Honduras

Roasting marshmallows over a camp stove (don´t worry mom, it´s unleaded gas)

The highway near San Marcos, the one in Honduras

Let me see, is the hot on the left or the right?

For the past days we have had the sublime pleasure of staying with Liz, a friend of Sean, who lives in San Marcos, a little town in Honduras. She and her wonderful friends have made these days so great. The food and conversations and roof and shower define hospitality. When you read some of what Sean and Landon have written about our time here, you will know why we plan to come back when we return through Central America. Tomorrow we resume traveling. I will miss this place.

On a trip like this, not everything goes as planned. Some of the possibilities can even wake you up in the middle of the night. Larry, a friend who likes to travel ´close to the earth´, put it well when he said that people sign up for the travel tours because they don´t want any surprises. The problem is that they eliminate most of the good surprises as well as the bad. Well, here is an example of the kind of surprise that keeps the group travel industry in business.

We were just coming out of the mountains, minding our own business, driving down the first straight patch of highway at about 45 miles per hour (which is actually a daunting speed after spending five hours doing hairpin curves) . All of the sudden I was startled by what sounded like a mower shredding a tree stump on the left. I applied the brakes and looked in the mirror. There was my left saddle bag, filled with cooking and camping gear, sliding face down on the pavement, like it was trying to pass me on the road. I felt like a parent, exasperated at such an act of disobedience but grateful that we were not being met by an oncoming lumber truck. We came to a stop, side by side, both a little worse for the wear. I´ve learned to be more careful when attaching the luggage, and I use a bungee cord now.

Perhaps the least appreciated of the senses is smell. I´ve been asked ¨If you had to give up one of your senses would it be seeing or hearing?¨ I´ve never been asked ¨Which would you rather loose, your ability to see or to smell.¨ But I´m guessing that fragrances more important than we realize, maybe because we are largely unaware of them. It´s almost like an ambush. Some experts say that falling in love has to do more with fragrance than appearance.

One of the reasons I still ride on two wheels, even after a serious accident, is because it lets you get in on the smells. We were riding through a mountain village a few days ago and passed a truck loaded with freshly cut lumber. The aroma was transporting. It carried me away to lumber yards and new houses, cedar chests, childhood toys and furniture stores. I would have missed that if I would have been riding around in a bus. I would have passed the gardenias and ears of corn simmering in uncovered pots without even noticing. I would never have known that grilled chicken was being served in the house on the corner. I´ve realized that nothing says ¨Come on in¨ better than passing a hotel smelling of PineSol. And nothing says ¨We´re getting ready to go somewhere¨ like the vapors of a choked motor.

All these are missed if the AC is cranked up and you´re looking through glass. And what the nose picks up doesn´t have to be appealing. If your on a bike even the dead horse on the side of the road still has the power to give you something. The smell has what it takes to get through with the reminder that life is short and, except for the tender mercy of God, you really can´t count on too many things in this life. In the heavenly city, with its streets of gold, I'm hoping we don´t have to take a cab to get where we need to go. We would miss the fragrance of the charcoal fires in the kitchens, the new wine uncorked for breathing, the Jasmine hanging from the pearly gates, the incense and freshly laundered garments being pressed for the celebration.

Anyway, that´s why I still ride a bike.

Enough of that for now.