The road to Choluteca, like most major roads in Honduras, begins in the capital city of Tegucigalpa. Infrequent road-side indications of distance are measured in kilometers, not from the county or state line, but from the capital.

A year's worth of rain in two days caused by Hurricane Mitch last fall caused parts of mountains simply to wash away.

The city of Choluteca (pronounced cho-luh-te-ka) is 137 km south of Tegucigalpa, a distance of 82 miles that requires three hours of driving on a good day. My mission was to make the journey with a fresh team of N.C. volunteers, observe relief work and other efforts in the area, then return with the bus driver.

I had flown in with Mel Watts and his team of workers drawn from the Scott's Hill, Long Leaf and Shiloh Baptist churches, all from the Wilmington area, along with an Assemblies of God pastor from Reidsville. Watts and his wife, Dot, have participated in mission trips to Brazil, Ukraine, Hawaii and Kenya.

We arrived late in the evening to a hearty meal served on the old seminary campus in Tegucigalpa (te-guu-si-gal-pa). The rooster outside began crowing at 1:30 a.m., though most of us did not rise until 5:30 a.m. We were anxious for an early start, but Honduran time moves more slowly than in America.

Our transportation for the day was an old school bus that began its career transporting children around the mountain roads of Haywood County, N.C., and has now found a home in one of the Honduran churches. We packed the bus with luggage, building and school supplies, and an ample supply of bottled water. The radiator was leaking, so we loaded a big can of extra water. One of the inner tires was flat, so we pumped it up and rolled an unmounted tube and spare down the aisle, just in case. Our driver was a delightful man named Tonio, assisted by an energetic youngster named Fernando.

Tonio, the bus driver, works on a flat tire with help from Fernando.

It was after 10 a.m. when we finally got away from Tegucigalpa, which is located in the midst of a scenic mountain range in central Honduras. The road snakes around the ridges and through the low passes, sometimes doubling back on itself.

As roads go, the road to Choluteca is not a bad road - except for the many places where it has been destroyed by landslides in the wake of Hurricane Mitch. When the massive storm struck Honduras on Hallowe'en night of 1998, it stalled over the mountains and dumped a year's worth of rain in a four-day period. Soil already saturated by previous rains simply gave way on the steep mountainsides, following gravity in a mighty downhill rush that obliterated roads and homes along the way.

Wherever one looks in the central mountain area, brown scars stand out like ski slopes of mud and rock where great gouts of the mountain have been torn away. In a country that is 80 percent mountainous, that's a lot of gouts.

Where roads were overwhelmed by the raging landslides, new byways have been cut, all narrow, sometimes in a single lane. The most common road sign we encountered was "Peligro" - Spanish for "Danger." Occasionally, the sign was "Tramo peligrosso" - "Extreme danger."

The excitement, however, was not only from the occasional lack of a firm road, but from the presence of other drivers. Like many less developed countries, Honduran roads rarely have lines painted on them, and passing lanes are virtually non-existent. Passing, however, is frequent.

The road is populated by a melange of private and commercial buses, a few automobiles, lumbering tractor trailer rigs, an occasional oxcart and a plethora of brightly painted, single-axle trucks hauling tons of bananas, pineapples, watermelons and the like. These vehicles move at widely differing speeds, and drivers pass at their pleasure, trusting that oncoming vehicles just over the hill or around the curve will make way if they should meet. As the road winds down from the mountains, the refreshing mountain breezes give way to a stifling heat that oozes like atmospheric molasses and puddles around the feet. "It is raining fire," said our driver in the best English he could muster, "like the door to hell."

Heat is not the only obstacle. Landslides were not the worst of the problems caused by Hurricane Mitch. The persistent rains caused tiny rivers to swell to gigantic proportions, flooding their banks and gouging out new channels, washing away thousands of homes and scores of bridges.

The southern stretch of the road to Choluteca runs for several miles parallel to the Nacaome (na-ca-oh-me) River, where travel is slowed by the necessity of using makeshift bridges or fords.

When our bus finally crept into Choluteca, we were welcomed by Raymond and Pat Dietz, a pair of Tar Heels from Webster (near Sylva) serving as full-time coordinators for the N.C. Baptist partnership efforts there. The Dietzes participated in so many mission trips to Honduras that they decided to build a retirement home in Choluteca. They moved in just before Hurricane Mitch delivered 7 feet of water and 18 inches of mud into their house.

Last February, the Dietzes allowed one of the first partnership teams to build a bunkhouse beside their home. Male volunteers who work in Choluteca sleep in the bunkhouse, while women share a bedroom in the Dietzes' home. Everyone takes meals there.

A small block-making plant has been set up behind Capernaum Baptist Church, which also serves as a distribution point for hunger relief supplies. In return for food, local workers mix river sand and cement to form up to 600 blocks per day. A standard house requires 850 blocks.

At the Capernaum church we met Juan Ramon Borge, national coordinator (locals use the title "Presidente") of relief efforts for the Choluteca Baptist association. Borge, an impressive bundle of energy who is a movie buff, is prone to greet volunteers with a hearty handshake and the greeting "Bond - James Bond." He coordinates food distribution for the association, helps to identify families who are most in need, and oversees arrangements for each project.

We visited one happy family whose house stands proudly beside their former shelter, a shack made of cardboard boxes bearing the label "Sugary Sam's Candied Yams." Though far from the river's current course, their former home was washed away by the flooding.

Other homes are in various stages of completion. Needs abound on every side. The Wilmington group was the 16th team to work in Choluteca. Many others will come.

The road to Choluteca is long and winding and filled with bumps, but also awash in blessings for those who give as well as those who receive.