Após uma noite de semi-descanso – pois a liteira onde me deitei além de ser em medidas maias e de me deixar de pés retidos nos pés da cama, descobri a meio da noite, tinha uma das traves partida, pelo que me resolvi a mudar para um beliche mesmo em frente, que além de integro não apresentava limites o que me permitia esticar o corpo apesar dos meus pés ficarem de fora – acordámos bastante cedo para nos dirigirmos ao próximo obstáculo de que tomámos conhecimento no dia anterior. A estrada uns 4 km acima estava em obras e havia horários para o trânsito passar, pois além da maquinaria pesada, havia detonações de explosivos frequentes. Quando nos preparávamos para sair reparei que faltava um parafuso no ortlieb da frente da Sara, estando o gancho que estabiliza o alforge no suporte parcialmente solto. Tínhamos que seguir, mas a reparação era premente. Íamos chegar depois da hora à estrada em obras, e como tal relaxámos o ímpeto de ir e dei um jeito no alforge e fabriquei o apoio novo para a Sabrina. Saímos eram quase 8 da manhã.

Passámos a vila, onde já não éramos estranhos, e após a primeira curva na fronteira da vila iniciámos a subida. Era uma subida íngreme, e apesar de eu a conseguir fazer, a Sara ficou para trás empurrando a bina. Na primeira curta plataforma onde estava a gasolineira da vila, estavam também alguns homens da obra e, simpaticamente surpreendidos, iniciaram conversa connosco e informaram-nos que possivelmente nos deixariam passar.

Dali até ao ponto de controlo havia um troço algo plano, e assim que chegámos à barreira disseram-nos que se fossemos com cuidado podíamos passar, mas não passámos de imediato e aproveitámos a deixa para tomar um refresco e descansar um quarto de hora. A passagem foi menos problemática que a maioria dos troços dos anteriores dias. Conseguimos subir até ao topo, passámos a equipa de detonação que ligava cabos a cargas já enterradas, pelo que passámos mesmo  muito devagar, e daí descemos até ao fim do troço em obras, passando uma vila e alcançando a derradeira subida. Seria sempre a descer dali em diante.

Passada a aldeia, a estrada lançava-se de novo ao azul do céu a ponto de nos tirar a ambos do selim. Mas neste troço e até quase ao fim a Sara teve a ajuda do Aníbal, um curioso rapaz da montanha, que nos ajudava a empurrar a sua bicicleta e lhe fazia companhia enquanto eu ciclava a ladeira aos bochechos. Até que finalmente pudemos pedalar a subida toda e passado algum espaço, já na descida, a estrada estava alcatroada de novo. Mas foi apenas para nos irritar, que após 2 km, passado o cruzamento que alternativamente nos levaria a Cobán, a descida voltava a ser de pedra solta e sulcos e de pendente muito elevada. Havia que parar muitas vezes pois não havia como andar depressa e os travões estavam sempre oprimidos, e geralmente bastante. O meu aro da frente começava a evidenciar sinais de falência. Numa dessas paragens resolvemos fazê-la alargada, sentámo-nos, comemos um snack, e estudávamos no kindle o perfil da descida onde nos encontrávamos. Mas na partida falhou guardar o kindle, que ficou esquecido sobre a bagagem de trás da Sara e eventualmente caiu. Ela só se deu conta uns 2 ou 3 km mais abaixo e prontamente parámos um camião que subia para o ir procurar. Eu ficava com as binas e todos os pertences e a Sara iria em busca do kindle perdido. Cerca de três quartos de hora depois, voltava de mãos a abanar e semblante caído. A travessia das montanhas até ali tinha deixado o seu peso no nosso espírito e foi com a moral ferida que fizemos a restante descida. Havia apenas que subir a última encosta e chegámos a Lanquín, aldeia que serve de base para as visitas às grutas da região e a Semuc Champey.

Na nossa escolha inicial de hotel não havia vagas e fui ver a aldeia a pé enquanto a Sara guardava as binas. Tal era o estado de exaustão que queríamos evitar fazer qualquer metro a mais no empedrado que forrava as ruas. E foi no sítio mais ocidentalizado que encontrámos o refúgio ansiado, o Zephyr Lodge, um conjunto de palapas encavalitado no topo do monte sobraçando o vale do rio Lanquín. Um sítio idílico provendo (quase) todas as  necessidades de qualquer europeu ou gringo que segue as rotas turísticas das américas e que para nós foi a necessitada fuga das montanhas.

After a half-night rest – mostly because the litter where I layed had Mayan size and left me crouched at the foot of the bed, I found only at the middle of the night that one of the beams was broken, so I decided to change to a bunk right in front, which besides being structuraly sound, it had no foot limits, which allowed me to stretch the body even though my feet were off the bed – we woke up quite early to tackle to the next obstacle that we took knowledge of just the day before. The road about 4 km ahead was in construction and there was a schedule for the traffic to cross it, as besides the heavy machinery, there were frequent explosive detonations. As we prepared to leave I noticed that a bolt was missing on Sara’s front ortlieb pannier, being the hook that stabilizes it on the rack partially loose. We had to go, but the repair was priority. We’re going to arive after the closing hour at the road works, and as such we relaxed the going momentum and I managed to fix the pannier and made the new support for Sara’s Sabrina. We left it was almost 8 am.

We passed through the village, where we were no longer strangers, and after the first corner at the furtherst border of Campur village we started the climb. It was a steep climb, and although I was able to cycle, Sara stayed behind pushing the bike. In the first short platform where the village’s gas station’s was located, there were also some men from the road work which were surprised at our sight, started a conversation with us and told us that possibly we would be let through. From there to the point of control was a more or less leveled section, and once we reached the barrier we were told that if we were careful we could go through, but we did not crossed immediately and took the cue to drink a cold soda and rest for a quarter of an hour. The passage was less problematic than most sections of the previous days. We managed to climb to the top, passed the detonation team that connected the cables to the explosive loads already buried, where we went really slowly, and then went down to the end of the work section, past a village and reaching the final ascent. It would be all down from then on.

Past the village, the road darted back to the sky to the point that, at some point, took us both of the seat. But on this stretch through most of it, Sara had the help of Anibal, a curious mountain boy that helped in pushing her bike and kept her company while I was cicling uphill in the intervals between helping to push as well. Until finally we were able to ride all the way up and past some time, already in the way down, the road was paved again. But that was just a teaser, since after 2 km, past the intersection that alternatively would lead us to Coban, the descent turned once again to being loose stone and slits and very sloped. We had to stop many times because there was no way of going fast and so the brakes were always oppressed, and generally quite hard. My front rim beginning to show signs of failure. In one of the stops we decided to make it longer, we sat down, ate a snack, and studied the profile of the descent on the kindle, to figure out where we were. But on the departure the kindle was forgotten over Sara’s back baggage and eventually fell. She only realized some 2 or 3 km below and promptly we stopped a truck coming up to go look for it. I stayed behind with the bikes and all the belongings and Sara would go in search of the lost kindle. About three-quarters of an hour later, she returned empty-handed and sadly faced. Even then the crossing of the mountains had left it’s toll in our spirit and was moraly wounded that we did the rest of the descent. We only had to do the last climb and we reached Lanquín village, which serves as base for visits to caves nearby and Semuc Champey.

In our first hotel choice there were no vacancy and I went to explore the village on foot while Sara’s stayed looking after the bikes. Such was the state of exhaustion that we wanted to avoid making any extra meter over cobble stones that lined the streets. And it was at the most westernized place that we found the longed-for haven, the Zephyr Lodge, a set of palapas crunched up atop the hill overlooking Lanquín river valley. An idyllic site providing (almost) all the needs of any European or foreigner who follows the touristic routes of the Americas and that for us was the needed escape from the mountains.