were quickly on our way. The bus also struggled on a few steep hills. Just as it was about to power out, a young boy would hop out and throw sand under the tires to provide much needed traction. Before long, we arrived and we started out the day with another cave tour. The Kan’ba caves are recommended for adrenaline junkies and now I understand why. Tours here are run without hard hats or headlights and instead of climbing over limestone, you swim one handed while holding a candle aloft. We found our way to an underground waterfall, climbed it and explored a series of pools. At some points, we would watch in awe as Carlos would lead us to places and simply tell us to jump into the pool below…or whiz down the natural limestone slide and into the pool. Never before have I had to put so much faith in a complete stranger. It was scary, exhilarating and incredible. He even painted our faces with soot in the symbols of the compass (traditional Mayan markings, he assured us). Little did I know I would be wearing this war paint for the remainder of the day.

After surviving the cave, Carlos led us over to the river swing. Here, we got the chance to hop onto a 50 foot (100 foot?) swing that sailed out over the Cahabon River. At the peak of the swing, the rider could leap off and jump into the water. It was a serious thrill but the real trick was to manage a clean entry. Dave’s second jump wasn’t bad but both of my attempts left my belly and thighs red and stinging.

After assuring Carlos that I was okay moving on without perfecting my technique, he took us to the Semuc Champey pools. Here, we bore witness to one of the most incredible natural phenomena I have ever even heard of. At this location, a 300 m limestone bridge is suspended above the Cahabon gorge. Atop this bridge is a series of stepped, turquoise pools. The water in the pools is direct runoff from pristine mountain streams, making for unbelievable swimming conditions. It is also pretty incredible to see this raging river effectively disappear beneath tranquil pools. We enjoyed a short steep hike up to the lookout point and even spotted a few toucans before hopping in to enjoy the water. In the pools, Carlos showed us a few sites we may never have found on our own including the hidden “love cave” that required something of a leap of faith to find. Following his cue we ducked beneath a limestone curtain and emerged inside a small, surprisingly bright cave. I suspect the sunlight must penetrate the walls enough to create this effect.

We rounded out the day with a great meal and waited for our ride back to camp. As we waited, we were provided with some entertainment as we watched a pickup cross the local “bridge”. With numerous boards missing, Dave and I had assumed this was now a pedestrian-only crossing and pretty dicey even on foot. Not so. In true Guatemalan fashion, there was a sign acknowledging that the bridge was in a poor state. It was technically still open for business but users were advised to cross slowly and use caution. Luckily, this truck came equipped with a few narrow planks which were used to fill the bigger gaps as it crept along. It was not until it crossed that we realized it was to be our ride back. At Carlos’ cue, Dave and I hopped up into the back and psyched ourselves up for the 45 minute ride. After some experimentation, we both opted for the standing position as this was considerably easier on the rear end. The truck was faster than the bus we rode down in. Even with a few stops to let local farmers on and off, it rocketed down the road and managed to shave a good 10 minutes off our previous time.

At the end of the day, Dave and I arrived home happy and tired and a bit dazed at all we had done. We realized that neither of us had signed a waiver or used any type of safety equipment. Such an experience would never be possible back home in Canada.

Now that I’ve covered off the “how are we this lucky?” component of the last three days (I prefer to focus on the positive), I’ll hand things to Dave so he can describe how the fates brought us crashing back to earth the very next day….

After a good night’s rest, we were up early to head for Rio Dulce. We expected a fairly big day of travel so we were on the road before 8:00. Initially, it seemed like we were making good time as we managed to backtrack the rough 11 kilometers from Lanquin to the main road in less than ½ hour. However, we soon came to a construction road block which we apparently couldn’t pass until noon. We consulted the map and estimated that diverting around the block would take at least 2 ½ hours on some pretty rotten roads. We had already driven much of this road a few days previous and were in no hurry to revisit the famed “zona de derrumbas”. We decided to wait it out; I pulled out our lawn chairs and books and we settled in. A few other vehicles gradually joined us and we had the opportunity to visit with some locals and were generally having an enjoyable time. By 11:00, several collectivos had pulled up and parked directly in front of the barricade. Shortly thereafter, some heavy construction equipment needed to pass out of the zone and chose the path of least resistance. Rather than getting the recently arrived collectivos to move, the dozer proceeded towards our truck, with arms waving and horns blasting, insisting we move out of their way. It upset me (Kristel’s edit: by upset, Dave really means that he was completely livid and in no way happy to cooperate) and, before moving the truck, a construction foreman who seemed to understand English got a verbal lashing from me about their lack of planning and enforcement.

We finally got underway again at noon and found the road was probably one of the worst we had come across yet. Making matters worse, we were soon pulled over by the military for what was perhaps our most thorough inspection to date. The officers were polite and friendly, but this additional delay wasn’t exactly appreciated. We started talking about alternatives to stop for the night as our progress was slow and making Rio Dulce seemed less and less likely. I probably pushed the truck harder than I should have on what was a really rough road. Not only was it narrow and winding (to which we are now fairly accustomed), this road was covered in jagged 6 inch rocks. With my pushing, we covered this ugly 20 kilometer stretch in less than 2 hours.

Luckily, the pavement began sooner than expected, and we were both relieved. Unfortunately, this relief was short lived. As we reached the pavement, the truck sounded terrible and felt even worse. There was clearly a problem so I pulled over. We got out to find the right rear tire shredded with a big cut in the side wall. It was clear there would be no repairing that tire. By this time we were in the heat of the day and the only blessing was that the flat was on the side with a little shade and we were on pavement and not the horrible rocks. I dug out the tools and jacks. Loosened the lugs and decided to get the spare out from under the rear of the truck before jacking the truck up. As I released the spare, my heart sank. I could see it was virtually flat. A quick check with the gauge showed only 10 psi. There was no way we could run the truck on that.

We had brought a good air compressor with us but it had (Murphy’s Law) been stolen during the break-in in Mexico. Luckily, Kristel had convinced me to buy another one a few weeks earlier when we were shopping in a Walmart-esque store. It looked like a piece of crap and I wasn’t convinced it was even worth the $10 asking price but in the end I was swayed. Kristel said something along the lines of “if we don’t, and need it, we’ll regret it” and I knew she was right. That cheap little pump managed to get the tire form 10 to 26 psi before it started smoking and sounding like it was about to seize. It was not the 40 psi I prefer for hauling the camper but it would allow us to move slowly and hopefully find some help. Had we not had that compressor, we would have been in a real pickle.

We limped into the next village (Kristel’s edit: actually about 7 houses in close proximity) where the “tire shop” was a kid, 12 or maybe 14 years old, fixing bicycle tires. When I asked about a compressor he ran and grabbed an ancient bicycle pump. I told him I needed 40 psi and he said he could do it. A group of bystanders (primarily kids) soon gathered and he had one of them squeeze the hose at the base of the pump so it didn’t leak and started pumping away in the hot sun. The needle on the pump gauge bounced wildly but he claimed he was making progress. I wasn’t sure. With the leaky hose, we even feared this endeavour might make matters worse. However, as the clamp blew off my tire stem, he claimed he was close. I grabbed my gauge and sure enough it was 40 psi. I shook his hand and asked what I owed him. He asked for the equivalent of about 90 cents but we left a good tip.

The boys directed us to “Fray” (Fray Bartolome de las Casas) for a more permanent tire fix and off we went. Ten minutes down the road, we pulled into the first tire shop we saw and found a great bunch of guys. They had no tires exactly the same size as ours but did have a new one that would fit but it was slightly taller and narrower. I didn’t want to run unmatched tires so opted to have them to put the new tire on my spare rim and put my spare tire on the chrome rim and run with it. They had us in and out in less than ½ hour and we shared a bunch of laughs while we were there. Kristel had headed next door to buy a six pack of beer to help ease a stressful day. Kristel and I each had a beer while they worked on the truck and tipped the tire shop guys with the rest of the pack.

We were on the road again with five seemingly healthy tires. The road continued to be excellent and we decided that, delays aside, we could still push for Rio Dulce. This decision was further reinforced by our inability to locate either of the alternatives we had identified earlier in the day. We somehow “missed” the town of Chahal and the swimming resort of Las Conchas. Looking back, these may have been a gathering of a few huts and the small group of people swimming in the river, respectively. In any case, the hoped-for “Best Western” did not materialize.

We managed to pull into Bruno’s Hotel in Rio Dulce by 6:00. Firmly on the “map” of overlander havens, the hotel has good parking for RVs, a bar, restaurant and hot showers. We definitely felt ready to unwind but as we got out of the truck, our spirits sank as we spotted our sagging rear left tire! There was not much time before dark, so I got right at it and changed the tire. We would deal with the flat in the morning.

As soon as we were done, we headed for the bar for refreshments and food. We enjoyed a feast of garlic shrimp and I celebrated with a beer for each of the three flat tires. After a hot shower to clean away the grime from crawling under a truck in 35˚ C heat (several times), I crawled into bed and was soon fast asleep.

When I examined the flat tire the next day, I realized it was damaged beyond repair. It looked like someone had hit it with a pick axe so we scouted the town for tire shops. There were three; the first appeared to only handle bike tires, the next one appeared to be up to any challenge but had no equipment as we watched them tackle a tractor tire with bars and brute force. The last appeared acceptable and even had some new tires for sale. Unfortunately none of these would fit the truck but they did have a reasonably decent looking used one that just happened to match our spare. It was reasonably priced and would allow us to have four tires all the same size, front and back in matched pairs (not to mention our brand new spare) so we went for it. Once again, they had us on the road in less than ½ hour. What these shops lack in equipment and inventory, they make up for in service and effort!

We decided that with tires taken care of, we had earned a day of relaxation and catching up; so here we sit at the bar on the dock writing blogs and surfing the net. Life’s ups and downs are pretty easy to take with this view!