| Cycling Mexico |  | |||||
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| Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride. J.F.Kennedy | ||||||
| Three-month cycling trip, starting in late August 2010 in Tijuana, ending in Cancún. 7th expedition by the author. (Previous expeditions : New Zealand, Australia, USA, Canada, Alaska, Japan). |
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Southern Baja California To the Cortez Sea San Ignacio was a revelation to me. In the drab, brown desert covered in dusty cactuses, a large ravine suddenly appeared with a stream and lush green palm trees. In the middle of this splendor lies the small town, with a solid, stone church from 1828 at its core. There was almost no garbage on the little square near the church, the road was not dusty, it felt like being in Europe. But the motel on the outskirts of the town looked like Mexico again – almost no running water, non-functioning air conditioning and I often had to stamp on a few impudent cockroaches.
On the following day, I only wanted to cycle to Santa Rosalia. After all, those 15O kilometers in the local heat had been quite exhausting! Well, even this journey was not a complete idyll. The first 40 kilometers were uphill and then there was a steep descent towards the sea, during which the brake blocks were burning. At least there was something to look at en route. The dominant feature of the landscape was the 2000-meter Las Tres Virgenes volcano, surrounded by a row of its explosive relatives. I picked up a nifty towel lying in the road. It was clear that chain cleaning was to follow. The chain was quite grubby from all the sand. So, once I got into town, I first of all bought the local counterpart of WD and cleaned the chain before going sight-seeing. The wooden houses, about a century old, of which the locals are so proud, did not look too appealing to me. I headed off to the hill above the town, saw the prefab church designed by Eiffel (who reputedly also designed a tower somewhere). The prefab construction of the church was exhibited at a world exhibition in Paris until the owner of the local mines bought it. Well, the church is no beauty, it is riveted together from metal sheets. I have seen nicer. However, there was a pleasant wedding celebration taking place with a choir of local teenagers singing and refreshments served in front of the church for everybody. They invited me, but I did not accept, it seemed inappropriate to me.
Onwards to the South
The road first led around a bay, where I could not miss seeing the Federal prison, then it was necessary to cross a mountainous foreland to reach Mulegé. This is similar to San Ignacio, an enclave of date palms beside the river. Here it differs in its proximity to the sea. I arrived at the Spanish Mission, spoke some English to the local priest and set out around Bahía Concepción Bay. This is a narrow stretch of water surrounded by rocky shores on both sides. The result is a very warm microclimate, with no wind. There are several beautiful beaches and I got carried away, without considering the practical issues. Suddenly night was approaching and it became clear that I would have to sleep in the tent. I only had two liters of water with me and I was hungry. My last resort was a dot on the map with the name of El Requesón, but here one never knows what such a dot conceals. Oftentimes it is one derelict, abandoned hut. However, El Requesón looked better – a closed hotel with a sign: “Closed”. A little further on, there was a restaurant where I found the irritated Yankee owner, who firmly explained that when the gate was closed, it was closed! I did not know what gate he was speaking about. I wanted to buy water, beer, food – he said, "the gate is closed, no service!" So I asked him if I could sleep over on his beach. He agreed to this, saying the price was 5 dollars and I could use the shower and toilet. So it was looking more optimistic. I had two liters of drinking water for the evening. After that, I would see… In the end, it turned out well. He noticed that I had come from the neighboring beach and had not seen his closed gate at all. His anger left him, we drank a few beers together and everything was fine. He was from Wisconsin, had studied in San Diego and visited Mexico where he fell in love, got married and started to run this restaurant with his wife.
In the morning, I set out without any breakfast, as I did not want to bother them in their leisure time. El Rosario was marked on the map 30 kilometers ahead, where maybe there would be something to eat. 10 kilometers on, the road was being repaired and there was a workers' canteen. I had breakfast with the construction workers, of course paying for it. Their haughty, arrogant boss arrived and began to discuss some documents with the female canteen owners, blocking the path of about 20 workers waiting in line for their food. His poor driver was polishing the car all the time, so as not to appear idle. When there was nothing left to polish and he sat down, the boss shouted at him to bring him his spectacles. Such an idiot is hard to find. The majority of the men were hearty, ordinary workers who were really having a hard time in the heat. I knew all about it, it was no idyll on the bike either at average temperatures of 40 degrees Celsius! I purchased some beverages, which was a good decision because there were only three very grubby pubs on the road ahead. I left the purchase of food for Loreto. But I was suffering from hunger and finished the route with the last of my strength. Moreover, a young official bothered me at a military control post, asking where I was going and where I had come from and whether I was alone. He only came up with stupid questions, beating my bike with a metal rod, so that I had to tell him to stop doing it. He was simply bored and wanting to show off.
Three More Nights in the Desert The search for a tent site was problematic on all three days. Part of the desert was private property, it was fenced off and sometimes I even saw grazing cows. Although the fencing was rather symbolic, I would not have wanted to meet an enraged bull by intruding on his pasture. There were strips of open land of about 10 meters in width next to the road, but the tent would have been visible to passing cars. In the end, I always resolved it one way or the other. My overnight preparations were similar. I put 10 liters of water into the bellows, for the evening and morning wash. The MSR bellows has ingenious drain valves, it takes about half an hour before the water flows out from the smallest valve, so I have enough time to wash. If it was late enough, I bought a one-liter bottle of beer in the last pub, wrapped it into a towel and buried it into my clothes in the hot bag. The beer remained drinkable for over an hour and that was my deadline for finding a place to spend the night. Thanks to the beer, I did not have to boil green tea in the evening. Both beverages have the same beneficial effect on an organism suffering from heat exhaustion.
On the following day, I cycled comfortably downhill, then on a long plain, passing through two towns, so there was no shortage of food and drink. In Ciudad Constitución, which is quite a big city, I unsuccessfully tried to buy a spare tube for the bike. The following day’s route was hilly, the last mountain pass, but without the height and steepness. However, I still ended up almost 40 kilometers from La Paz. I had not been able to cover more than 120 kilometers that day. It was also due to the fact that, during the last 45 kilometers, I'd had no opportunity to eat and my stomach was rumbling. I saw a hut bearing the inscription "Restaurant". I happily cycled there and as usual greeted the owner politely, saying in my basic Spanish that I was hungry and what could the lady cook recommend? A bulky old woman rose up from watching a TV soap opera. She scanned my tired figure, thinking like everyone else: “what do you know about hunger?” and offered me meat or eggs (the usual selection tended to be significantly wider). I chose the first option, and in a quarter of an hour I had a perfect meal, including freshly baked wheat tortillas, for which the woman had made a dough. And I could even choose between corn or wheat tortillas. Finally, I asked her for water for my bag. The lady had problems walking, so she sent me to the back, to get the water for myself. There I discovered what the local drinking water was like. In the backyard, there was a plastic tub with a lid, about 500 liters in size, with a tin bucket in it, used for ladling the water. Although the water was delivered by tanker, what happened to it before consumption was dubious. It was ladled by different people, nobody knew what they had on their hands. Well, I used that water only for washing.
La Paz – The Last of Baja California It was important to solve the bike problems. I had been getting a puncture in the front tire daily for the past few days. I needed to buy new inner tubes. The Specialized tube did not seem to cope very well in the heat, while the Schwalbe tube in the rear wheel gave no problems. I cycled to all three bike stores in the city, but they did not have size 26 tubes, only thicker ones – 2.1 to 2.4. I decided it would not be a problem, so I bought two. When fitting the tube, I could see the casing properly at the puncture site and discovered that the problem had been caused by a cactus thorn, which could not be found by feeling during normal inspection. But when the tire casing absorbed a blow from the uneven ground, the thorn slid out and pierced the tube. It could not be pulled out, so I gently cut it off and eventually pasted it from the inside with silver tape. If it caused any further problems, I would glue a patch into the casing. Another problem I had was with the rear-view mirror. When I was turning the bike around to repair the punctures, the glass of the mirror had fallen out. It was not broken, so I put it back and did not worry about it. However, blind spots began to appear on the mirror, and quickly spread. Then I realized that the fine desert sand had penetrated behind the mirror and was grinding off the reflective layer. I cleaned it thoroughly. The spots stopped appearing, but of course the stains remained. So far it could be used with some effort, however, it had to be set more accurately than before and a new glass was needed. Hopefully I would find something along the way.
Direction: Mainland A few more details about the harbor, which in my opinion accurately characterizes the Mexican approach. Trucks from the fenced parking lot depart towards the ferry, where their cargo is inspected for the first time. The narrow road from the parking lot leads through a narrow gate, so the longer trucks have great difficulty in turning. They reverse and turn, while the port workers give them directions. This happens several times a week. Meanwhile, it would have been sufficient merely to widen the exit from the parking lot by about four meters, there was plenty of space. It was similar when boarding the ferry. There was a detection pole about two meters in height, where each passenger had to press a button and either he could go right on board or had to undergo a baggage check. The passengers had all pushed the button so hard that the pole had almost fallen down. They solved it brilliantly by a guy standing next to the pole, to catch it before it fell over. In Mazatlán I found accommodation for one night and then set out in the direction of Guadalajara. If the people there were also as perfect as in Baja, I had something to look forward to. And I hoped that it would be cooler there. Baja California is normally cycled in November, I was there too early. One could say that I was baked and cooked there.
The Best Method
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