This space may (or may not) be updated with future pursuits, trash cans, or recycling randomness. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I am at your disposal.
After a quick visit to my folks in New Jersey, Gene and I flew out to Redmond, Oregon. I had been invited to speak at the Association of Oregon Recyclers (AOR) 2009 Conference.
We landed at the tiny airport and rolled our bags over to an open space next to the ticket counter (see photo with bike parts sprawled on the floor). 
An hour-and-a-half later, bike and trailer assembled, we rolled out of the airport on our tandem. We pedaled fast so I could make it to Jerry Powell's talk on Recycling Markets. I felt a little funny showing up sweaty, in my cycling outfit, but the Oregon recycling community is very relaxed and friendly.
My talk on Saturday, June 11 -- the keynote -- went well. Lots of people came up to me and said, "I really liked your speech." I take that as a good sign. The presentation forced me to organize my photos is a meaningful way. Also, even though I get nervous, I do like public speaking because it forces me to synthesize my thoughts. Finally, I used this opportunity to put together a professional website: IKnowTrash.com.
Saturday night was jolly. At the banquet, the Port of Portland received an award for their stellar waste minimization program. That was a proud moment for me because even though I have not worked on that project for a year, I know I was been a key player in its success. This photo is of me, Michael Budds, Mitch Frister, and Shanna Eller, all members of the CES (Community Environmental Services) crew. Stan Jones, who heads up the Port waste minimization and recycling program, should be in the photo but was busy playing in his band. Talented fellow.
After the conference, Gene and I biked 175 miles home to Portland, OR. Our last day was the longest of this trip: 113 miles. Cycling in Oregon in June was such a treat: cool temperatures, moderate grades, beautiful scenery, and long daylight hours. It was still light when we rolled into Portland at 9pm. 
We crossed into Costa Rica, the 6th country of our trip, on May 23, 2009. We noticed lots more single occupancy vehicles. 
We also noticed how little litter there was on the side of the road.
Hah. Once we got up and over the first hill, we realized there was no return. Our gearing was limited due to some hub issues. Plus we had a fully-loaded trailer with all of our camping supplies, water, and laptop. So, when it got too steep, we got off and pushed up the hills.
It was beautiful, lush country. We benefitted from the simple generosity from so many people that found our story compelling. One man bought us an amazing lunch with delicious fresh pineapple juice. A young man, the owner of a fledgling bakery in a small town, told us our donuts and coffee were on the house when we went up to pay. A third guy, a delivery man that sold snacks to local businesses, handed us doritos and fanta out his window as we leap-frogged through the hills, with us moving slow and him stopping at different shops on the side of the road. He was our snack angel.
We went through Orotina, Santiago de Puriscal, and finally to San Ignacio de Acosta. At that point, we decided we had "experienced" the hills enough. We packed up our bike into the suitcases/trailer and hitchhiked back to the highway, past the Cerro de la Muerte, and down into San Isidro de El General. Between the fog, treacherous curves, and pouring rain, I was quite fine traveling on four wheels through that section.
Michel, a lovely man, put us up in his extra cabin (a generous term). We shared meals and swapped stories. Michel taught us how to play dominoes; we helped him fix his roof. We jumped in the warm ocean periodically throughout the day. The beach was stunning.
On our way up the coast, a friend of Michel's invited us to his property, Finca Cascade. We scrambled up the rocks past his 20 waterfalls. Except for the monkeys, we had the place to ourselves. We swam in the bright blue pools.
We then pedaled our last leg up the dirt road to Quepos. That stretch of road is doomed to be "developed": the section between Dominical and Quepos is slated to be paved by September 2009. We saw the trucks, tractors, and asphault operation gearing up. Ahhh, development. What a funny concept.
Never use FedEx. At least, not if you are in Nicaragua.
Back on our bike, we headed south through Sebaco. Gene thrilled the local kids with a ride on the back of the bike while I marveled at the amazing veggies in the market. We continued south. Just as it was getting dark, we rolled into a little town where a nice man and his wife let us camp in their sideyard.
People are so friendly and curious when you travel by bike. About 20 people gathered as we unpacked our house (tent), beds (thermarests), and kitchen (stove). That night we got hammered by a rainstorm, but luckily stayed dry in the tent.
The next day, we rolled into Granada. In Granada, a friend of a friend, Bill, graciously showed us around town. Bill is one of those guys that speaks five languages (or more), has lived overseas more than half his life, and knows a whole lot about a range of subjects. Of course, I asked about the trash scene in Granada. Bill said that a German is helping Granada digitize all of their documents and tracking information. Hopefully, with a more robust database, Granada will be able to track who is paying for garbage service and identify inefficiencies in their system.
So much of our experience in a town is driven by the people we meet. Largely owing to our pleasant introduction (via Bill), we were quite smitten by Granada and its charming streets, old churches, and historic buildings. After one day of gringo-land, we were ready to roll south. It was Friday, and I was eager to meet with the City of Rivas' mayor's office.
So we did. Saturday morning, we rode the tandem out to the dump. Federico, who has worked at the dump for nine years, showed us around. It is a very quiet operation. About 15-20 people glean out materials from the 7-8 truckloads per day. Looking at all of the organic material, I asked if anyone composted. Nope, he said, the only money is in aluminum.
Mounds of plastic bottles and other materials are stored next to houses of the people that work in the dump. Like the rest of the world, they are waiting for the markets to bounce.
We headed south down the Interamerican Highway, and made a quick stop on Lake Nicaragua to look out to Isla de Ometepe, rising out of the choppy waters.
For all the folks that like maps, here is a visual representation of our progress through Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua.
When Gene and I rolled into Esteli, Nicaragua, I hoped to bump my "hablar" and "escribir" into the next text bracket. My one-on-one Spanish instruction evolved into field trips with my teacher, Elsa, to local dumps. This post is about our visit to Matagalpa, the home of Nicaragua's 2nd sanitary landfill.
We walked through the city of Matagalpa, past the cemetary, and up a few kilometers on a rolling, dirt road. We turned a corner, and there it was: the current Matagalpa dump. It is a beautiful place surrounded by lush, green hills.
We walked through the trash scenery, heading towards a group crowded around a truck that was unloading its waste. Cows milled in one corner. Vultures picked at a bag dripping with a suspicious, red liquid. The leader of the waste pickers, Miguel Angel Betanco, came out from the group and greeted us.
Miguel gave us some numbers and stories on the Matagalpa dump.
As we talked, a group gathered around and dogs came in close. The key ingredients to any scavenger's wardrobe is sturdy boots and a stick. The best materials to collect are aluminum, copper, and scrap metal. Miguel said that people routinely get food out of the trash, but that most are careful to check the expiration dates. As he spoke, I watched a kid reach his hand into the pile of trash, dig out a mango, and take a bite.
Unlike the chaos I saw at the landfill in Guatemala City or the scenes depicted in Slumdog Millionaire, this Matagalpa landfill was tranquil, almost bucolic. They arrive at the landfill in the morning, sort through trash, then return home. I admit: I'm a romantic. We didn't visit anyone's home, and from what I understand, their houses are largely dirt-floor shacks with marginal roofs that leak in the rainy season. No one wants to live like this for very long. One organization that also works in Tijuana, Mexico, is currently fundraising to get the kids clean water and a place to study. Clearly these people have needs, but overall, it seemed mellow.
The next morning after a two-hour delay, we finally hopped in a truck and went 11km outside the city. The road was bumpy. At one point we forged through a river. Our guide, Fernando, mentioned that the river would make the dump difficult to access in the rainy season. Not a single piece of litter lined the road. This is completely virgin land: only touched by the farmers that currently live out there.
We drove out to the sanitary landfill, which is a big cement swimming pool with a filter running down the middle. They plan to install 23 of these swimming pools, ahem, landfills, throughout the property by the end of the project. Total cost of the project: 17,000,000 cordobas ($850,000USD).
GIVEN THIS INFORMATION... (Thank you, Aldo Aravz, Director of Municipal Services).... Matagalpa, population 109,000, has 14,920 residences and 18 commercial centers. The topography of the city (very hilly) makes collecting waste challenging: only 83% of the city gets waste services. Thus, there are 63 illegal dumping spots. The City has 7 trucks, but only 5 of them work. The river that runs along the west side of town is chronically filled with waste. Approximately 70-80% of the city's waste is organic. Only 35% of the town pays its waste collection bill.
THIS IS WHAT I WOULD DO...Flatten out some land at the current landfill. Buy a 20-foot industrial conveyor belt. Hire folks from the landfill to sort the materials that arrive. Spread out the hiring so that all families from the current-landfill-working-families benefit. Start sorting everything; start composting. There are only eight truckloads per day; once the loads from those trucks is sorted, start sorting the landfill waste that is already there. Employ people while making the landfill smaller each day. At the same time, start an education outreach campaign in the city. Invest in rubber boots and rubber gloves, and begin a River Clean Up effort on the first Saturday of every month. Also, invest in the collection of dues: currently only 35% of the population pays their garbage bill? As the collector knocks on each door for 10-50 cordobas ($0.50-$2.50) per household per month, if people cannot pay, sign them up for a 2-hour clean-up slot where they will pick up litter in their neighborhood.
We rolled out of San Andreas Ixtapa, waving goodbye to our MayaPedal buddies and keen to be back on the road. We skirted to the south of Antigua, dropped mucho elevation, slid through Escuintla, and coasted (heh) onto the Pacific lowlands of Guatemala. Volcanos kept us company to our left as we rolled through relatively flat terrain with cows and sugar cane.
The first night we tried to camp at a African Safari Theme Park (I know, random), but the owners were worried we would get eaten by the tigers. Instead, we pitched our tent up the road on a polo field (even more random). Flat earth, with meticulously pruned grass? Can we please take a doggie bag and roll out grass like this for camping every night? Except for the mosquitoes and brutal heat, it was delightful. Gene practiced his polo shot on our tandem horse.
We crossed into El Salvador with perhaps the most mellow border crossing of my life. The guards were hanging out on the bridge. Kids were jumping off the bridge into the river. It was dusk, and everything felt so relaxed. It was weird, too, to suddenly be using US dollars (El Salvador's currency). I was still in the habit of translating prices into dollars, and ended up having sentences in my head, "So these cookies are 25 cents... so... they're... $0.25. Got it."
We really liked El Salvador. It's Central America's biggest secret. Sure, there are 15 murders per day in the capital. But if you stick to the beach, you will find pupusas (really yummy tortillas stuffed with beans and cheese, eaten with cabbage and salsa...yummy), friendly people, and warm oceans with perfect waves. 
Even with beautiful surroundings, it wasn't easy. I got sick for a few days. It was brutally hot. My butt hurt tremendously from my saddle. We body-surfed a few times in El Tunco, but I mostly remember clutching my stomach in intestinal pain. I resorted to a rice-and-banana diet for two days. I was so grumpy, and just wanted to jump off the bike and throw tantrums. Blagh. One night, in a disgusting hotel, I broke down and cried, "This is so hard! We're biking. My butt hurts. We go cheap on everything. It is so hot. Everything itches. All I do is daydream about air conditioning and cold juice." (I know: total wuss moment.) Gene calmly replied, "That's the point. We wouldn't be doing this if it was easy." And all of a sudden everything turned on its head. Strangely, the world felt better again. Thanks, Gene.
We crossed paths with some incredible cyclists. One morning in El Salvador, we were biking along at a good clip. We passed this guy in yellow. He pedaled harder and caught up to us. He then hung with us for 15 kilometers. On a mountain bike. With his 10-year-old son on the back. We were easily doing 30 kph (19 mph). We were so impressed and wanted to hug him! Instead, we bought him and his son breakfast. Gene also inflated his tires and added grease to his rusty chain. What an athlete.
This guy was biking his two kids to school. Through two feet of snow. Uphill both ways. (Okay, not really, but they max out their bikes here.)
Honduras was a three-day adventure of tropical coast, climbing, and then rolling hills. We went through more than ten gallons of water in that time. This is a picture from our usual routine: we buy a big jug, fill up our water bottles, and then drink the rest. We then roll onwards, feeling like seals with so much water in our bellies and in our trailer. We are addicted to TANG and all of its flavors. Orange is our favorite, but lemon comes in close second. It is a bit disturbing to drink eight liters in a day, and then pee only once. Before I go any further, I'll stop this paragraph and take a sip of water.
We crossed the border into Nicaragua at the end of April 2009. Nicaragua. Nicaraguita. The land of poets, murals, and history buffs. Our first night we camped on a baseball field I thought it was some random project, but it turns out that baseball is Nicaragua's national sport. 
We disassembled the bike on the side of the road, packed it up in the suitcases, and hitched a ride into Esteli. While Bike Friday worked to get us a new hub, we enrolled in Spanish school. I turned my Spanish teacher into a solid waste expert. Instead of having class in school, we went to landfills. Instead of homework, I drafted questions for the Solid Waste departments at the Mayors' offices. We went to a brand new sanitary landfill in Matagalpa. More to come in the next few posts...
