Pedaling the heartland of Cuba

The question worth asking, and the reason I’m here along with 16 other Americans, is to find out if, at a time when U.S. travelers are yearning to know everything about this gradually accessible Caribbean country, it’s a place you want to see from the seat of a bike.

[...] the enormous number of potholes in the road.

[...] the unexpected number of animals (cows, turkeys, pigs) in the road.

[...] the fact that what these animals leave behind is, well, slippery.

What I realize — other than that the condition of the Cuban roads coupled with the suspension-less Trek cycle makes me wish I’d taken the gel-cushion seat cover Lara offered — is that being among the first tour of Americans to bicycle through this lush green and brown farmland is pretty amazing.

Every time we round a corner, blond children run to the edges of their yards to wave at us.

Women hanging up laundry stop to shout, “Hola!” Men standing in the backs of trucks take off their Yankees and Dodgers caps and swing them in the air for encouragement.

[...] yes, there are those 1950s cars — what Cubans call almendrón (almond) for their bulbous shape — chugging past every 10 minutes.

While many of the restrictions on tour companies with people-to-people licenses have been loosened, because of the embargo, Backroads (a California-based travel company that organized the tour) can’t bring bicycles into Cuba, so our Treks have come from a British firm.

Since the Cuban government insists all foreign tour companies work with local organizations, we’re being shuttled around in the Havantur bus, facing Che’s stern gaze.

Havanatur also provided our guide, Franklin, who despite gamely answering any question my fellow tour-goers throw at him, still hasn’t convinced a couple of them that he isn’t our government “minder,” as if we’ve landed in some palm-treed version of North Korea.

While biking was the focus of the trip, we’d spent three days getting acclimated — and getting a sense of how Cuba stands outside of time —while touring sites in and out of Havana (including stops that likely are required by Cuban officials).

Students put on what was essentially a school recital for us — but not before a 14-year-old girl (her pink-framed eyeglasses a contrast to her traditional school uniform) gave a welcome speech that mentioned “la revolución” five times.

Women, heads bristling with curlers, eat ice cream cones outside peluquerias (beauty parlors), and teenage girls in savage eye makeup bat their lashes at the helpless boys.

On the map, it’s called Playa Jaimanitas, but ever since artist José Fuster began covering every surface of the place with his riotously colored ceramic tiles, the town has turned into a Gaudi-esque fever dream.

Mosaic mermaids recline on bus stop walls, and tiled crocodiles loom over rooftops.

Without warning, we burst into the frantic streets, darting among the luxury buses and the hermit crab-like pedicabs, passing a government building with a graphic of Fidel on its facade — his campesino hat looking unsurprisingly like a halo — stopping only when we reach the glamorous decay of Old Havana’s crumbling colonials.

A lesson that includes the dubious advice that it’s healthy if the smoke remains in your mouth, and the cigar is a gentleman, never crush him.

Janis Cooke Newman is a freelance writer based in San Francisco and the author of the novel, “A Master Plan for Rescue.”

The U.S. government’s rules for Americans traveling to Cuba are changing (mostly loosening) all the time.

[...] if you’re traveling with a tour company, likely you’ll be on a People to People license (as I was), which means you’ll spend some of your time doing cultural activities, such as the arts school.

Given the complicated negotiations — and all the players — involved in the Backroads tour, it’s not surprising that it wasn’t cheap: about $6,500 per person/double occupancy for an eight-day trip.

Imodium, packets of tissues (toilet paper is tough to find outside of hotels), hand sanitizer.

If you’d like to avoid the hordes of vacationers “going Canadian,” stay in one of the Royal Service rooms; you’ll have your own more sedate pool, bar and lobby.

Some dishes more successful than others, but a fabulous setting on a steep hillside.