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| GringoBus |
It had started a year earlier when my friend, Mike, told me about a
contest being held by Mens Journal
magazine, suggesting we both enter. “I’m not a beach guy,” I told him, “and I
don’t really feel like putting together a video of myself; that’s too much
work.” Mike proceeded without me and when it was ready, he showed me a well done
but simple sequence of still photos that ended with him riding his bike into the
camera and asking, “which way to Puerto Rico?” To provide contrast, he asked
this question to the camera on his urban neighborhood street in Washington, DC
with cops speeding past in the background, lights flashing. It was paradoxical,
interesting and funny and the entire video looked simple to produce.
Before long I had produced my own video, just like Mike’s,
of me climbing and paddling whitewater. I laced together a slideshow
of my favorite moments captured on film and ended it, just as Mike had, with
the question, “which way to Puerto Rico?” I'm posting it here, despite its embarrassingness.
It worked. Mike and I were both picked as contestants for
the Explore Puerto Rico Challenge.
We’d be going to Puerto Rico along with a third entry to compete in a host of
events “such as mountain biking, caving, ropes, snorkeling and swimming,
surfing, and paddle boarding, as well as other activities.” I'm fairly certain that not many others entered the contest, because another friend was coincidentally there shooting photographs.
Paddle boarding?
Snorkeling? I live in Pennsylvania and I play in the mountains. I had
sworn off caving years ago after being jammed into a
cave that tapered down to about14 inches of vertical space. I remembered that and freaked out. I considered
a polite thanks-but-no-thanks but my travel-savvy wife would have no part of it. It was about
time, she encouraged me, that I have an adventure outside the Appalachian
Mountains. The prize, an all-expenses
paid return trip for two, may have had something to do with her pressure.
Trash-talking began, well promoted by the writing staff
for MJ. I was asked for a few
comments and somehow I replied with this signature line: “in the pure sense of
adventure, the one to finish first is often the one leading the others.” This
was published in the magazine even before the competition and I was
relentlessly prodded.
“Isn’t that like saying, ‘the team with the most points
wins,’” my brother Marc asked me.
“Sure, but I didn’t want to come off sounding arrogant.”
"I think you came off sounding like a knucklehead."
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| Zak |
The third competitor, Zak, had said “I’m in the best shape
of my life and I’m ready to dominate the competition.” After reading this, I
was happy with my knucklehead remark. But, Zak was not lying and judging by his
photo he could finger-flick my head off. And, he was well-versed in something
I’d never heard of: Cross-Fit. I Googled it. “This guy’s going to crush me.”
After a late night flight and 5 am wake up in San Juan, the groggy team saddled up. Each day of the competition began with a gas station breakfast. Then, the next 6 – 10 hours were
spent driving to a location and then waiting around for cameras and other
equipment to be positioned. There were production assistants, photographers, and cameramen. There was a sound guy. And, there was even a host, a nice guy named Zay Harding (Google him; he's been around). Then, there were three people to tell all of those people what to do.
Mike, Zak, and I became comrades in those hours of waiting.
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| Waiting |
At a pre-competition meeting we were given schedule of
events. Day one would be a mountain bike race.
Day two’s stages would include “river navigation,” climbing, rappelling, and
caving. The third day’s races would include snorkeling, running, and sea
kayaking. Paddle-boarding did not make the list, but somebody said the ‘c’
word, and I was already shaking.
“There’s no way I’m getting in a goddamn cave,” I told Mike.
We were also given a point system and I deduced that could completely
tank the caving event altogether and as long as I mostly swept the others I
could win the free return trip. This last bit, sweeping, didn’t seem all that
likely when I looked at Zak.
And we were off.
On Puerto Rico’s west coast lies the center of the island’s
surf scene, the small town of Rincon. At a popular break called the Domes, the beach is shaded by a thick forest
riddled with mountain bike trails. Those trails were closed all day long for our three-dude event. The three of us were each given a junker of a mountain bike
and told to let ‘er rip.
“I’m worried I’ll break this bike,” I told one of the
production assistants.
“Go ahead,” he replied, and pointed to a nearby truck
holding about twenty more brand-new junkers. "We've got it covered." I pulled out a bike tool and began to adjust the bike to my liking.
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| Entering the forest at the Domes |
The race against Mike and Zak took several hours, far less time than we spent waiting around for the race to begin. It was
worth the wait. I’ve been mountain biking since around the time mountain bikes
were new. I’ve sought out singletrack gold in the
mountains all over the Central Appalachians and now live adjacent to (arguably) the best single track in the area. But, coming out of thick woods
after blazing through rooted and rocky descents and steep, healthy climbs to see
a crystal clear 8-foot pipeline crashing over coral and sand was otherworldly.
The sea winds cooled me off on my way to another loop through the Domes trails and to another lap in the
mountain bike race. At the end of the race, we thanked the local bike shop support
and our electronic caravan of lights, cameras, and microphones headed to
the nearest dive for local gastro-cultural bliss.
To be continued. . . .
Next Part: Enjoying the island's mountainous interior and dropping 125 feet out of a hole in a rock.
Photos by Ryan Bair
(except the first one, which was hijacked from the Internet, and the video, which I made and it's supposed to like amateur work, honest)
Git r Dun!
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| Now You're Waiting |
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