I patched a leak in my rear tire on the desolate beach of Zancudo and drank a cool pipa found lying in the shade of a palm. Then I was off, cycling down the beach for several kilometers towards the distant green hobbit hill of Puerto Pilon. Pilon is remote, undeveloped, and absolutely beautiful. If you even think about constructing some stinkhole suburban retirement block here I will personally shoot you in both knee caps.

I pulled into the one real establishment in town, a cantina, to enquire about ¨Jon de los Estados Unidos.¨ Jon lives on a piece of land next to a plot owned by a couple whom I´d worked with this past summer in Idaho. They haven´t visited the place yet, so when I mentioned that I´d be going to Costa Rica they suggested I check the area out for them, meet the natives.

The bartender was a young woman with a fantastic talent for profanity. She addressed me as ¨mi amor¨ and then continued her tirade to the large woman sitting next to me. I gathered she was speaking of some ¨mujer¨, and every other word was ¨puta¨ this and ¨car´e pica¨ that. She was quite the entertainment. She hadn´t, however, heard of any Jon - not a good sign in a town of less than 100.

The interaction felt like a real life version of the electronic Role Playing Games I´d played as a kid. I was a Level Six Supersonic Bicycle Ninja engaged in an epic quest, bumping into avatars assuming various roles and pressing ¨B¨ for ¨Ask about Jon.¨

I set out, following a rather vague series of directions to the land in question. By default, all directions in Costa Rica lean towards complications. For example: ¨Go 100m past where the church used to be. Turn right at the big barking dog. Go 25m past the old man smoking a pipe and stop at the yellow house with palm trees.¨

This is common.

Eventually, I found what may have been the correct road, but was immediately forced to flee by a giant, frothing dog. I went back to the cantina. After some time, an old gringo showed up. I eagerly sprung the inquiry on him. ¨
¨Well,¨ he said. ¨There are about twenty Jon´s from the US around here. You got a last name?¨
I did not. We talked.
Ferrel is the self-proclaimed gringo elder of the greater Pavones region. He was in aa abrasive mood due to trouble with Costa Rican immigration, and the conversation ended up being about as enjoyable as a handful of sand in the crack.

It got dark and I biked the 7 kilometers south to Pavones in search of brighter company. Pavones is home to what many consider to be the greatest surf break in the world. The point break requires a good south or southwest swell to truly blossom, and as such, the surf was only a reflection of what it could be. Regardless, the head-high perfect left barrel was a better wave than I´ve seen anywhere else along the way.

This morning I awoke refreshed and ready to tackle my quest. I ate some gallo pinto and drank a cup of coffee in a restaurant/cantina which used to be a running-house for the legendary Brotherhood drug cartel. Rain came and didn´t stop for hours. I ate french fries and read. Two Americans sat near me. By the way they spoke I could tell they were locals. The ex-pats carry a certain loopy indolence, each believing themselves to be the last to legitimately move in before ¨everything changed.¨ I asked about Jon.

They didn´t recall him at first, but after some conversing the woman deduced that she had met him once at a Thanksgiving dinner. Aha! The location complimented my confounding set of directions. I sensed victory. Level Seven status was imminent.
¨Wait, wait,¨ said the man. ¨Isn´t he the Jon who got in the fight? The Big Fight?¨
¨Oh, right. Yes, he got into some ugliness. He´s back in the States.¨

The news had an odd effect. Not only was it anticlimactic, but it cultivated strange emotions within me. I felt for the first time alone, somehow, bereft of purpose. Which was stupid. In reality, the quest was peripheral, a casual favor. But all along Pilon was my only true destination; everything else was just fun along the way. Now I felt like the Cowardly Lion - I had outwitted the poppy narcotic slums of Jaco, weathered through personal injury, and narrowly avoided spontaneous wedlock. I had made it to the wizards threshold - The Great and Power OZ! - and found nothing but an empty set, a few bored stagehands dismantling the cheap pyrotechnics display.

Well, what the hell? The rain broke and I biked to Pilon anyways, just to see. This time I slipped past the canine sentinel undetected. I encountered a Tica sweeping her porch and pressed ¨B.¨ Yes, he lived just ahead and to the left. No, he was not home. He´d gone back to the US. My sense of valor was revived and I pressed on. I went to Jon´s house, the only other on the small street, and a strange thing happened. A man came out and introduced himself as Philip. He claimed no knowledge of Jon. He was, he said, the only person living here. The house matched the ex-pat woman´s description exactly.

I apologized and went off, skidding down the steep, rutty red clay hill. If the situation was what it appeared to be, which is not uncommon, I probably would have ended up in some sort of altercation if I´d pressed the issue. I biked back to Pavones and drank a slow beer, considering my efforts. I decided I had done my best and I washed my hands of the wayward quest.

For now, I happily remain a Level Six Supersonic Bicycle Ninja with Intergalactic Tendencies.

written by  chaddeal on January 21, 2009 from Zancudo, Costa Rica
from the travel blog: The Great Pan-American Synchronistic Cycle Extravaganza Unlimited
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Hi Chad,

I'm sorry that you didn't find the allusive Jon after all of Art's talk, your anticipation,and long search!
I can imagine you were rightly disappointed and perplexed. But in the words of a character from a famous movie "When God shuts the door to one destination, He opens another." (I may have paraphrased, but you get the gist). You have escaped many entanglements on your journey thus far,so,fair sojourner, onward and forward to securing the prized visitor visa in Panama!

Don't worry, be happy! And may your bicycle tire hold up until you reach your destination!

I love you more thanthe finest chocolate,
Su madre

written by  vikideal1030 on January 21, 2009

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