There's an expression in México - Vale La Pena. This translates to how something's worth the work/pain/sacrifice. I sometimes think of this expression as I'm riding, it's significance in my trip, and what it means to me. I think of the expression frequently indirectly recently, because of how difficult it has been. Did I mention that this will be the most difficult thing I will have accomplished? Yeah, definitely.
I've had all sorts of nasty things happening to me, all right after another. I broke my favorite surfboard. I doubled the number of flats I've had since Alaska, all in a week and in all my tires. I nearly succumbed to heat stroke one day, feeling the worst I have ever felt on a bicycle, while struggling in the heat through endless hills one day. I've been flooded out of my tent one morning during a hurricane that was passing through. I had to ride through the heaviest rain I've ever experienced, so hard that I kept checking the ground to see if it had turned to hail. I became ill towards the end of one day, and with barely enough energy pitched my tent and crawled into it and went right to sleep. I had to take breaks in between pitching my tent because I felt like I was going to puke. I had whole days where I spent winding around a curvy road, up a hill then down, for long sections along the coast. The beginning leaving GDL was difficult, dealing with the mental anguish, and being unaccustomed to being back on the bike after having spent so much time off of it again (something I can't let happen again, always so difficult to get motivation into doing successive long days on the road, after taking long breaks). The longer off the bike = the more difficult it is to keep moving.
It was never my intent to ride through Mexico in the middle of summer, in the rainy season, with hurricanes abound. Now I'm paying for my tardiness. On a trip like this, I'm not going to have perfect timing for all the sections covered. I don't have the luxury of planning my two-week bike tour through Canada when they don't have much rain and it's not very cold. I have no regrets at all about having stayed so long in Guadalajara, it was great. I can't wait for the heat to pass after the tropical areas, but I'm trying to enjoy everything while I'm here. I'm sure that I will probably have more snow in the Andes when I reach South America, because I won't be passing in the middle of summer there. This is why this is an expedition, an adventure. This is part of makes the trip so difficult, but also so dynamic, and interesting. Even with how difficult things get, and the bad things happen, I will admit there's usually never a dull moment, and I always try to focus in on the serendipitous moments when they happen to counteract the nasty stuff.
Next week will be the one year anniversary of when I started this crazy trip. Although I haven't been traveling for exactly a year - I did take a couple months off when I reached San Diego, and a couple months in Guadalajara. I'm not sure if I knew where I was going to be in a year, but I'm sure it wasn't Mexico. I'm not complaining though, I'm just happy to still be riding.
It's been a while since I've posted. I've been busy putting in some long days riding, and when taking a day off or two, getting plenty of surfing in. After pushing back my departure several days in Guadalajara, I
finally and
somehow, returned to the road. The first few days were long and arduous, almost entirely mental, having to tear my roots away that hard started to sprout in the city. I had mostly thoughts of Yanet, and tried not to think of how long it would be until I saw her again. Since she doesn't speak English, I did notice that my Spanish comprehension had improved a little. I knew that once I reached the coast, I would have some therapy surfing, and probably meet some cool people (of which both happened). I arrived at Pasquales, a famous place for barreling waves, that's similar to the very famous place, Puerto Escondido. I took a couple days off to surf and relax, and met quite a few different people that were traveling, all great people (even though I may not have pictures of you all, don't think I didn't appreciate my time with you, sometimes I forget to shoot photos!)
The day I left Pasquales, I had a terribly hot day, and loads of hills. This was the day, where my body temperature crept up unusually high, on one of the hills. Headaches are basically a daily custom these days, but on this day my head was throbbing. I was continuously drinking water, and knew that I was hydrated, but my body wasn't staying cool enough. I knew I had to take another break, and slowly rounding a corner saw shade from the mountain from the sun late in the day. As I got off the bike, I felt chills, and knew I had to eat something as well or else I might have passed out. I pulled out a couple of mangos, doused them in Tajin (typical meal in Mexico, it's a salt with dried chile), fileted them up, and ate'em quick. I chugged a bunch of water and paced the dirt a bit. I waited until I felt good to ride again, and continued. I haven't felt that bad since, or ever before for that matter, and hope I don't. I try to monitor my body temp the best I can, and during the peak heat times of the day, will pull over and rest for a bit. I've gotten into the habit of saturating my bandana with water, as well as my head when I take breaks... whatever helps.
I caught up with Tom, Zac, and Anton at another surf place called Tikla. I arrived in the dark, and blasting down the last hill towards town, and the turnoff for Tikla, fireflies lit up along side of the road, blinking away. Again I took a day off to surf, and on the morning after I arrived, had an incredibly fun morning session with Anton. We were both up early with the sun, had a quick coffee and surveyed the waves. We were in the water in no time and watched the sun rise from over the mountains. There was no one else out in the water, and for a good couple hours, we shared waves. We were hooting at each other as each of us got a wave, as the other was paddling back out. They're three fun guys, Tom from New Zealand, Zac from Dana Point, and Anton from Australia. Anton described his seed collection business in Oz, and mentioned that he could probably have some work for me when the trip is through, which I'm hopeful for.
At Tikla, and just past, is when my flat episode started. I had three flats, in one tire, in different days, and at one point after riding all day on a newly patched tube. I had flats in all my tires over the course of a week and a half. The front I had a couple, including one as I was descending the hill that I got over after leaving Acapulco and very nearly wiped out bad.
Heading South, I had loads more hills. I thought of my German cycling friends that I rode with in the Yukon. They are a ways ahead of me now, but I remember Felix telling me "Devin, the Mexican coast is very hilly". I had these words resonating in my head, as I would round a corner and see hill after hill I had to ascend.
With the intense heat, I sweat even more. The excess sweat drips from my brow, runs into my eyes and stings. Whats almost worse is that the sweat will run down my face, down my nose, and hang there. It makes it itch, and I constantly have to wipe it away, thus taking a hand from the handlebars and sometimes makes it tough to keep my balance.
The nice thing about the coast is that the traffic is sometimes next to nonexistent, and I enjoyed some quiet time riding for once on the narrow two-lane road. The good thing is that the worst of the hills was on the North end of the coast, although the terrain is still very much hilly, with loads to climb and certain passes to get over, it has diminished some, with actual flat sections to ride across - how unusual.
Towards the end of one day, I pulled off the road to hide in the shade of a cliff from the sun. A young boy came running up from his house below the side of the road. He was curious about my bike, and I was in a talkative mood for once, wanting to hang in the shade as long as I could. I showed him my ipod and camera, both he had never seen before and was amazed that such technology existed. While I was talking with him, a car pulled up with two guys in it, and asked if I wanted to do an interview with them. I agreed and said I would meet them in the town nearby, because I was low on water.
I've noticed a trend in a lot of the small pueblos.
There has been a lot of times, a completely wasted drunk, older,
Mexcian, male, that is usually hanging around the tienda. When I arrived in the town, one of them was at the tienda that I had to get water at. Just getting
off my bike, the drunk stumbles towards me and blurts something I don't
understand. I ignored him, and was asking about the nearest llantera
(tire shop) to the stores clerk (to top off the air in my tires for maximum pressure, rides better). The drunk reached out several times to
touch my shoulder, and I just told him to his face directly, "don't
touch me, you're really drunk, and incredibly annoying". Seeing that I had another flat, and the two guys in the car were nowhere to be found, I pumped up the tire as much as I could, and took off in search of the next nearest shady place I could change the flat, in peace.
Just a few km's down the road, and I saw a palapa resort on the beach, and thought "perfect". I pulled up and found the two guys from the car, Rodrigo and Rodrigo, two nice Mexican guys from Mexico city, that are traveling around, and had wanted to interview me. They had arranged a stay with the owner of the palapa resort, in exchange for some promotion of her resort. They invited me to stay with them, and they were also going to a native village that evening to try and video their annual celebration. I didn't bother changing the flat, but ditched my gear in the room, and took off with them. Suddenly we were driving up a bumpy dirt road, through the jungles of Michoacan. We had to park the car after a couple river crossings, and one was looking just to deep. We continued on foot for a good half hour, and reached the village. Immediately upon crossing the stream, and walking up the short hill to the village, a tranquil feeling overcame me.
We knew that we had to get permission to take any footage of any kind. Upon hearing that we wanted to video, the son of chiefs was suddenly taken aback and didn't want to hear a thing. When he heard that we were just local people, wanting to document the land and the people, he seemed a bit relieved, but still was not giving in to let us take any photos or video. With the ongoing discussion, a small crowd had gathered to see who the newcomers were. We could feel that our presence wasn't really welcome. We gave up, and bid farewell, making our way back to the car. Crossing the stream, I looked back, and tried to absorb everything I could, and take a mental photo. I will never forget that mountain village.
We drove to another village in the mountains, but this one was much more developed, and no one cared that we filmed. We hung out in the church and watched some traditional dances performed. Late into the night, we finally made our way back to the palapa resort, and I fell asleep in the car. Waking up the following morning, I was exhausted, but the señora made us some delicous soup that helped give me some energy to get moving. After I was all packed, and
just about to get on the road, a truck full of soliders pulls up.
About 8 men jump out with M16's, and spread around the area. They immediately started to look inside one of the vehicles and started questioning the señora about the whereabouts of the owner. He was nowhere to be found, and the military patrol, got back into their truck (0.50cal machine gun mounted to the back - common sight along the roads) and left. Just another day in Michoacan I suppose, and I left as well.
I realized later, if it wasn't for the drunk old mexican guy at the tienda, I would have probably never found the Rodrigo's, and the experiences in those few hours would have been nonexistent.
Not too much time later, I arrived in the famous Nexpa, another surfing mecca. I found a few of the other people from Pasquales had made their way down there: (not sure on names) Brian, Ryan, and...? we hung out after surfing and had a good time. I took a day off there, and used it in the perfect way for a day off the bike: stretching, working on the bike, fixing a few other things on the gear, and not riding at all.
The day I left Nexpa, the rains started from the hurricane, and I had rain everyday for four days straight. The rain intensified when I reached Lázaro Cárdenas. I camped at the building for the Federales, who were kind enough to let me camp on the grass behind one of the buildings. I woke early in the morning, to HEAVY rain beating my tent. I almost always sleep with my ear plugs now, almost as a custom, and because there's almost always sufficient noise of some kind to keep me awake. With my ear plugs in, the rain startled me awake. I tried to sleep some more, for a little more light, and thought that maybe the rain would ease up a bit... it didn't. I noticed soon that my tent was taking on water (one of my tent poles had broke again the day before, so the tent wasn't also pitched properly). I glanced outside and noticed that water was pooling in the grass, and it was raining faster than the ground could absorb, or the water could move away.
I packed everything quick as I could, but was immediately drenched upon leaving the tent. I couldn't cook or eat anything in this crazy downpour, just get everything on the bike quick and hope to eat something down the road. Getting onto the highway, the road was flooded with a good cm of water, cars were spraying water as they drove past, and I was drenched several times thoroughly from passing cars. I found a restaurant to hide out for a bit, and wait for the rain to ease up. After an hour or two, I moved on.
La Saladita and Zihuatanejo are two places I've heard about for a long time. One of my best friends that died a year and half ago, Miles Vaughan, had always talked about La Saladita as being one of his favorite waves. He would tell me about the trips he went on with his brother and father, and how long the rides he would get on the wave there. After he died, and I started my trip, I knew that it was one place I was not going to miss. Turning off the highway, towards La Saladita, my thoughts immediately went to Miles. I pictured him driving in on one of his previous trips. How I was looking at, what he had looked at, long ago.
I arrived at the beach, just as it was getting dark. The rain had started again, and the ocean had a nasty brown color to it. I had a nasty feeling in my gut, and upon arriving, felt like I wanted to leave right away. Originally I had hoped to surf the same place that he had, years before, but in the morning the water was still dirty of course, and there wasn't much for waves. I hurried back to the highway and tried to shake the bad feeling.
After Zihuatanejo, I had promised myself that I wouldn't surf again until Puerto Escondido (unless crazy circumstances occurred). The road goes inland quite a bit in some sections, and there just aren't world-class/renowned breaks to be had in between that I know about, or have time for. Plus, I had to get some serious distance in if I'm going to leave Mexico in time before my visa expires.
A few more flat tires, and a few more days of sporadic rain and I reached Acapulco. I was also making hasty progress trying to stay away from another hurricane that was on my heels, but this one was lighter than the other. I knew I didn't want to stay long in the city, it sounded like a big tourist metropolis, and that it was. After getting new bearings in the headset of my bike (felt like something was wrong), my bike felt smoother turning. I stopped at a coffee-shop to do emails before leaving town. After spending a good few hours, I was ready to leave, when I saw I had another flat tire.
In the midst of changing the tire, a man showed up and asked if he could take pictures. I said it was fine and kept going about my business, I was now getting low on light and time, to leave the city. The waitress had come out, and mentioned that the man was from the newspaper. So I stopped, and we talked for a while, and answered his questions about my trip, as he scribbled my answers down. He bought me a couple sodas, and wished me well.
If there's one thing I've learned recently - good things can happen from flat tires.
Then after climbing the long hill from the city, and down the other side, I had another flat in the front, and nearly crashed. Amazingly, I got a flat right next to a motorcycle shop, and I recruited a couple kids to just lift the front of my bike so I could change the tire. They were happy to help, and this way I didn't have to take everything off my bike. I was getting critically low on light, and not out of the city yet. Back riding, out of the city, I stopped at someone's house, and they let me camp on the grass out front. This was the first time I took a 'bucket bath' from water that he said was clean 'agua limpia'. I didn't care, a few days without a shower, sweating all day, I gave in, and felt better. As I stood there, naked, showering on the grass in the dark, I thought of all the different circumstances such as these that have happened on my trip. After a while, they just start to seem normal.
Recently I've been camping more on people's property. I've been having so much rain, that trying to camp in the bush somewhere is tough, it's so muddy. Around these parts, there's just so many people too. A lot of times a side road usually has someone living down it, and there's a lot of fenced farmland. I still find nooks and crannies to camp at when I need to.
A few more long, hard days, with plenty of heat and rain mixed in, and I got to Puerto Escondido. I'm staying at a hostel called "cabañas buena onda". I figured out what buena onda means. It's a hostel right on the beach, and is somewhat packed with people. It has quite an eclectic mix of people, and at first seemed overwhelming, but has really grown on me. It was fascinating to notice that English is one of the fewer spoken languages. I think I'm the only American, everyone else is either European or Mexican. I hear a lot of French and German being spoken, but for the most part, Spanish is the go to language. I took yesterday and today off, and getting back to work tomorrow. I got in the usual necessities, including clean laundry, shower, and resupplied at the local market. I was on the fence about surfing Puerto, since it's similar to Pasquales (where I broke my surfboard) and notorious for being very heavy and gnarly. It's infamous in the surfing world, known as "the mexican pipeline", it's counterpart being "Pipeline" or just "pipe", which is a break on the north shore of Oahu.
I surfed in the morning in front of the hostel, at the point. After relaxing all day, I realized that I had to surf the Mexican Pipe at least once, I'm here after all, and who knows when I'll come back, if ever. Since the hostel is down the beach a ways, I had to find a ride back to the main surfing area, or Zicatela. The bus picked up nearby, and made my way over to Zicatela with my board. As when I arrived with my bike, the waves were still big, and thunderous. Barrels spitting all over the beach, lots of people in the water, and lots of water moving. Most of the waves were closing out, like at Pasquales. I found what looked to be a decent spot, with less people, and got in the water. My heart was pounding watching some of the heavy barrels breaking, and was thinking mostly how I hoped not to break my board again. I had a couple smaller waves, nothing glorious by any means, and got out of the water. I've still got a lot more places to surf before I ditch my board.
I ran back up the highway, got on one of the cheap small trucks and made my way back to the hostel. Walking on the side road back, I was attacked by a local wild dog, and had to hit it with my surfboard and throw rocks at it. I have no patience for any dog that shows me any sign of aggression, and I was ready to beat it to death if I had to. (It angrily showed it's teeth and barked at me, but never bit me)
Some Thoughts While Riding:
I was thinking recently how dumb some of the "P.C." (politically correct) stuff is in the states. For example, there's Mexican-American's, Asian-American's, etc. There's a P.C. term for nearly every descent, except for white people, which are referred to as caucasian (which is what exactly?) for some strange reason, instead of European-American. In Mexico, I see people with what appears to be, Asian descent, and even some black people. Here, people are just Mexican. Why can't people just be, American? The only people that haven't immigrated recently, are natives, or "Native-Americans"...
I realized that this is the furthest South I've ever been in latitude. No wonder the climate and lots of other things seem so different. A good friend of mine, Vincent, pointed out a while back, an interesting query: how many degrees of latitude I've crossed, and that I'm going to cross... I still need to figure that one out.
There are lots of different forms of public transportation. For example in Guadalajara, there are the regular buses, all of which are Mercedes and usually pimped out with rims, flashy lights inside and always a cross or two with 'Jesus Christ' affixed to them. Around Lázaro Cárdenas, there were lots of these van type buses. In Guerrero, I started seeing tiny pickup trucks that have covered seats in the back (I still see these in Oaxaca). At one point I felt like I was in Vietnam, or some other far foreign country when I started seeing the 3-wheeled little taxis motoring around the towns.
Recently, people have been
incredibly annoying. I've been getting honked at lots, and from behind - which is especially annoying because it surprises me every time. People yell out loudly from the windows of rapidly passing cars, dumb things that I can't even hear. They yell things from the side of the road as I ride past, like "where are you going" (which has happened since entering Mexico), but it's worse... Now people are excited to see a Northerner and will just yell out "güero!" or "gringo!". They will yell, sometimes scream it seems, whatever they know in English, "whatz up mannnn!" with a think Mexican accent. Still, there are other people that offer me encouragement in more of a means I prefer: a simple thumbs up and a big smile.
As my clothes get dirty and stinky, and I get down to the last pair or two of coveted socks, shirts, or boxers, I hold onto them like pieces of gold. I smell them, and longingly remember what clean laundry smells and feels like. Always on the trip, the simple satisfaction, of having a shower and putting on clean clothes, is so therapeutic for me in itself, after sometimes having gone a good stretch of time without either.
Never have political campaigns been so annoying. Posters line the highway, walls are painted with slogans and names of candidates on homes or anywhere there's empty space. The worst part of it all is the pickup trucks that drive around the pueblos, BLASTING music, and recordings of candidates saying the typical cliches of politicians - empty promises offering difference and change. The culmination, was one day I when I stopped at a Pemex, in the heat of the day, to take a break. What little shade I found from the sun, I hid under, and slowly began to get energy back, devouring food. One of the trucks, blasting obnoxious loudness from it's back, pulled into the station. Without turning off the music/noise, they filled their small truck. One of the guys walked over and started questioning me about my trip. He had to nearly almost yell at me for me to hear what he was saying, over the noise of the speakers. I looked at him, and just thought, "are you serious". - Sometimes I wonder
how are people so oblivious to how annoying something like that is...
One of my friends from the night I stayed in front of a hospital, pointed out that maybe I was getting so many flats because of how hot the roads get. Fortunately, recently, I've had a little reprieve from them (but not the heat), but maybe there's something to it.
As a lot of times on the trip, but definitely more so now, a lot of times I barely have a minute to myself before someone comes up to me asking me about my trip. I try my best to be polite, but I wish people understood how many times I get asked the same questions, or maybe give me enough time off the bike to go pee, eat, drink, or even just sit down in the shade to catch my breath and bring my body temperature down. People will just stare at me from the side of the road, mouths agape. While taking breaks, I've had people even turn off the highway, and just park their cars to stop and stare at me. This is why, even in fair weather, without bugs, if I'm near anyone within eye distance when I'm going to camp, I always pitch my tent, with the fly. This is the only time, where I actually get some privacy, and don't feel eyes watching my every move.
Before leaving Guadalajara, I tried to go to the U.S. Consulate, to have some questions answered (about applying for visas on the road, since I didn't bring my driver's license, or proof of bill's paid, etc). The security guard in the front said I had to wait, and I did, for nearly an hour. He finally directed me to a phone number I had to call. I couldn't use the one he had, but had to go to the corner of the street and call from a payphone. When I called, the operator transferred me to an extension that no one answered. I repeated this about two more times, before returning to the security guard. I explained how I'm a U.S. citizen, thinking it would make a difference, this is what I paid taxes for right? He told me I had to wait again, which I did, and finally somebody spoke to me on the phone through the window. In a hasty, and annoyed voice, the women very vaguely answered my questions, instead directing me to the consulates of other offices, and quickly hung up. I was aghast. I had always seen movies where U.S. citizens that were in trouble, could quickly enter a U.S. embassy or consulate, and find security. I left, disappointed and in shock, although relieved that it hadn't been an emergency.
With only a month left in my visa, I still need to make some hasty progress to get out in time. My friend Gino jokingly mentioned that if I don't, I'll be an illegal immigrant.
I know it's not going to get any better, and will probably always astound me, but I am always shocked at how little respect I get as a cyclist on the road in Mexico. More often than not, I'm nearly getting run off the road, given little room, exhaust blown in my face on the hills, honked at to get out of the way or off the road. Courteous people that wait for a good time to pass, are rare. This and the trash, I think are the two main things I don't like about Mexico.
It's kind depressing after a while, observing the conditions that some people live in. It doesn't seem to bother them at all. A few times, I've seen people just throw up a shack, on top of a stack of garbage, or will just have a shack right next to the highway.
One day, I started riding. I passed through a small pueblo and forgot to ditch my trash from camping. A truck pulled over, and the guy offered me a ride, indicating that there was a hill I had to go up. I thankfully declined, but told him if he wanted to help me, he could take my trash for me. He obliged, I handed him my trash, and he simply walked over and threw it in the bushes. Wow.
I don't remember if I mentioned it already, but how confusing it was (still is initially for that matter) how people refer to Mexico city, as just Mexico. I've past signs on the freeway, pointing out roads to "Mexico" and in my delirious riding state, think initially, "huh...?" It's easier when I speak to people and they just say "D.F." or Distrito Federal. The other thing I noticed in GDL, and since, is how people use the word agua to describe more than just agua. Any concoction, non alcoholic, from juice, sugar, or otherwise, it seems can be called just agua. You have to specify if you want just water - 'agua natural'... how strange.
There are even more cultural differences. I always say "ok", or just "k", when I'm in agreement. In Mexico, it sounds like "que" meaning "what", so then sometimes people repeat themselves when I'm just trying to say yes.
The animal corpses along the road are always changing. In Alaska and in Canada. There was the occasional moose (including one that I helped some people load onto a trailer to eat), and very rarely a black bear. In Southern Canada and in the States, I started to see deer, skunks, and other rodents. In Mexico, my first day, I think I saw three dead dogs, including one that was sweating and swollen in the hot sun. I continue to see dead dogs, and sometimes cats. Recently there are lots more amphibians: snakes, frogs, and lizards. There are also lots of crabs, of different kinds that have been crushed by tires of cars. On some of the very wet days I've had recently, there are tons of dead frogs, and remains of frogs, on the roads. The smell is something different than the typical rotting carcass, and takes me back to some of the basic biology lab courses I've taken.
The in-between times I've spent on the coast, surfing between riding, is
truly the good life. I wake up in the morning, surf, eat breakfast,
relax. I keep my board-shorts on all day, since after surfing they dry
quick, and keep me cool. Later in the evening I surf again if it looks
like there's some waves. Oh is the water so warm too.
It's fascinating to see the water color of the ocean changing. On some of the mountainous, coastal sections I passed, I had a better vantage point to look out over the ocean more. The whole ocean has more of a deep blue color, instead of the murky California green I'm used to. Close to a lot of the coves, the water turns into a brilliant turquoise, with white sand, and a lush green forest behind, making for quite a bouquet of colors.
At some of the more popular surf breaks I've been to, it's interesting to notice some of the trends. For example, a lot of times, there is usually a single, white, older, male, that is from the States, surfed forever, and has probably done far too many drugs. They usually seem a tad cracked out, or just real strange, or both. They usually have some wild stories, that may, or may not, be actually true. They usually seem a bit elusive when questioned about their origins, and just have an overall strange demeanor about them.
Since hitting the coast, I've noticed that nobody actually knows distances, only time between places, which is completely useless to me. I don't even ask how far a pueblo is from the next, they'll just tell me 'it's an hours drive'.
I use to have a rule about stopping while going up hills, basically I use to never stop. Now, whenever I feel like I need a break, I pull over right away and try to find some shade to relax under.
Riding the coast, and having so much rain, everything on my bike has been rusting bad. My chain of course is the most important, and have had to clean and oil it very often, struggling to stay ahead of the rust.
It's really interesting observing the differences between the states in Mexico. Starting in Michoacan, I noticed how the people started looking more native. In Guerrero and in Oaxaca, there are
very dark people, that almost seemed to be mixed from the islands or something.
For the first time ever, I was asked for my papers, by immigration officers in Marquelia. I was talking to some locals and apparently it's a common city for other Latin Americans to come to, and try to leap frog into the states. When they can't find passage, I guess a lot of them stick around the town. I hadn't expected that to happen in some random town on the coast.
For the first time ever, at one of the military check points, one of the men actually searched my stuff. It was a very cursory search, and only in one bag, but still, that's never happened in the dozens of checkpoints I've crossed.
Sometimes while riding, I'm like Leonardo Dicaprio in the film "Aviator". I'll repeat words in Spanish, aloud, to myself. Some are very difficult to pronounce, for example Guerrero I've always had trouble with.
I have these beautiful and different things that happen to me while riding. At the time they seem so normal, or just something so casual. Then later I'll look back at them, and think of how extraordinarily different they were, and remarkable to ahve seen them: riding through sheeting rain, only to hit a wall and it stops immediately. Seeing a beautiful horse that gallops over the grass to have a look at me as I pass by on the silent road, and watches intently as I pass. Riding through tiny towns and villages, and people look at me like they've never seen a white person, or when in fact, probably never actually seen a surfboard. Another was when I passed a flooded marsh early in the day, when the winds were still calm. The marsh had ample water, and there was a pair of people in a hand-made canoe, that silently paddled through the glassy water, we stared at each other silently as we passed in opposite directions.
Kilometers ridden so far: 11, 916.8
