I departed La Libertad a couple hours before sunrise and made for the Honduras border. Feeling proud of myself for getting up early I welcomed the dry morning air as I went through the gears. I was admiring the brightness of the PIAA lights I picked up specifically for this trip when the road seemed to disappear in the distance. In spite of warnings I received from a friend I wasn’t mentally prepared for the collapsed bridge that lie in front of me and narrowly avoided riding into the abyss of darkness and rushing water. Just another one of the potential perils that lurk for riders on the road ways in Central America. I can’t recall ever doing a river crossing in the dark but the SE inspires confidence and I decide to get a closer look. It certainly beats back tracking and losing much needed time.

I feather the brakes and slip the clutch as I slide the bike down the slippery bank. I welcomed the medium sized rocks hard packed into the river’s muddy edge as I accelerated down stream in search of a shallow crossing. Too dark to see across I listen to the rushing water attempting to gauge the size of the waterway. It’s larger than I expected. My thoughts drift to getting the bike back up the steep climb I just descended when I see a person walking toward me in the distance then another. The PIAAs illuminate the steal cables of a temporary suspension bridge where I see a number of people congregating. I abandon again the notion of riding back to where I started the morning’s ride.

I gaze bemused at the make shift ramp of mud leading up to the bridge. I’m approached by an onlooker who assures me he and his buddies can help push the bike up the muddy slope. I grab the handlebars and dig my boots into the mud as we all push in unison. The front wheel wants to wash out and I struggle to keep the bike straight up as we ascend the mud. We reach the top and I immediately slip off the wet steel platform as I try to control the bike’s movement. Thoughts of me and bike falling into the wet darkness below enter my consciousness.

I recover and take a moment to reassess the worthiness of the bridge. I note with some trepidation the SE’s handlebars barely fit between the staggered suspension cables and there’s not enough space to “walk” the bike. I’m down to one helper now as the width of the plank only allows for me next to the bike and someone pushing from the rear. I grab the left hand grip and face the bike while positioning the balls of my feet on the edge of the wet steel. Leaning over the bike I then grab with my free hand the opposite vertical cable and use it for support. In a side stepping shimmying fashion I hop from cable to cable as my new friend pushes the bike. We develop a rhythm and become efficient at conquering each cable. My attention oscillates between sidestepping and grabbing the next cable as we approach the middle of the river and the bridge sways more intensely.

We stop momentarily to assess our progress. I focus my eyes in the darkness ahead and see what appears to be a human silhouette and I’m optimistic the other bank is in reach. The juxtaposition of the darkness and my heels hanging over the edge of the increasingly violent plank compelled me to resume my sidestep shimmy routine. With a sense of refocused enthusiasm we find our rhythm again and cover the remaining distance with great efficiency. The off ramp on this side is more improved than the previous and makes exiting a nonevent. I happily pay my amigos for their assistance and we exchange good wishes. I ride off into the sunrise headed for the first of two border crossings in Honduras and much less concerned about the difficulties I expect to encounter there.