If you had told me a few years ago that I would set my alarm for 4:10 a.m. and when it rang, instead of grumpily tapping the snooze button, I would eagerly get out of bed to put on my swimsuit in anticipation of catching great waves, I would have said, “You be crazy!” But that is exactly what I did this morning. Even crazier, Michael (whose nickname in the water is “La Maquina” aka The Machine) stayed in bed. This sunrise adventure was all on me.
First, this pre-dawn beach bunny needs breakfast fuel. A reheat of yesterday’s coffee stored in an insulated carafe, a medley of banana, coconut, papaya, and star fruit (all grown on our property) is topped off with yogurt and granola (made from scratch). For an extra energy boost I pop a couple of toasted cacao beans harvested from our young trees. Breakfast consumed? “Check!” Water bottle filled? “Check!” Surf gear packed? “Check!” I head to the garage.
Hearing the clanking of the rollup garage door attracts our dog Pinta’s attention. She stands on the second floor balcony outside our bedroom to observe me park my e-Bike on the gravel within the pool of light from the garage. I hear her padding down the stairs. Before she sprints away to track an intriguing scent and announce her discovery to the whole neighborhood with a 200 db howl, I capture her with collar and leash. We walk sedately down the driveway to open the front gate while my eyes are intent on every shadow; no need to meet any slithering creatures this early in the morning. After attaching her to a long line on the terrace, I return to the warm light of the garage. I wax my body board and slide it into the rack attached to the bike’s seat post. My fins slide next to the board and I affix them securely with bungee cords. Checking that the bike’s battery is fully charged, I turn on my head and tail lights, don my helmet and elbow pads, and head down the hill to the gate.
Just outside our front gate is steep hill that leads up to the neighborhood road. This hill is so steep that I dismount and walk up. The bike weighs approximately 70 pounds and pushing it up the hill without assistance wouldn’t work for me. Fortunately, the bike’s motor has a setting for walking speed. I scramble up the hill at 6 kms an hour, trying to keep pace with my surging bike. At the crest of the hill, a little out of breath, I mount it and with a little boost from the motor glide forward on the grass-covered lane. Passing our neighbors’ house, their four dogs commit to their assigned duty of notifying the world that there is an intruder on the perimeter of their domain with a cacophony of barking..
To reach the main road I have to traverse four undulating hills, on gravel that is a mixture of small sharp-edged crushed stone and larger rounded rocks. On the first steep descent I pump the brakes rapidly and remind myself to breathe. I ride this route almost every day, yet the slippery consistency of the gravel still makes me nervous. The first time that I rode my shiny new e-Bike on this road I squeezed the brakes too hard and the rear tire slid out. I landed on my right side, scraping my elbow and leaving a large contusion on my thigh. Since then I have refined my braking technique to avoid any baseball-sized stones in my path.
The road is illuminated by my headlight beam and the tall thin weeds that edge the road throw spindly shadows. I whisper to myself, “Pump, breathe, pump, breathe, pump, breathe” as the gravel grinds under my tires. Ascending to the highest point of the four hills the vista to the east opens wide and the distant sky is wash of fuscia of the sunrise, jaggedly torn at the bottom edge by mountain peaks.
Our neighborhood road tees into the main road where a lonely streetlight casts a sodium yellow glow over the intersection. I give a glance for traffic and roll onto the asphalt. This road is designated by the Costa Rican government as a federal highway and after decades of poorly graded gravel, MOPT (federal Ministry of Transportation) came along with heavy equipment and huge trucks of road material. After some rudimentary repairs they laid down a thin layer of asphalt, but no center line, no reflectors, no shoulder. After the road was paved last summer I had the confidence to ride my bike down to the beach. During the last two years, M has ridden his bike on the twisting rutted gravel road where a vehicle can round one of the tight curves taking their half from the middle many times . But for me, even on the asphalt, my first few rides down to the beach were white knuckle trips. Literally. My hands were gripping the brakes so tightly I wore down my first set of brakes. The Rainy Season downpours have undermined the shoddy paving work and the road surface is now deteriorating daily. Cutting corners by not engineering good drainage has resulted in the run-off creating strut-mangling craters and wheel rim bending pot holes. The smooth ride of six months ago is now a teeth-rattling whack-a-mole game of swerving around holes while avoiding other motorized traffic. Dark shadows from over hanging trees make the holes harder to see and I ride with caution as my headlight highlights hazards in its beam. A brief flash of cobalt catches my eye as a blue morpho butterfly flits alongside.
The sky lightens as I park my bike next to a cabina at Fish Camp. It’s mid-tide and I tuck my board under my arm as I briskly walk the half kilometer down the black sand beach to a spot where I like to paddle out. There is a Great Blue Heron standing tall at the edge of the lapping water when I wade in. The waves are small today and I enjoy floating in the soft swells. Eventually the current and my lazy swimming drifts me the half kilometer back to where my bike is parked. My happy triathlon of biking, walking, and floating complete, I wade out of the water under a crystal blue sky.
When I think about it, I barely recognize the person that I am, though I realize that I am happily the person that I want to be.
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