Pointbreaks and Breakdown Lanes

Breaking Ryan’s rule of “never crossing borders after 4pm”, we slipped into El Salvador around sunset and peddled hard for the first discernable town. The civil engineers in El Salvador were either claustrophobic, had extra budget, or both, because they built some generously wide breakdown lanes. Wide, marked, and relatively pothole free, these lanes were used by horses, pedestrians, tuk tuks, unroadworthy vehicles, farmers drying maize, and the occasional bike tourist peddling hard for the safety of a hotel room. 

As twlight set in, a man called out from a group, “Hey Gringo!”. Nothing out of the ordinary here; Ryan grinned, made an indecisive peace / shaka hand gesture, and got ready to graciously acknowledge his newest Central American fan. Then the man lifed his hand in the form of a gun, pointed it at us, and said “bang bang” with a malicious laugh. Ryan quickly killed the fledgling peace / shaka sign and managed a meek “really?” as we sped out of shooting range. 

Normally this wouldn’t be troubling. People do and say some really odd things when they see us riding through. But, situationally, it was a bit unnerving. You see, El Salvador has a bit of a PR problem. Despite its volcanoes, coffee, beaches, and breakdown lanes, it’s known more for competing with its neighbors for top spot on the homicides-per-capita list. In fact, if homicide rates were basketball, Central America would be the Warriors. If only they could sign Venezuela (LeBron James) in free agency, they’d have the dream team. I digress. The man with the finger gun made for a bad first impression that was only eased by the 12 pupusas Ryan ate for dinner. Welcome to El Salvador, gringo. 

The Waves

Pupusa fueled, we made the trip to El Salvador’s undulating coastline in record time. Ryan was thrilled to discover that bhind every bend in the road lay another perfect right-hand pointbreak. This is meaningless to me, of course, but given the number of times he stopped to gawk at the ocean, Ryan seemed to care. We were also moving fast because Ryan’s long lost travel buddy, Mikey D, was due to arrive in San Salvador and join us, er, Ryan, for some surfing, catching up, and general bro time. Meanwhile, I was to receive a new tire (thanks, Mike) and spend my week in an air conditioned ocean-facing room. I liked the deal. 

Unfortunately, Mikey D’s alarm clock failed to work and he missed his 5am flight. While there may have been contributing factors for Mikey D in the predawn hours before the flight, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was user error. So, Ryan waited, alone, with a perfect beachbreak and pointbreak setup on his doorstep for 3 whole days while Mikey D scrambled to get on the next available flight. Witnessing all of this, I must say that it was outright suffering. How much solo surfing can a man do before he just loses it? 

Mikey D arrived just in time with his enviable board quiver, great hair, and huge smile. Missed flights and reservation changes were behind both of the Rhode Islanders now, and they wasted no time in getting in the water and swapping stories of surfing Mexico in the 2000’s. For the next 5 days the duo traversed Northwest El Salvador sampling the best waves and fish dishes. They even added a German and New Jerseyite to their ranks that formed a formidable gringo block in the lineup. I believe the name “The 4 Musketeers” was proposed over celebratory beers but later forgotten, thankfully. 

At long last Ryan said goodbye to the air conditioning and Mikey D. The open road was beckoning and Mikey D would finally get all the lefts his heart desired. Plus, there was one more stop on the El Salvadorian itinerary and Ryan wanted to make it there in time for the new swell. 

If only he could have the desire for waves on-demand, Ryan would be a formidable cyclist. Seriously, I’ve never felt the man peddle so furiously. We shot down the coast in a mere two days and easily conquered the 10km of the eroded and rocky “road” that led out to the famed Punta Mango. The waves did not disappoint. When the boatful of Brazilians weren’t dominating the lineup with their intense version of machismo, Ryan and a few others had the world-class pointbreak all to themselves. With good food, pumping surf, and first rate local hospitality, the “bang bang” incident was but a distant memory. 

Honduras

If Guatemala was a fling then Honduras qualifies as a one night stand. Within 24 hours of entering the country, we were exiting into seemingly tranquil Nicaragua. In those hours, 135km of the Pan American highway were traversed. Despite the multiple warnings, it was a pleasant and relatively uneventful ride. The only notable thing was a brief rainstorm that forced Ryan to pull us off the road. Within seconds, a man in a nearby hut summoned Ryan inside his dry, modest home. The man gave Ryan the honored seat of his hammock while the whole family sat around and lightly interrogated the dripping wet gringo. When it was finally clear, Ryan said goodbye to his newly acquired Honduran family and continued peddling towards the border. 

Deep down, I suspect Ryan is more of a long term relationship kind of guy, and leaving Honduras so soon after meeting it felt wrong. Perhaps once Honduras starts taking better care of itself and gives up it’s #1 spot on the homicide list, we’ll come back for some snorkeling, pupusas, and jungle hikes. Until then, southward we go.