Bienvenidos

I would definitely like to reiterate: "You can't always believe what you hear".  This statement is so true, and so common, yet people constantly believe anything and everything they're told.  I've met so many incredibly nice people south of the border.  I've had so many people wave at me, smile, and welcome me whole-kindheartedly into their country.  Sure I had some guy yell "Puto!" at me out the window, drivers on the road offer me no room, and even get cut in line waiting to buy groceries simply because I'm the "waro" in Mexico.

I can't believe how patient most people are as they listen to my terrible spanish.  Anytime I've asked someone for help, whether it's directions, or even just definitions of words - they're always sure to help.

I had a great, relaxing time in San Diego.  Sold my car easily, picked up a few extra pieces of gear I thought I needed and pushed on.  I bought a trailer for cheap on craigslist, and the morning I left, fabricated a rack to better secure my surfboard to.  I left the very last day of January, rode to my good friend Reza's in La Jolla, had a fantastic dinner and a great evening.  I used his car the following day to take care of some last minute things. We camped at the beach that night one last time, with my other friend Vincent.  Then I rode to Chula Vista to stay at my friend Tim's, my last night in the states.

Feb 3 is when I crossed into Mexico, and it definitely felt like I was thrown into the gauntlet.  I expected this since I've traveled to northern Baja many times.  The traffic is horrible in TJ.  What makes things worse is the smell.  I've always noticed it, but then having to bike in it, and struggle up hills smelling third world exhaust - is a whole new level.  Before I could even cross the border, I had to find someone to open the gate.  With no one around, I had to holler over to a border patrol to come open the gate for my extra long vehicle.  After getting my tourist visa/FMM, exchanged money, I was rolling.

I got onto the cuota right away, and made good time out of Tijuana.  I rounded the corner near las playas, but before hitting the first toll booth, was told by some guys holding shot guns at a checkpoint, that I couldn't ride on the cuota.  Trying to understand what they were saying, I understood that I had to turn around and get on the libre (free road).  So I turned around, had to back track a few miles, get on the libre, and go up a long hill.  (A bit of panic started to creep in since I never drove the libre, except once coming home, and had no idea how to get on it, but as in all situations - important to remain calm and focused).

A little confusion, and double checked quite a few times with people, and finally arrived in Rosarito in the evening, and stayed with a couchsurfer Jonathan.  We had an awesome time going out with his friends, and they all made me feel very welcome on my first night in Mexico.

Riding to Ensenada was so scenic.  After the second toll booth, I got back onto the cuoto, and breezed by.  I had a taxi pull over and ask me for gasoline.  I looked at him and told him, 'I don't have any', and took off (he wanted money of course, are you kidding?).  Later as I crawled up the long hill towards salsipuedes, a white american looking guy pulled over.  He only said a few things:  asked if I needed a ride, said I was his hero and that he always wanted to do that... have to remember that, how cool.

I passed so many good waves on my way to Ensenada, true surfer's torture.

I had a relaxing day in Ensenada, watched the super bowl at a local pub.  Before watching the game, I had to find a bike lock (my other one had fallen off my trailer at some point riding from Reza's to Tim's).  It was Sunday, and being a religious country, no businesses were open.  I must have spent two hours biking around, trying to understand where people were telling me to go, before someone finally mentioned Autozone.  They came through, now I have a good heavy duty lock.  Candado, a very important word.  I'll remember that one.

Heading South of Ensenada was refreshing.  The air cleaned up nicely.  In town, at night, I could see a brown haze from a combination of the pollution and dust, under the street lights.  Getting away from it felt great.  The road opened up, less traffic, and some gorgeous country (although I haven't had a shoulder on the road since the cuota).  I passed through a few small towns, before riding through another hectic town, San Quintin.  Once I left there, I found a nice stretch of beach, and got to use my board the first time on the trip.  Leaving the San Quintin area, really felt like I was starting to get into the good stuff.  The air is much cleaner further south, and the roads a lot less traveled.

The morning I was climbing a hill towards El Rosario.  I saw three trucks pull over ahead suddenly.  As I got closer, I saw a motorcyclist had crashed.  I pulled over to help.  The men trying to help the man all spoke spanish, and said he wasn't responding.  I tried talking with him, and realized he had some European accent I couldn't distinguish.  The men said they were going to get help, and I stayed with the man until the police arrived in a truck.  We helped the man into the truck, right as a van pulled up with a group of foreigners.  They also didn't speak spanish, and only a little english.

Although my spanish is bad, it was one of the coolest feelings translating between the cop and the men out of the van.  Priceless.

Past El Rosario, the road winds and climbs into some serious mountains.  There was a lot of up and downs, and I was definitely feeling my increased weight.  The road eventually dropped into the hot desert where I started to gain some ground.  There is so much nothing in the middle of Baja.  It reminds me of Alaska where there is endless forest.  As much as I love trees, I start to get tired of them.  Same thing here, but not quite as bad - I'd much rather have that than deal with congestion of city riding.

The day I was riding into Rosarito (Sur, there are two Rosaritos in Baja apparently), and the day before getting to Guerrero Negro, I was taking my second lunch at a pull out.  I was just getting back on the road when a guy pulls over in a white single cab Toyota Tacoma, hitting the brakes and making some dust.  He looks like a salty American-Baja surf veteran.  Blue eyes, and sun-aged tan skin.  He asks me where I'm going, and I explain my route the following days.  He pulled over probably because he saw my board, and began to explain that just a few miles up the road is the turn off for Punta Santa Rosalita, and that I should head out there to score great waves.

We poured over the map, and he showed me where to go.  It sounded worth it, and I could get water and food in the small town out there.  I said thanks, rode on, and turned onto the paved road to take me to the ocean.  Just after turning, another white Toyota (older truck) pulls up next to me, and two more white american surfers start talking to me.  They pull over, and offer me a ride since they're going to the same point break as well.  They don't have room, but explain that I could probably get a ride out with their friend in town.  After a ferocious headwind, I arrived at Nacha and Sergio's home.  They made me a delicious bowl of soup.  The two of them make tacos and empenadas, and sell them to all the surfers at the point.  After they were done cooking, they gave me a ride out, where I caught up with Wyatt and Allen, the two guys that pulled over earlier.

I camped in the same papala (or cabana) with Wyatt and Allen.  Wyatt even had an extra wetsuit I used.  I hung out there a couple days, and enjoyed surfing, tremendously.  On one particular evening, the surf was really good - solid 4-7 feet, and peeling all the way to the beach.  One wave I remember, I had a couple cut backs, and so many turns, that by the end of the wave my legs were hurting.

Another surfer, Gabe, took me and a couple others from the States, on day trip up the coast to check out a couple points.  We drove miles out to the middle of nowhere, where no one was around, and admired the clean ocean, beaches, and lack of development.  On the way back, we ran out of gas.

Miles from town, but only a few from a nearby rancher's.  I waited in the truck while they left to get gas.  After about 45 minutes they returned with gas, but the truck wouldn't start.  We tried thinking of several things that could prevent it.  Gabe said he needed to go get the EFI relay at camp, I had no idea why he thought it was that.  When he returned, plugged it in, the truck fired right up.  I guess he had read on a blog that when a Landcruiser runs out of gas, it fries the relay - good to research.

Gabe gave me a ride back to the main road, and I enjoyed a tailwind day into Guerrero Negro.  I got a hotel to do laundry (hadn't done any since I left home :X), and relaxed.  Took a day off in town, and walked around to do some errands.  This morning I went on a boat to see the whales.

We spent a few hours out on the water, and saw so many grey whales.  I saw spouts all over, and almost didn't know where to look.  There were some that poke their head out, AKA "spyhopping", so they can get a look.  At point, we motored up to a whale that was blowing and not moving much.  After some splashing, we coaxed the barnacle covered mammal to come closer, and I actually got to touch it!  Such a soft spongy feeling, and what an amazing thing to touch this 35 ton intelligent being.  (I'll post the pics next time, there are some good ones :)

Back on the road today, heading south.  Looking forward to reaching the Sea of Cortes side, and dipping my body into some warm ocean water!

Some Thoughts While Riding:

My cycling friend Markos that I saw from Tok, all the way to Stewart/Hyder, said that cycling in Mexico/Latin America is very different.  I remember he described his experience with kids running up and high-fiving him, or saying high.  Sometimes I'm not feeling motivated, or not in the best of spirits.  One time in particular riding through a small town north of San Quintin, I looked over to see a young child grinning ear to ear, waving, and said "Holaaaaa!" - instantly turned my spirits.

Being in Mexico is filled with all sorts of things that are different, some good, some bad.  Some annoying things I noticed: I can no longer use Pandora in Mexico apparently, it isn't supported.  Google assumes that I want everything in spanish. although I speak some, it's tough to figure out everything on some of the pages.

Traffic is much worse.  More cars nosier and smellier.  A lot of the cars provide less room, and blast past.  A lot of times, the oncoming traffic will cut the corner even though they have plenty of time to see me. There are definitely more courteous drivers in the states, but still I have a lot of people give me plenty of room when they pass.  A lot of the cars put their flashers on when they pass, and provide ample space.

Trying to speak spanish on a daily basis is frustrating.  I think I speak the worst when I just get off the bike.  My brain is fried, sometimes I just can't get the words out and pause... it must be quite funny.  It doesn't seem like my spanish is getting any better, but I bet it's a lot like losing body fat in a healthy way; the progression is too slow to be seen by yourself.

There is a lot of roadkill, but it's mainly dogs.  I saw three dead dogs my first day riding to Rosarito.  It's such a grotesque sight.  I saw one so fresh, blood stained the pavement and it's gust glistened in the hot sun.  I've seen a couple beautiful, friendly wild dogs.  It's crazy because I thought the wild dogs would chase me in Baja, they don't.  I have yet to have a wild dog chase me, but the damn domesticated dogs continue to run up to me.  They get so close, I have to pull my foot out and get ready to kick them in the face.

Having time to myself to do nothing is so nice.  There were some evenings that I made camp, and had some spare time before sunset.  It feels great just to enjoy the silence and not do a thing.  On one of these evenings, I was staring off, daydreaming, and I realized that I couldn't even tell I was in Mexico at that moment.  Looking around, nothing tells me I'm in a different country, like being in some small town for example.

My friend Felix says "traveling makes peace", and I think he's right.  Traveling unifies people, breaks borders and boundaries, allowing for more understanding.

There is a lot of discrimination on the poor, just like in the states.  On our way back to Jonathan's house in Rosarito, we were pulled over by the cops.  They basically asked him where he was going, where he worked...  He works in city hall, and the cops asked little else before leaving us.  He explained how if he had some low income job, we might have been harassed or arrested. 

In order to better acquaint myself with the unit of measurement that is used in all Latin American countries, I'm switching to the metric system, which of course is more logical to use anyway.  I'm switching my bike computer as well, and going to try and use it all the time.  I started getting familiar with distances in metric in Canada, but I want to become fully comfortable using it, just like spanish, so that I don't have to refer back to what's familiar.

Tally: 6 flats, 2 tires, 2 chains, 2 cassettes, new shifter/brake assembly and cable, new rear derailleur, new front mid and low chain ring

Kilometers ridden so far:  8,558.5