Costa Rica bike tour

Despite our conviction that we all need to be flying less, not more, Brie and I made a holiday trip to Costa Rica. Neither of us had been to Central America, and we had an invitation to stay from a coworker of Brie's who's built a life there for the time he's not in Alaska.
Early in our planning, we considered riding bikes (we had about ten days before visiting Brie's friend), but a quick search scared us off -- blogs and guides warned of crazy drivers and pothole-filled roads. When we came back to the idea months later, it seemed opinions were split. One couple described past trips by bike but added that they don't ride there anymore and wouldn't recommend it to anyone. A Dutch hotel-owner who rents mountain bikes proclaimed bike touring was an excellent choice for everyone. Pura Vida! We decided to give it a shot.
In the end, most of what we read, the cautionary as well as the optimistic, proved true. And in the end we came to think cycling can be great -- if you do it a certain way. Here, then, is our contribution to the small Googleable canon of writing on bike touring in Costa Rica.
Beginning with some basics: After our third day on the bikes, we joked that each day had offered a hard lesson in a specific area, first route-finding, then topography, and then the sun.
We had heard that Costa Rica did not have street names or addresses, but this seemed implausible to me, and our fairly detailed map labeled both urban streets and rural routes. What we learned that first day is that Costa Rica lacks signage. Dramatically. On top of concerns over biking out of a city of a million people, we suddenly found we could not rely on street names for any guidance. Stuck for dozens of blocks on the Pan-American Highway where it slowed to pass through San Jose, we did not pass a single street sign. We turned off, on a hunch, on a street that looked the right size. Later we learned to navigate with Google Maps, noting the angles at which roads intersected and visible landmarks like cemeteries. (In a game-changing moment, we learned that Google Maps will locate you without using cellular data.) From then on, we were never lost. At times we used Google Earth, too, the satellite photos of which showed even the smallest dirt tracks.
On our second day, we biked up Volcan Irazu, a climb of about 6,000 vertical feet. I knew this was a huge climb, and we chose to do it. What I did not know is that much of Costa Rica is up and down, and that the roads are built with incredible grades. Even on paved roads, we were often in our tiniest granny gears, at times struggling to keep the front wheel on the ground. The near-constant hilliness made our route unrealistic for the time we had.
On the third day, down from the cooler weather of the volcano, we learned the intensity of the mid-latitude sun. Before I had time to notice, the back of my right calf was burned red. Brie's forearms turned the same color. We took our breaks in the shade and, when we reached Orosi in the early afternoon, hurried from the sun as one might from sun-baked sand on a hot beach.
None of these, of course, is a reason not to bike as much as a consideration to factor into plans. Same with the roads -- choose wisely. We'd been advised not to ride on the Pan-American (and warned when we got to Costa Rica that it was illegal), and this seems like good advice. Riding the main road along the Pacific coast seemed relatively safe, but was not much fun. Two things we had not considered were air pollution and dust. Riding from Orosi toward the coast, we had to pass through the southern part of Cartago on busy roads, and the filthy exhaust from trucks and cars alike literally made it hard to breathe for hours of riding. Despite the country's commitment to environmental health, there seems to be little regulation of vehicle-based pollution. Later, on the flatter plain near the coast, we were left struggling to breathe again -- and covered in thick dust -- after riding on a dry, heavily traveled dirt road.
For a truly enjoyable trip, I would try to avoid all of these, and string together instead as many small, rural routes as possible. Buses can help with this. The public buses run often, go everywhere, and, as I understand it, will take bikes if there's room. And they're super cheap. Even a shuttle or a cab would likely be affordable.
One of the questions we had, especially going over the busiest time of the year, was what kind of towns would have affordable places to stay and whether we would need to book in advance. We wanted flexibility in choosing our route and pace, but also didn't want to end up without a place to sleep when the sun went down. We decided to bring a tent (and small stove, sleeping pads, and sleeping bag), which proved useful, even if our guidebook's suggestion that most accommodations would allow camping proved untrue. The two nights we camped, we did so on the generosity of people we met. The nights we wanted to stay in towns, we never had trouble finding room with little notice. We stayed one night at an Airbnb, which was great; Couchsurfing seems like a viable option, too. Riding some random steep hill, I sometimes imagined how light our bags would be without tent and sleeping gear. I'm glad we brought them, for the freedom they allowed, but I'm sure one could plan a cool route that allowed carrying very little gear.
We rode good, old mountain bikes we bought off MercadoLibre (thanks for the tip Jos). The man we bought them from had only listed one, but offered his own commuter bike, too, when he realized we were coming from the US and hoping to tour. When we met him outside our hotel, he said he knew what it was like to travel abroad and have to figure everything out new. He told us of some beautiful spots to ride and of bike shops where we could get geared up cheap. His kindness was one of the best parts of our trip. Thank you, Oscar.
Buying a helmet and back rack, water bottles and spare tubes, I was struck at the range in prices. The crowded shop Oscar had recommended sold bikes for $100, but also had a $5,000 fat bike on display. We could buy water bottle cages for $2 each, or $20. Kids came in with busted brakes, and then a woman who'd raced the Ironman and worked for Deloitte and Touche.
Our two-week visit offered only a superficial look, of course, but I continued to be struck by the range of lives Costa Ricans lived. Some had new cars and vacations at the beach. Others earned tiny wages, spent long hours in the sun, and got around on horseback. In parts of Costa Rica -- around Monteverde, for instance -- the lingua franca was English and the prices listed in dollars. In other parts, it was only Spanish and colones.
Biking was our window onto this, a slow path through the countryside and an excuse for meeting people. There is no other way we would have felt the complete satisfaction -- after pedaling through the still-sleeping city, after gallo pinto and coffee made in front of us with a cloth filter, after the waves and whistles and horns of passing cars, after countless switchbacks and eight hours on the bike -- of reaching the crater of Irazu a half-hour before closing.