I spent so much time yesterday looking for a creative route form La Fortuna to the Pacific Coast. I, of course, learned that just because there is a line on the map, it doesn’t mean that there is a rideable road there. Leaving La Fortuna the weather was perfect. 77º and mostly clear skies. Making my way up into the mountains the road was so fun. Narrow, tight and with little traffic. Some days you just get into the zone. Harmonizing the balance of the bike, road, brain and body. Today, I was carving perfection as Tiggrr and I roared though the canyons. About mid-day the road, which had been very nicely paved all morning, became broken and pot-holed. The grade became absurdly steep. The pavement ended and turned into marbles. “Marbles” is a biker term for a road with a thin layer of loose gravel on top of a hard-packed road. It feels like riding on marbles. In this case the road was covered with river stones so it was EXACTLY like riding on marbles. I was doing more sliding than driving. I came around a bend and the road dropped off so steeply I could not see over the lip of the fall line. I didn’t have much traction as it was and I was not sure if I would have any braking purchase going down that slope. I saw a driveway and bailed out. It’s a good thing I did because I walked down and inspected the road and there was no way I would have stayed upright. In fact, I could not believe a wheeled vehicle could possibly make it up that loose pitch and I know I would have ended up in a heap trying to descend it. I checked my maps and rerouted. It turned out that I would have about 8 miles of hair raising adventure before hitting bigger road. The alternate road was roughly paved but the pitches were so steep I had to stand on the pegs, grip the tank with my knees and lean as far forward as possible just to keep the front wheel in contact with the road. Anytime there was a patch of gravel or dirt on the road the rear wheel would immediately break traction and spin. When it would bite again the front wheel would lift and I would ride 4-5 bike lengths in a controlled wheelie before touching down again. I could not let up on the throttle or I would risk stalling. On a grade this steep I might not be able to restart from a dead stop. Okay.. that was 20 minutes of my life that I won’t soon forget. I did reach a bigger road and things got easier for a bit. Once reaching the lowlands the traffic became unbelievably heavy and it was hot. I joined in with other bikes riding on the cramped shoulder, passing hundreds of cars over about 50 miles. It takes a long time to go 50 miles at 20mph and I can’t imagine how long it would take for most of those cars. When I reached Quepos, I started looking for some camping sites that I had researched. None of them panned out. Either they were now closed or I simply could not find them. While I was stopped and thinking about my plan B, a man came up and asked if I needed some help. I told him I was looking for a place to camp. He said, “you can camp anywhere in Costa Rica… especially on the beach. You shouldn’t do that though because it isn’t safe. You need to be careful!”. Noted. He went on to recommend a place that he knew of a little north of Quepos. I looked it up on Google and sure enough there was a place. I thanked him and set off. About 10 miles later I turned off the main road onto a gravel road which then turned into a swamp. I proceeded through several slippery mud holes for bit but it got worse. I eventually came to a green-brown watery hole about 20 feet long. I decided that I had better walk it before riding it. I found out that It was knee deep as the muddy water swamped in over the top of my riding boots. It was a mud hole too far. I turned around. Unfortunately when I was recrossing a hole on my way out I chose a different line and what a mistake… Tiggrr quickly sank up the axils in greasy clay. I was up to my knees in water. I could not roll forward or back. When I tried to apply throttle the bike just wanted to sink deeper. I was stuck bad. I couldn’t even dismount because there was nothing for the kickstand to rest on. I killed the bike. I took off my riding jacket, gloves and helmet. I drank some water and tried to calm my mind. I was sooooo hot! Then… in the distance… I heard the distinctive pop, pop, pop of a single cylinder motorbike coming my way. Sure enough, around the bend came a young man, his wife and their daughter. Three-up on a 125cc Suzuki. “Yo necesito ayuda por favor” (I need help please). They laughed and said my bike was “demasiado gorda!” (too fat!). I laughed. That’s true. They both kicked off their shoes and jumped into the mud pond to give me a push. I dismounted to lighten the bike, controlling the throttle and clutch as I pushed. The bike jolted suddenly as it caught traction. In an effort to steady the bike I lost my footing and went for a full on swim. Regaining my feet, it only took one more big push and the bike came free. We chatted for a few minutes and they told me about a different camping place about a half-hour up the main road. I thanked them profusely and gave everyone a muddy high five. They piled back on their tiny bike and rode off. Thirty minutes later, I rolled into a nice camp near the beach just as the sun was setting. I pulled off my mud-caked riding gear and headed for the shower.