55 MEXICO
5
356 Km – 157 Days
1
September 2012 – 5 February 2013
Photos
1-2
September - Corozal, Belize – Chetumal, Mexico - 27km
We
only had to cycle a short distance of 13 kilometres from our abode in Belize to
reach the Mexican border. However, we encountered a minor hiccup at the
emigration checkpoint as we realised that Belize Immigration had entered the
wrong date on Ernest's passport. Additionally, their computer systems were not
connected, causing problems for all parties involved. We waited patiently while
phone calls and faxes were exchanged to resolve the issue. Eventually, our
problem was solved, and we could proceed to Mexico.
After
crossing the border, it was clear that we had entered Mexico – a vibrant
country filled with colour, large American pick-up trucks and Corona beer, but minus
the sombreros. Barely 10 kilometres of riding brought us to Chetumal, the first
city after crossing the border and a convenient place to draw Mexican pesos. Ernest
needed bike spares, and all items were available in the town centre.
The
following morning, Ernest tinkered with his bicycle, and I trundled the
waterfront, scoffing delicious and entirely different street food. Mexican
cuisine was considerably different from the countries further south. I was pleased
about the six-month visa as Mexico seemed a fascinating country with a great
deal to explore.
In
one fell swoop, I learned what role Europeans played in the demise of the Mayan
culture. During the Spanish conquest of this area, the Maya state of Chetumal bravely
fought off several Spanish expeditions before finally being defeated in the
late 16th century. How sad is that? Eventually, the Spanish drove
all the Hispanic people away, and I understand that many settled in what is
today Belize.
3
September - Chetumal – Limones - 94km
Mexico
felt more organised and developed than the Central American countries we had
just come from. The road to Limones was smooth and featured a wide, good
shoulder.
At
lovely Laguna Bacalar, it was easy to understand why the lake was referred to
as the Lagoon of Seven Colours. The lake is scenic and home to the oldest life
on the planet in the form of an ancient population of stromatolites, a living
fossil that predates dinosaurs and even plants. I further learned that the lake
is fed by a 450-kilometre underground river that is part of the world’s largest
water cave and tunnel system. Sadly, this lake is now under grave threat due to
pollution.
The
village of Bacalar dates to Mayan times but was sadly conquered by the Spanish
in 1543. Fort San Felipe Bacalar, built in the 17th century to
protect the town from pirates, still exist.
Although
plenty of cabanas lined the lake’s shores, we cycled until we reached Limones.
Typical for that part of the world, even the tiniest settlement was home to
ancient ruins. Limones was no different and housed the Limones Mayan Ruins
dating back to 700 AD.
4
September - Limones – Felipe Carrillo Puerto - 63km
From
Limones, and in blistering heat, the road ran north through densely wooded
areas. The scenery remained unchanged for most of the day except for the
occasional lonchera (eatery), where one could fill up with water.
The
village of Felipe Carrillo Puerto sported a historical centre and thus marked
the end of the day’s ride. I was told that the church on the plaza was the only
church built by white slaves. The Chan Sante Cruze Hotel provided rooms around
a cool, grassy courtyard and became our abode that night.
5-6
September - Felipe Carrillo Puerto – Tulum - 115km
The
next day the weather was again sweltering, with practically nowhere to fill our
water bottles. Thank goodness, we found a well along the way.
Tulum
was surprisingly touristy, and curio shops, restaurants and bars lined the main
street. There were scarcely any Mexicans as the village catered mainly to the
hordes of tourists visiting the nearby ancient ruins of a walled Mayan city. I
was already frustrated by the heat and crowds, and wasn’t impressed to find the
ruins already closed.
Returning
to the village, the accommodation didn’t improve my foul mood as the noisy fan was
utterly useless. The beach was lovely, but quite a distance from town, making spending
one more day the logical choice.
7-8
September - Tulum – Playa Del Carmen - 75km
On
my way out of town, I popped into the Tulum ruins. It’s said Tulum was one of
the last cities inhabited by the Mayans. The city reached its height between
the 13th and 15th centuries and survived almost 70 years
after the Spanish occupied Mexico. Apart from the wars, it’s believed that diseases
brought by the Spanish settlers were part of the area’s demise. The Tulum ruins
aren’t as spectacular as many other sites but popular due to their picturesque
location.
I
continued to Playa Del Carmen, which turned out large and immensely touristy
but had a reasonably priced hostel close to the beach. I stayed two days as the
beach was lovely, and it felt like I needed to find myself.
The
city was largely touristy due to the ferry service, which ran to Cozumel Island,
a world-famous diving destination. In my wanderings, I learned of two basic
tequila categories: mixtos and 100% agave. Mixtos is mainly used for mixes such
as margaritas, etc., while 100% agave tequila is used for shots. Like other
spirits aged in casks, it’s darker and more mellow.
9-10
September - Playa Del Carmen – Cancun - 70km
The
road from Playa Del Carmen to Cancun headed along what is known as the Riviera
Maya, and even though the route was next to the ocean, one couldn’t see it.
World-renowned
Cancun was a strange city as the town began as a planned tourism project in
1974. Since then, the city has been transformed from a fisherman’s island, surrounded
by virgin forest and undiscovered shores, to Mexico’s most well-known resort.
Most Cancúnenses aren’t from Mexico, and there wasn’t much Mexican about the
place (unless you consider the thousands of tacky curio stands Mexican). That
said, the city was deliberately located upon a stunningly beautiful stretch of
coast. As just about all visitors were on vacation, Cancun had a relaxed mood, which
could encourage anyone to kick back. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that a
growing number of people from America and Europe got stuck there.
Regrettably,
I had to find a room in the city centre as the hotel zone was out of my price
range and they might not have allowed me in. Hahaha.
The
following morning, I searched for the US Consulate to inquire about obtaining a
visa. Unfortunately, they didn’t issue visas – Merida, the capital of Yucatan
state, was the place to go in that regard. They, nevertheless, gave me the
website for the application (a whopping $160 to apply, and then, hopefully, you
get an interview with the consul). However, that all had to wait until I
reached Merida, 300 kilometres west.
Staying
downtown wasn’t bad as the area had a more distinct Mexican flavour. Following
sunset, the central plaza came alive with villagers gathering to chat and eat
from the many mobile food carts.
11
September - Cancun – Chemax - 136km
From
Cancun, I set out west across the Yucatan Peninsula towards Merida. Here settlements
inhabited by Mayan descendants peppered the road.
My
destination of the day was Chemax, a tiny Mayan town and, as could be expected,
I stuck out like a sore thumb. People pointed, laughed and gawked. Finding digs,
I was sure the entire place knew my whereabouts and I was happy with a door to close
and be out of the public eye. The room was as bare-boned as it comes, apart
from 1000s of mosquitos and evidence of the previous occupants still clearly
visible. Fortunately, almost all accommodation types usually provide a shower and
there’s nothing quite like a shower following a long, hot day of cycling.
Afterwards,
I gave the room a liberal spray of mosquito repellent and went in search of
beer and tacos. Once more, I had the distinct feeling that the entire village
knew what I had for supper.
12
September - Chemax – Piste - 80km
An
effortless ride took me to Piste, past a few hamlets, tequila factories, and
the usual agave plantations. In the heat of the day, these settlements seemed desolate
as Mexicans took their siesta seriously. Even stray dogs were too sleepy to give
chase. Eventually, it took waking the shop owner from his midday hammock slumber
to get a cold drink.
In
Piste, a room at The Piramide Inn suited me fine. Stepping out, I came upon Ernest
camping next to a dilapidated building and was happy with my accommodation at
the inn.
Piste
was home to the famed ruins of Chichen Itza with its imposing El Castillo. The
pyramid was designed to represent the Mayan calendar. Its four sides contain
365 steps (depicting their solar year), 52 panels (each year in the Mayan
century, as well as each week in the solar year) and 18 terraces (the 18 months
in the religious year).
13
September - Piste – Izamal - 77km
In
the morning, the road led towards Merida, a fantastic ride through dense jungle
and past tiny hamlets. Like the previous days, the weather was sweltering without
a soul in sight. Midway to Izamal, clouds gathered and, in no time, it started
pouring as it can only do in the tropics. I pulled my cap down low and
continued amidst thunder and lightning but eventually had to pull off and wait
until the worst was over.
A
few kilometres further were the interesting town of Izamal, revealing impressive
historic architecture. The entire village was in an okra colour, aptly named The
Yellow City. Being an important city during the Mayan civilisation it featured
temples to the creator deity, Itzamna, and the Sun God, Kinich Ahau.
Regrettably,
the Spanish had little regard for this culture and built a new town atop the
existing Mayan one. Thank goodness, the Spanish found it too troublesome to
level the two most significant structures. Ironically, a small Christian temple
was placed atop the Great Pyramid. Later, a prominent Franciscan monastery was
built atop the acropolis, which was all quite un-Christian. Much of the old
city’s cut stone was reused to build the Spanish churches, monasteries, and
surrounding buildings.
I
took a room at Posada Flory and thought it amusing that Ernest was sent away
twice when he came looking for me. Hahaha. I should’ve pretended I didn’t know
him (as he most likely needed bike spares and proof of funds to apply for the
American visa), but I foolishly let him in.
14-19
September - Izamal – Merida - 70km
The
ride to Merida was fascinating, past communities steeped in history,
fascinating cultures, and exciting architecture. A sudden downpour soaked us to
the bone, but it soon cleared allowing us to proceed to Merida.
The
Hotel Trinidad was a weird and wonderful place. It was not quite a hotel or
hostel but a pleasant jumble of rooms adorned by the strangest art, antiques,
and junk. The place even had a pool set in a hidden garden. Our abode offered two
bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen area. As I intended to seek out the American
Embassy to apply for visas I booked the room for five days (seeing it was a
Friday) and fortunately received a substantial discount. However, I couldn’t
imagine myself in the same place for five days!
Hotel
Trinidad was smack bang in the heart of the Historical Centre, and fun to
explore the town in the company of Mexicans and tourists alike.
The
following day, the online visa applications were completed, fees paid, and
appointments were made at the Visa Office and the Embassy.
Sunday
came with a bang and, upon closer inspection, we discovered it was Independence
Day. Parades continued throughout the day and the centre became a hive of
activity and featured food stalls and souvenir traders. I tried capturing the
action on film, which was quite impossible considering the crowds.
Monday
was appointment number one and we were photographed, fingerprinted and all our papers
checked. All seemed in order and we were sent off with instructions on what not
to take to the Embassy the next day, including a lawyer, family members, food
and toothpaste! Have you ever!
Appointment
number two was scheduled for the following day. I arrived armed with armloads
of supporting documents, albeit without the attorney, supporting family members
and snacks for the anticipated long wait. Still, one had to wait outside the
building until called to enter. Entering Room 1, we were given a numbered
ticket and told to wait until called. Papers were re-checked before being
allowed to enter Room 2. Again, one waited until your number appeared and had
to stay behind a black line until the official (behind thick glass) could see you.
The biggest surprise was that all was in order, and the visas were approved
without glancing at my armload of documents. The visas could be collected in a
few days. What a rigmarole! I was sure applying to become president was less
troublesome.
Ernest
worked on his bicycle, and I rambled around town, investigating the Iglesia de
Jesus, built in the early 17th century from stones scavenged from temples
of the ancient Mayan city of T’ho. Strolling the grounds, I met a chap who shared
the church’s history and pointed out old stones, that still had Mayan writing. In
truth, his intentions were most likely to sell me a hammock or a Panama hat, two
items famous in Merida. Nevertheless, he was knowledgeable, and I learned much about
the city and Mayan history.
20
September - Merida – Maxcanu - 67km
With
our passports and American visas safely in our pockets, Ernest and I resumed
our journey toward Campeche. Once more, the settlements were fascinating, and
we made our way past a few old henequen haciendas (farms).
In
its heyday, these farms employed hundreds of people in the rope-making business,
nearly all of whom were exported to Europe and North America. During its boom
years, the henequen cactus was known as “green gold”. However, the golden age
ended when synthetic fibres replaced sisal rope. As a result, many haciendas were
abandoned and left to the jungle’s creep. These farms were predominantly
overgrown and neglected but still picturesque. A few even had rail lines to and
from the plantations.
In
Maxcanu, we cycled slap-bang into a lively festival (still part of the
Independence Day commemorations). It looked like fun and we stayed put. The
square was crammed with food, games, trampolines, and kiddies’ rides. People, young
and old, were out enjoying the festivities. Kids ran amok, and older folk, on
plastic chairs, enjoyed the action. I grabbed the camera and joined the
villagers, but I was under the impression more pictures were taken of me than
the festival. Fireworks, floats and marches continued until late that night.
21-22
September – Maxcanu - Campeche - 122km
Between
Maxcanu and Campeche were a whole host of villages, all revealing typical
Mexican central plazas, a church, a municipal building, and the ever-present statue.
We biked past Becal, home of the Panama Hat; even the central fountain was shaped
like gigantic concrete hats. Caught in the rain, made it a sopping-wet arrival in
Campeche.
Campeche
had an old Historical Centre that came as a pleasant surprise. The pastel-coloured
houses, narrow cobblestone streets and fortified walls were beautifully
restored. Many of the old city walls, which protected the town from pirates, still
existed and, at the time of our visit, Campeche was a UNESCO World Heritage
Site. Staying the next day to explore the old town was easy.
As
usual, I searched the municipal market and loved the light, smells, interesting
people, and chaos. I could saunter around for hours on end. The day flew by
meandering the colourful streets and pedestrian lanes, past old plazas offering
fascinating and gorgeous churches, and down narrow roads sporting interesting
sculptures.
23
September - Campeche – Champoton - 67km
From
Campeche, a beautiful ride took us to Champoton, a route that ran over hills
and next to the ocean. As usual, three kilometres from Champoton, the heavens
opened, and rain came gushing down. Pedalling into Champoton was amidst
thunder, lightning and pouring rain.
The
first guesthouse had to do, and the owner followed us, mop in hand. The coastal
region around Champoton is shallow and famous for cheap and plentiful shrimp
cocktails from mobile stands. No sooner had the rain abated than these vendors
reappeared.
24
September - Champoton – Sabancuy - 71km
In
the morning, a pleasurable amble along the coast, past more shrimp cocktail sellers,
along a road built flush next to the shore, led to Sanbancuy. Pelicans soared high
above and then dove down sharply in search of food.
Early
afternoon, a community on the far side of a large lake grabbed our attention and
made us turn in. Sanbancuy was a typical Mexican village with an old church, plaza,
street vendors, shops, and even a hotel.
25
September - Sabancuy - Cuidad Del Carmen - 87km
Oil
rigs could be seen far out to sea, indicating Mexico had oil fields. As a result,
petrol was inexpensive. I surmised the price was far below market value. Since
entering Mexico, we’ve seen only one fuel brand, indicating little or no profit
margin and thus no motivation for international oil companies.
The
bright red berries which grew along the way looked good enough to eat, but I
was reluctant to try as I didn’t know whether death would be instant or a slow,
painful, drawn-out process. Fearing the latter, I merely took pictures and left
the berries alone. LOL
26
September - Cuidad Del Carmen – Frontera - 100km
A
long bridge (approximately four kilometres) returned us to the mainland where
the road remained next to the coast past one-lane fishing hamlets.
During
the day, our path entered Tabasco’s state. Though I knew this spicy sauce, I
never associated the sauce with the name of one of Mexico’s 32 states. I
further discovered the tabasco chilli is barely four centimetres long and the sole
variety of chilli pepper whose fruits are juicy i.e., not dry on the inside,
explaining why it’s used to make sauce. Furthermore, unlike most chillies,
tabasco fruits grow upwards, instead of hanging down from their stems.
Frontera,
another typical Mexican settlement with a central square, church, food carts
and municipal buildings, marked the end of the day’s ride.
27-28
September - Frontera – Paraiso - 81km
From
Frontera, a minor coastal route continued past pueblos with colourful buses. At
a drink stop, I realised that a mouth-watering regional dish always accompanies
a Coca-Cola advert. In Mexico, this famous drink was accompanied by the
traditional Yucatan cochinita pibil, or pit-roasted pork, cooked in a banana
leaf and garnished with pickled red onions.
We
biked to Paraiso, a village featuring a large central plaza and home to the
colourful San Marcos Church.
The
next day allowed regular rest day chores and, as the town was home to an
interesting market, I went on a walkabout. The remainder of my time was spent strolling
through markets and narrow streets, enjoying the food and shopping for chilli
peppers.
29-30
September - Paraiso – Villahermosa - 81km
Already boiling on
departing Paraiso, the heat made it exhausting cycling, and it felt like I couldn’t
keep those wheels turning. Scarcely 20 kilometres further was Comalcalco, a
Chontal Maya archaeological site, not too far off the route. Arriving,
mosquitos descended upon us like bats out of hell. I covered myself in mosquito
repellent and went exploring.
Comalcalco was remarkable,
as it differed from the other Mayan sites in that the structures were built using
kiln-fired bricks. More impressive was the bricks were identical to those used
by the Romans, and excavation of the area revealed Roman-like figurines. When
an oyster shell base mortar (used to bind the brick) was removed, it revealed
markings on the bricks’ backs. These markings are understood to be the brickmakers’
fingerprints and are virtually identical to markings found on Roman bricks. It
boggles the mind. Is it possible maybe, just maybe, the Romans got here 1,000
years earlier than Columbus?
Back
on the bikes, and onto Villahermosa, the road went past Cunduacan. In this
large university town, we stopped for a cold drink, and I couldn’t believe fire
ants had attacked me again.
Reaching
Villahermosa was in peak hour traffic, not something I needed in the oppressing
heat. Luckily, a convenient abode across the market was spotted and we could offload
and stuff our faces with tacos.
Villahermosa
turned out fascinating and revealed a significant and buzzing old centre where
the smell of Mexican food hung in the air, and pedestrian malls made for leisurely
meandering.
An
additional day in Villahermosa allowed visiting the Parque La Venta
archaeological site, known for its Olmec artefacts. The artefacts were moved to
the park from their original location for protection due to oil exploration activities.
The park is best known for its ten-foot-high Olmec basalt carved heads. However,
little is known of the Olmecs, making them even more mysterious. Today,
twenty-eight Olmec carvings are scattered in this large, lush, tropical garden.
1-3
October - Villahermosa – Teapa - 70km
The
way north headed inland along flat banana-covered plains towards the Sierra
Madre de Chiapas and en route to the Pacific Coast. Cycling onto Teapa, the
weather was hot and humid, typical of what one would expect in the tropics. The
plan was to stay next to the river but sadly the place we had in mind was closed,
and we returned to the town centre.
The
following morning, rain came bucketing down, and it was easy to stay put and explore
the nearby caves instead. The caves were fascinating, featuring eight chambers
and an underground stream. Stalagmites and stalactites, beautifully lit,
covered the walls; the best part was being the sole visitor.
4
October - Teapa – Tapilula - 80km
From
Teapa, the way north led over the Sierra Madre de Chiapas. This mountain range
runs from Chiapas in Mexico across western Guatemala, El Salvador, and
Honduras. Thus, it wasn’t the first time we crossed it. The way was exceptionally
scenic, past waterfalls, across rivers, under moss-covered cliffs and past
mountain settlements far below in the valleys.
Hearing
people referring to this stretch as the “old mountain highway”, I should’ve
known we were in for a big climb. Cycling was at a snail’s pace – higher and
higher, and it was past 17h00 before we crawled into the hamlet of Tapilula.
5
October - Tapilula – Pueblo Nuevo Solistahuacan - 37km
The
following morning, our assumption that we were close to the top was clearly
incorrect as the road kept going straight up the mountain as it climbed even
further. Slowly, we edged towards the cloud level, but the winding path still
took us to even greater heights. Thick, cool fog rolled in, and I could barely
see Ernest in my rear-view mirror. With the narrow and steep pass, all one’s
concentration was needed to keep a look-out for traffic in such low visibility.
The
mountain settlement of Pueblo Nuevo offered the usual square, market, a few shops,
and vendors selling tacos. Luckily, these mountain settlements all had
accommodation. I was happy to get under a hot shower and, due to the altitude, for
the first time in many a month, I needed a blanket.
6
October - Pueblo Nuevo Solistahuacan – Bochil - 40km
A
short but magnificent ride ran over the mountains to the settlement of Bochil.
The route led us past numerous waterfalls and swaying suspension bridges over
large rivers. So mountainous was it, the area reminded me of Nepal. Bochil
turned out to be a busy village with shops, churches and markets.
7-8
October - Bochil – Chiapa de Corzo - 70km
From
Bochil our path continued 12 kilometres straight up and down into a valley,
setting the scene for the rest of the day. Finally, the route reached a high
point from where it descended into Chiapa de Corzo. We flew down the mountain via
switchbacks, passing cascading waterfalls that sprayed us with a fine mist. The
speeds we reached were fast enough to make me worry about hitting potholes or
getting a blowout. Mercifully, that never happened.
Chiapa
de Corzo was a fascinating old colonial village sporting a long history. The
next day, a boat ride took me along the Canon del Sumidero. In this spectacular
canyon, cliffs soar above the River Grijalva, past equally spectacular
waterfalls cascading down cliffs. The ride offered stunning gorge views while
spotting crocodiles, monkeys and plenty of birdlife. The Sumidero Canyon was narrow
and deep and surrounded by a national park. I read the canyon’s creation began
around the same time as the Grand Canyon in the US, formed by a crack in the
area’s crust and erosion by the Grijalva River.
9
October - Chiapa de Corzo – Tuxtla - 16km
After
cycling the great distance of 16 kilometres, the city of Tuxtla lured us in. Tuxtla
had no major attractions and we had no reason to stay there. Still, I did and spent
the day wandering around the narrow streets, observing Mexican village life.
10
October - Tuxtla – Cintalapa - 83km
A
steady 25-kilometre climb led up the mountain until reaching a downhill of the
same distance. I never complained about a descent and was more than happy when,
rounding a corner, I saw the road proceeding even further down to what seemed
like a long, flat section.
In
the town of Cintalapa, we noticed the Hotel Palacio; it wasn’t much of a palace
but comfortable enough. Ernest cooked spaghetti; a dish we devoured in record
time.
11
October - Cintalapa – San Pedro Tapanatepec - 80km
Shortly
after departing, we encountered two cyclists going in the opposite direction. I
expected to start seeing more cyclists as we were following the classic north-south
cycling route. After chatting awhile, we departed with the knowledge (although
hilly) there were no major mountain passes along the way.
The
remainder of the day was easy cycling except for a grass fire, something I didn’t
particularly appreciate as the smoke was dense and embers blew across the road.
This created a dangerous lack of visibility and coated our sweat-soaked bodies
in black soot.
I
was never more relieved to clear the danger zone. The remainder of the way went
past colourful fields of millet. Up and down we went, until reaching a long
downhill offering vistas of the Pacific Coast in the distance. Still, the route
descended, revealing stunning valley views. Finally, once in Tapanatepec, we
were over the Sierra Madre de Chiapas and in the lowlands’ heat and humidity. I
didn’t quite realise how cooler the climate was in the mountains.
12
October - San Pedro Tapanatepec – Juchitan de Zaragopza - 111km
Every
day came with its challenges, and on this day we had to deal with the wind
along the coastal plains. The path ran past the town of La Ventosa - which (I
think) means “the windy place” in Spanish.
La
Ventosa was also the centre of a giant wind farm along the Isthmus of Tehuantepec
(the narrowest point between the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico). I
understood that the difference in temperature between the two oceans creates a
virtual wind tunnel through a gap in the Sierra Madre. I’ve heard the wind
gusts are so severe that they can take roofs off houses.
13
October - Juchitan de Zaragoza – Morro de Mazatan - 73km
The
coastal route didn’t run beside the ocean but primarily inland over hills. I
realised I was mentally unprepared for the mountains, wind and heat. There were
occasional glimpses of the beach, but the road soon swung inland over the
hills.
Eventually,
after many inclines, the tiny pueblo of Morro de Mazatan appeared, which
sported a tienda, a restaurant with three rooms, and a few houses. By evening, Ernest
cooked a huge meal which we had no problem polishing off.
14
October - Morro de Mazatan – Barra de la Cruz - 94km
After
our usual morning coffee, we pedalled onwards, following a parallel path along
the Pacific Ocean in the direction of Acapulco. The ride was slow and exhausting
in blistering heat as our route took us up and down never-ending hills. At
least the way was scenic with many flowers, and butterflies darting across the path.
Eventually,
we crawled into Barra de la Cruz, a surfing community with simple accommodation
and eateries. Our abode that night was a bare wood and thatch cabana with two
sagging beds and a rickety fan. Our neighbours were surfers from Australia, but
I was too tired to do anything but swing in a hammock.
15
October - Barra de la Cruz – San Pedro Pochutla - 70km
From
Barra de la Cruz the road climbed steeply to the main drag. So steep was the route,
I had to walk the bicycle. Once on our original path, an undulating road took
us to Pochutla where a short stroll led to the nearby supermarket, which
allowed purchasing the necessary items for supper. Phew, at times it felt like all
I did was cycle and eat.
16-17
October - San Pedro Pochutla – Puerto Escondido - 70km
Eventually,
the route levelled out and became easy riding to Puerto Escondido where we
opted to overnight at Playa Zicatela.
We
spent the day in Puerto Escondido where the waves were fast and furious. The
beach is known as The Mexican Pipeline, one of the top ten surfing meccas globally.
The beach further had a dangerous surf break and extremely powerful waves. Still,
a certain electricity prevailed when the big waves rolled in.
Like
nearly everyone, I’m naturally drawn to the pounding waves and can spend hours
gazing at them. Sitting there, I could almost feel the power of these mighty waves
crashing ashore.
18
October - Puerto Escondido – Roca Blanca - 45km
The
route north led past lakes and farmlands, and no more than 40 kilometres after
leaving, a sign pointed to Roca Blanca. After debating, we decided to turn off
and were well rewarded for our effort.
Roca
Blanca was a lovely beach and sported palapa restaurants. The coast was
wonderfully undeveloped, and October was an excellent time to travel in that
part of the country. The beaches were uncrowded and prices low. It didn’t take long
to make up our minds to stay as the beach was lovely with barely anyone in
sight.
Unfortunately,
the room was no more than a few planks stuck together. Following sunset, the
bugs descended as if they were waiting for unsuspecting visitors. There was
little else to do but turn off the lights, turn the fan on full, and cover
yourself in mosquito repellent.
19
October - Roca Blanca – San Jose del Progres - 48km
Before
getting underway, we had a typical breakfast of beans and eggs. Once again, I
was astounded by the enormous petrol-guzzling monsters we encountered as they
reminded me of Venezuela. As mentioned previously, I suspected the fuel was government
subsidised.
20
October - San Jose del Progresso – Santiago Pinotepa Nacional - 60km
It
was one of those stinking hot days which left a person drained. Still, we set
off over the hills as the road zig-zagged inland. So hot was it that I started
feeling dizzy and light-headed and, cycling into Pinotepa, we opted for an air-conditioned
room.
21
October - Santiago Pinotepa Nacional – Cuajiniculapa - 57km
Though
still hot, I didn’t find the heat as unbearable as the previous day.
Unfortunately, Ernest had bike problems, which is not something you want in the
blistering heat. Mercifully, the way flattened out and the scenery became lovely
revealing wildflowers growing two metres tall; beautiful yellow, orange, and
purple prevailed.
22
October - Cuajiniculapa – Marquelia - 66km
At
first, we were lured into thinking the day would be a comfortable ride as it
started along a relatively flat section. Soon, however, we cycled up a long
hill in sweltering heat. I watched perspiration drip from my face onto the
tarmac as we climbed hill upon hill; drip, drip, drip, pedal, pedal, pedal. It,
nonetheless, remained delightful as wildflowers were still in full bloom and
plenty of birds, butterflies and bees were out and about.
The
weather called for an air-conditioned room in Marquelia; regrettably, the
air-conditioning didn’t work, and we moved to another place where the
air-conditioning was just slightly more effective. That evening, the
temperature never cooled down, and at 22h00, it was still 30°C but it felt like
36°C.
23
October - Marquelia – San Marcos - 81km
It
was an uneventful day, apart from the heat. We headed along the usual
undulating road to San Marcos, where a room around a pool was exactly what we
needed.
24-26
October - San Marcos – Acapulco - 86km
Another
sweltering day made even the beautiful wildflowers fade. The way into Acapulco
was far more challenging than we had anticipated as our path climbed steeply up
the mountain and then descended into Acapulco’s magnificent bay. Once in the
city, finding accommodation was easy as there were masses of hotels one could pick
from. Being low season, nearly all places offered good deals.
To
avoid getting stuck in the northern hemisphere’s inhospitable weather, I
decided to visit South Africa. I was pretty excited about doing something
different and started organising to store my stuff until my return. However, the
flight would be a long two days of travel, something I wasn’t looking forward
to.
Enough
time remained to see the famous cliff divers of Acapulco. Not only did they
plummet from an amazing height into a narrow channel but had to time the dive
with the incoming waves, as the channel wasn’t very deep. Reaching the top of
the cliff was another challenge, as divers had to swim across the channel and
then, like geckos, scramble to the top, where they asked for protection at a
shrine, which I assumed could only be from the Diving Gods.
27-29
October - Acapulco – Mexico City - (by bus)
I
woke early to pack and re-organise my belongings. The friendly owners of the
hotel in Acapulco allowed me to store the bicycle and bags until my return. Not
wanting to miss out, Ernest decided to join me on the ride to the capital.
At
9h30 we boarded a comfortable bus for the long ride to Mexico City. The bus
ride was approximately five hours and took us from sea level to almost 2,400m.
The
capital felt like a whole new country. The city is vast, featuring a population
of nearly 20 million. It was vibrant and cosmopolitan, full of life and colour with
weird and wonderful people. Interestingly, the city ranks as the eighth most
prosperous city globally. Sitting at more than 2,000 metres altitude, it was considerably
cooler than Acapulco.
We
made our way straight to the historic centre known as The Zocalo. The main
square is not only the heart of the city, but also the largest square in Latin
America, and the third largest in the world after Moscow’s Red Square and
Beijing’s Tiananmen Square. To me, it was one of the most beautiful, as a
plethora of magnificent old buildings, including the main cathedral and the
Palacio Nacional, surround it.
Amidst
people and traffic chaos, one can find old ruins right in the city centre, participate
in a purification ceremony, eat tacos, and watch street artists and dancers.
During
our visit the city was preparing for two major festivals. The Festival of Mime ensured
the streets were filled with silent shows performed by mime artists. The second
festival was the Day of the Dead/Skulls Festival. Almost all shops were
decorated, and kids ran around in scary costumes.
I
kept an eye on the news concerning the approaching Hurricane Sandy. The information
didn’t seem promising as the hurricane grew in size and strength as it crept
closer to the United States East Coast. The following two days’ flights, to and
from Washington, were cancelled and I feared my flight would be next.
30-31
October - Mexico City (and Veracruz)
Early
morning, I checked the internet. Sure enough, the flights to SA via the USA were
cancelled due to Hurricane Sandy. I took the underground to the airport and
rescheduled for 5 November.
Impulsively,
we hopped on a bus to Veracruz, situated along the Caribbean coast. The
southern bus terminus was modern and new, and the bus luxurious, offering aeroplane-like
service. The bus flew down the mountain via tunnels and high bridges, past the country’s
highest peak, the snow-capped Pico De Orizaba. After five hours, we were spat
out at Veracruz, situated along the Caribbean coast, where the weather was warm
and humid.
1
November - Veracruz
The
first of November is the “Day of the Dead” (Dia de Los Muertos), when people remember
and honour deceased loved ones. It’s believed the spirits return on this one day
to be together with their families. Offerings of flowers and small amounts of the
deceased’s favourite food were made. Parades, floats and people dressed in
scary costumes filled the city. All in all, heaps of fun.
The
town centre had a significant market where one could find almost anything, including
clothes, bags, wallets, shoes, etc. For a reasonable fee, I replaced the zipper
of my backpack, after which I proceeded to the waterfront for a short boat ride
around the harbour, offering beautiful sunset views. Then, as if that wasn’t enough,
I hopped on a bus for a brief city tour.
2
November - Veracruz – Mexico City - By bus
Catching
a bus for the return trip to Mexico City was a novelty as it was a trip which would
generally take a few days by bicycle. In the capital, the Day of the Dead’s
festivities were still in full swing and the central plaza was a hive of
activity. As soon as we located accommodation, I returned to the main plaza which
I found crowded with floats, bands, and tons of people.
4-6
November - Mexico City – Cape Town
The
next day, Ernest and I took the underground to another part of town. Partly to
see if I could locate a United Airlines office, and partly to see a different
part of town. Unfortunately, shopping for a few gifts was unsuccessful, as I
was determined to take only hand luggage.
Finally,
the fifth arrived, and a taxi took me to the airport, and a bus returned Ernest
to Acapulco. The first leg of the journey was a four-hour flight from Mexico
City to Washington. The flight was chock-a-block full, and no space for my
carry-on bag in the overhead compartment which was subsequently booked in with the
other luggage. At Washington Airport, my carry-on luggage disappeared – so much
for my determination to only take hand luggage. Mercifully, the bag reappeared,
but as the airport was huge, I had to sprint to make my connecting flight.
The
plane landed in Dakar but, sadly, we couldn’t disembark. The good thing was the
people next to me were Dakar bound, and I had the entire row of seats to myself
during the next leg of the journey.
Therefore,
the third eight-hour leg from Dakar to Johannesburg was a pleasant snooze. Once
in Johannesburg, catching a connecting two-hour flight to Cape Town made me run.
Again, I was fortunate to be placed next to a talkative gentleman, which caused
a pleasant trip.
Amanda
and Erika picked me up from the airport and drove home in luxury. We jabbered
on until the early morning hours like only sisters can. Unfortunately, my
internal clock was utterly out of sync, and following three hours of sleep, I
was wide awake, which set the trend for the next few days.
7-9
November - Cape Town
We
ate, drank, and chatted non-stop for the next few days. The kids all seemed to
have doubled in height since last seen. They’ve gone from kids to young,
beautiful adults. I listened to their life journeys and was amazed at their maturity.
How time flies.
10-30
November - Cape Town
Erika
organised a wonderful weekend away at the nearby West Coast National Park. We
did almost nothing apart from eating and drinking. Amanda and I managed a few
days away to Still Bay to visit my mum and we kicked back at our holiday home.
I
was terrible as I saw none of the friends I wanted to see. Instead, for the
most part, I spent my time doing absolutely nothing. However, I was surprised by
the new and funky coffee shops in the centre of town. My cousin, Ansie showed
me the “new way”. They even had a bicycle-friendly coffee shop where cyclists got
coffee and space to store their bikes—a great idea.
Soon,
the time came to return to Mexico, and I discovered my return flight would take
even longer!
30
November - Cape Town, South Africa – Mexico City, Mexico
Eventually,
I said my goodbyes and boarded the plane for the long and tedious flight to
Mexico. The flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg went smoothly; except on landing,
there were no wheel blocks. Have you ever! The stairs could therefore not be
attached, and there wasn’t a good deal more to do but wait until said blocks
could be traced. Already a tight connection, I had to sprint to make the departure
gate. At first, I was informed my bags were already offloaded, but at the last
moment was allowed onboard.
The
biggest surprise came once in Washington. Assuming it would be a four-hour
flight to Mexico City, you can imagine my shock when the flight turned out to
be a thirteen-hour affair. My word, what a performance! That will teach me to
check the flight details carefully prior to booking.
My
flight landed in Mexico City on the evening of 1 December. After changing money,
a taxi took me to Terminal Sur Bus Station where I checked the coming day's bus
schedule, and then headed to the nearest hotel where I slept like a baby.
2-3
December - Mexico City – Acapulco - By bus
Well
rested and following coffee and a bite to eat, I was on the final leg to
Acapulco. In Acapulco, it was a relief to be reunited with the bike. The
weather was fantastic; at 8 p.m., it was still 30°C without a breath of wind,
and the ocean was not significantly cooler. It was good to be in my familiar
world of the unknown.
The
next day was spent in Acapulco re-organising bags and buying a few needed
things. The remainder of the day was spent at the beach, where fruit sellers
peddled their wares, exquisitely carved into pieces of art.
4-5
December - Acapulco – Mazatlán - By bus
I
received an email from Ernest stating he was waiting in Mazatlán. I decided to
cheat and take the bus as he reported the coastal road was scarily narrow and
quite dangerous. In hindsight, he could’ve had ulterior motives, and I’m unsure
if it is indeed the case.
In
Mazatlán, Ernest was waiting at the bus station. Hotel Lerma had rooms around a
large and spacious courtyard/parking area, making staying amazingly comfortable.
The price was considered a bargain. The weather was terrific and supper was from
a sidewalk café.
6-7
December - Mazatlán
I
spent a relaxing day sauntering through the historic centre and lovely
beachfront. Ernest needed bike parts (as surmised) but none were found. In the
process, we had the bicycles washed at a carwash, where the staff didn’t want
money, merely a Coca-Cola. Afterwards, we bought ingredients for a salad with freshly
baked rolls from the bakery.
Ernest
worked on his bike the following morning while I investigated the historic city
centre. Mazatlán was a pleasant town where one could easily spend a few days,
but I was keen to get going.
8-9
December - Mazatlán – La Cruz de Elota - 108km
From
Mazatlán, a hundred-and-ten-kilometre ride led to La Cruz de Elota. In the
process, the road, sadly, crossed the Tropic of Cancer meaning I was officially
out of the tropics.
North
of Mazatlán were countless shrimping communities where men headed out in the
early evening and returned at dawn with nets bulging.
I
could feel a cold coming on, and we stayed the following day. Ernest spent the day
fixing his bags and sewing clothes that needed mending.
10
December - La Cruz de Elota – Obispo - 58km
The
route north was pancake flat as we biked past large vegetable plantations.
Tomatoes are one of Mexico’s native plants that are essential to many countries’
cuisine. Growers in Sinaloa are the primary producers and exporters of fresh
tomatoes, and vehicle number plates even depict a tomato.
En
route were hardly any villages or shops to fill water bottles and we turned
into Obispo to do the necessary. However, the people were so friendly we decided
to stay the night.
11
December - Obispo – Aguaruto - 85km
In
the morning, we followed the highway, my pet hate, but it had a wide shoulder
and made for comfortable riding. Shortly after midday, a turnoff led to
Culiacan where we spotted a motel.
Upon
inquiring about the price, the establishment revealed itself as a “love motel” where
rooms were rented by the hour. Nonetheless, they made us a good deal as it was highly
likely they never had bicycle tourers as clients. The room was huge with a fancy
bathroom and I didn’t think anyone had ever cooked a meal in any of the rooms.
12
December - Aguaruto – Wild camp - 75km
The
weather was great and, since crossing the Tropic of Cancer, the landscape became
notably drier and the temperature somewhat cooler. Even though still warm, conditions
were far less humid making it perfect cycling.
Following
75 kilometres of biking, a petrol station was ideal for pitching the tents as
it had a grassy patch, toilets, showers, and a restaurant. Later, we watched
the sunset over the Sonora desert, sipping a cold Sol.
13
December - Wild camp – Guasave - 80km
The
climate was terrific as the route led past large vegetable fields and the
country’s vegetable garden appeared to be in northern Mexico. The farms we cycled
past were extensive with slick farming operations and top-of-the-range equipment.
A shade cloth entirely covered vast areas, and in other fields, individual rows
were covered to keep the sun and birds at bay.
The
day went smoothly – apart from the three flat tyres Ernest had. It started
drizzling near Guasave, which made us pull in to find accommodation, concluding
the day’s ride.
14-15
December - Guasave – Los Mochis - 67km
We
woke to brilliant weather and found the road smooth and flat past beautiful
scenery and vast fields of beans and maise. Each plantation had its own beauty
of colour and lines and it was one of those days I was grateful to be out
bicycle touring.
Our
arrival in Los Mochis was around midday, and we planned to spend an additional
day allowing the necessary housekeeping. At first, we considered taking the
ferry west across the Sea of Cortez to the Baja California Peninsula. However,
the going was good, and therefore better to take the ferry from Guaymas.
We
were dragging our heels somewhat, trying to spend as much time as possible in
Mexico instead of venturing north into the freezing weather.
16
December - Los Mochis
Five
kilometres out of town, I discovered my front rim broken and we returned to town,
but all the shops were closed on a Sunday.
17-18
December - Los Mochis
We
were at the bike shop early in the morning, where I bought a new rim. The tricky
part was spoking and trimming the wheel, something at which Ernest had become
quite a pro, and after a couple of hours, the wheel was as good as new.
In
the meantime, I managed to get a severe bout of food poisoning. I was sick as a
dog all night as well as the following day. The day passed in a blur, and I didn’t
do much but stay in bed and as close to the bathroom as possible.
19
December - Los Mochis – Diaz Ordaz - 64km
I
dragged myself out of bed, loaded the bicycle and, although not feeling 100%,
managed to cycle without puking to Diaz Ordaz, where we slinked in early. Diaz
Ordaz was a typical Mexican town with a Pemex Service Station (the only company
authorised to sell gasoline in Mexico), a Santa Fe Supermarket, a Tecate Beer
Shop, and of course the ever-present grilled Pollo restaurants. Cycling down
the dusty streets, a motel soon appeared.
Ernest
returned from the supermarket with ingredients to cook spaghetti, which I
managed to keep down.
20
December - Diaz Ordaz – Navojoa - 110km
Feeling
considerably stronger, we biked 110 kilometres to Navojoa. Our chosen route followed
a railway line while the countryside slowly became less and less lush each day.
During
the day, we entered the state of Sonora and, hence, the Sonoran Desert. I
understood the Sonoran Desert is the only place where the famous saguaro cactus
grows wild. All this made it a pleasant day of biking, and we finished the day’s
ride in Navojoa.
21
December - Navojoa –
Ciudad Obregon - 70km
Our
Doomsday (21/12/12) ride turned out uneventful as we pedalled further north towards
Obregon. Sadly, it became a miserable ride due to roadworks and horrendous
traffic. The traffic had increased, and we encountered a steady stream heading
in the opposite direction. Many of these seemed to be “Snowbirds” from the USA
flocking south. Others were holidaymakers in SUVs loaded with luggage, bicycles,
and other holiday paraphernalia.
Obregon
was a madhouse with everyone out doing their last Christmas shopping. Ernest
made a potato salad, which turned out enough to feed the entire village.
22
December - Ciudad Obregon – Vicam - 53km
A
short 53-kilometre cycle led to Vicam and I was astonished at the increase in
traffic as we encountered a non-stop flow leading south. The holiday season was
clearly in full swing. Fortunately, we were going in the opposite direction.
At
last, I cycled through an area littered with cacti. Before arriving in Mexico,
the first picture that sprung to mind was the iconic desert scene with a sombrero-clad
Mexican beside a colossal cactus. How wrong was I!
23-25
December - Vicam – Guaymas - 77km
Guaymas
was a sad little port city but came with a lovely waterfront where the fountain
was synchronised to Christmas music. From Guaymas, the plan was to take the ferry
to Santa Rosalia, Baja, California. However, we soon learned the next ferry was
only in three days, and we had a day or two to kill.
On
Christmas Day, I sought out the waterfront crowded with excited kids. The scene
was universal with children dressed in their Sunday best, enthralled with Christmas
presents. Some were on shiny new bicycles going ten to the dozen, while others were
more cautious with their newfound freedom.
26
December - Guaymas – Santa Rosalia – By Ferry
Baja
California is the northernmost and westernmost of the 32 Mexican states. It
comprises a peninsula that stretches from the US border in California south to
Carbo San Lucas, nearly 1,600 kilometres. The peninsula is reachable by road
near the US border or by taking one of the two ferries plying the waters
between the mainland and the peninsula. We opted for the Guaymas ferry which sailed
at 20h00, and had plenty of time to kill.
Waiting,
I spent the afternoon clicking away, making the Guaymas herons the most
photographed in all of Mexico. Fortunately, the ferry wasn’t very full, with
plenty of empty seats and one could spread out and get a good night’s sleep.
27
December - Santa Rosalia
Being
an overnight ferry, we disembarked in Santa Rosalia at seven the next morning.
Santa Rosalia was unlike any other Mexican town. Its brightly painted clapboard
houses, inns with large verandas, tiny stores, and prefab churches resembled a
typical one-horse town from an old Western movie set. However, the village was,
in fact, an old French copper mining town. A closer investigation revealed old
locomotives and other mining machinery scattered about.
The
most amusing was the history of the church. The old, prefabricated church in town
was built for the Paris 1889 World Fair, allegedly designed by the famed
Gustave Eiffel. After the fair, the church was disassembled and stored in
Brussels for shipping to West Africa. Still, it somehow turned up in Santa
Rosalia, where it remains until this day.
28
December - Santa Rosalia – Mulege - 65km
By
morning, we proceeded south to La Paz. The landscape increasingly resembled the
quintessential Mexican scenery imagined, i.e., blue skies and cacti, but there
were still no sombreros.
The
tiny oasis community of Mulege signalled the end of the day’s ride. Unfortunately,
this tiny community had a depressing history. I learned that indigenous people
had lived in this area for thousands of years. Europeans, sadly, brought
diseases to which the indigenous people had never been exposed. Consequently,
they had no immunity. By 1767, measles, plague, smallpox, typhus, and venereal
diseases had decimated the native population. Out of an initial population of
as many as 50,000, only a handful were assumed to have survived. How sad is
that?
I
located a room where Ernest cooked fettuccini, enough to see us through the following
day.
29-30
December - Mulege – Los Cocos Beach - 31km
Shortly
after departing Mulege, we found ourselves along the stunning shores of Bahia
Concepcion. The beaches were pristine, and the water a lovely blue-green. Many
of these beaches appeared home to makeshift RV parks where American and
Canadian campers were parking off to escape the unforgiving North American
winter.
We
made friends with the other campers, including Gord and Gwen, who had
recommended Los Cocos Beach to us earlier. I even had a hot shower in their trailer,
and Gord gave us a whole can of drinking water. My gears had been giving
trouble due to worn-out cables, and Ernest replaced those in the afternoon.
An
additional day was spent in Los Cocos and Ernest and Gord went fishing on his
boat. Returning, Gord fried their sand bass and triggerfish catch, and he and
Gwen invited us to dinner.
31
December - Los Cocos Beach – Loreto - 115km
The
ride south along the shores of Bahia Concepcion was exceptionally scenic. So magnificent
was the landscape, we stopped every few kilometres to admire the view. The
route was slightly hillier; arrival in Loreto was thus past 6 p.m. and in darkness.
Being
cold, a room in the historic part of town was more convenient. I was suffering
from a cold, and it had been a long day. New Year’s Eve, was consequently not a
party night as I was fast asleep long before the clock struck twelve.
1
January - Loreto
New
Year’s Day was spent in Loreto, considered the oldest human settlement on the
Baja Peninsula.
2
January - Loreto – Puerto Escondido - 35km
Getting
underway was past 11:00 after searching for an ATM. Shortly afterwards, a sign
pointed to Puerto Escondido, which had a fancy harbour with even more fancy
boats anchored in the bay. Searching for a suitable spot to pitch the tents, we
enquired at the single hotel. They pointed to their lawn and proudly pointed
out they had Wi-Fi and a swimming pool. The Wi-Fi was handy, but the weather was
too cold to swim.
3
January - Puerto Escondido – Ciudad Insurgentes - 98km
The
road veered inland over the mountains that weren’t as bad as anticipated. The
terrain was undulating for the first 50 kilometres. After that, the route beat
a dead-straight path through the cacti. Ciudad Insurgentes came with a guesthouse
which made it convenient overnighting.
4-5
January - Ciudad Insurgentes – Ciudad Constitucion - 26km
From
Ciudad Insurgentes, a short cycle led to Ciudad Constitucion which sported an RV
park. Being a typical Mexican campsite, it was a tad dusty but full of colour,
cattle skulls, and cacti. We did a whole host of laundry and were surprised to discover
two cyclists. Daniel and Simone, a German couple, were nearing the end of their
trip. It’s always lovely to chat with other cyclists and as they decided to
stay an additional day, so did we.
6
January - Ciudad Constitucion – El Ciento Veintiocho - 89km
We
waited until the sun warmed the air, and it was 11 a.m. when we said our
goodbyes to Simone and Daniel and continued south towards La Paz. Again, the
road ran as straight as an arrow through the cacti. Came evening, the tents
were pitched next to a small, isolated “restaurant”. A dreary place to spend
the night, but at sunset, the sky was transformed into a wonderland of colour.
7
January - El Ciento Veintiocho – La Paz - 128km
I
awoke to snorting and stuck my head out to see what animal was feeding on the
tent; in the process I was greeted with the most extraordinary sunrise. The sky
was a deep red, against which the cacti made pretty silhouettes.
The
level road we enjoyed until then ended and turned into a roller-coaster ride. Only
a few shops/restaurants were scattered along the way, and a 60-kilometre
stretch came with nothing but cacti. Fortunately, we had plenty of water to see
us to La Paz.
8-9
January - La Paz
Two
days were spent in La Paz. La Paz was relatively modern with large shopping
centres and other facilities. At one of these stores, Ernest spotted suitcases,
and the story goes as follows:
Right
from the start Ernest had a problem with his heavily ladened bicycle. He had to
throw out heaps of “necessary stuff” even before setting off. Still, he departed
Cape Town with a massive load. As the trip progressed, his possessions slowly
increased. Nearly all suspect baggage was carried on top of the ample rear rack.
The configuration changed according to the duration of container bags. In La
Paz Mexico, he spotted suitcases at a Walmart store. He became obsessed with
consolidating everything on the rear rack into a manageable package. One large,
hard-shell, jetsetter suitcase (with wheels and retractable handle) later, he
was smiling. He removed the retractable handle, but still, the suitcase attracted
a fair amount of attention from passers-by.
10
January - La Paz – Topolobampo - 28km & ferry
Following
much deliberation, it was concluded to take the ferry to the mainland to start
the trek north to Nogales. We were operating in low gear as it was mid-winter
further north. By dragging out our stay in Mexico, we hoped the weather would
be slightly warmer by the time we reach the States. The ferry wasn’t until much
later and we had plenty of time to cycle to the harbour, barely 18 kilometres
north of La Paz.
The
ferry departed at around 14h00, and came with smooth sailing to the mainland. The
sunset was amazing, and plenty of photos were taken. The ferry docked at 10 p.m.
and, being cold and dark, a room in town was easiest.
11
January - Topolobampo – Los Mochis - 28km
The
following morning, we made our way the short distance to Los Mochis.
Interestingly, Topolobampo is the second largest natural deep-water port globally,
and is known for its commercial fishing and increasingly important shipping
role.
12
January - Los Mochis – Ahome - 28km
The
wind was blowing hard and we opted to follow a rural road and, after a mere 28 kilometres,
reached Ahome, a tiny settlement among vegetable farms. It only had a church,
plaza, petrol station and Santa Fe Supermarket (and of course, an ever-present
OXXO).
So,
instead of battling the wind, we opted for a room and stayed put.
13
January - Ahome – Diaz Ordaz - 62km
Earthquakes
seemed part of life in Ahome and quite a common occurrence. As I waited for
Ernest to finish loading his bike, the earth shook violently and no one even batted
an eyelid. I considered it best to get out of Ahome in a hurry. The following day
I read a 5.6 magnitude earthquake had struck Ahome. The epicentre was
approximately 97 kilometres west of Ahome, at a depth of 10.1 kilometres.
Fortunately, there were no significant injuries or damage reported.
It
became a frustrating day cycling into the wind. I can handle mountains, heat, a
lack of water and food, but the friggin’ headwind always gets me down. It’s cruel
and persistent and seems to do everything in its power to push you back to your
starting point.
14
January - Diaz Ordaz – Navojoa - 105km
As
if backtracking wasn’t terrible enough, backtracking into the wind was worse,
making the desert-like scenery even more desolate. We battled on, only crawling
into Navojoa by the time our shadows had grown long.
15-16
January - Novajoa – Ciudad Obregon - 70km
By
then, the weather was bitterly cold, both in the mornings and during the day.
The sky was clear and a bright blue, but the conditions remained icy and windy.
Fortunately, the distance to Obregon was barely 70 kilometres. The landscape by
then was barren, dry and windswept, with just an old railway line, and abandoned
and forlorn-looking railway buildings. I was thoroughly miserable and in
Obregon chose an expensive, sunny and warm room.
17
January - Ciudad Obregon
We
spent the day in Obregon, did our laundry, and lazed around, not doing much but
enjoying the luxury of a comfortable room.
I
do not care much for trinkets and mascots, naming my bicycle, or collecting
stones and shells. However, the previous night, a little girl came out of
nowhere, presented me with a hand-drawn card, and said it was for good luck.
She was no more than six or seven and I’m not sure where she came from or where
she disappeared to afterwards, but the card lived in my handlebar bag a long
time after that.
18
January - Ciudad Obregon – Vicam - 53km
We
dragged our heels in packing up and it was late by the time we cycled the short
distance to Vicam. The road beat a dead-straight path through the Sonoran
Desert, and once in tiny Vicam, I decided to stay put. Ernest, as always,
wanted to continue and was welcome to do so, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I'm
such a miserable sod when cold!
19-22
January - Vicam – San Carlos – 100km
An
uneventful ride led to San Carlos and we sneaked into town shortly before
sunset. The town turned out quite a magical place along the Gulf of California
(or Sea of Cortez). Finding a place to pitch the tents was super easy.
The
town was popular amongst American and Canadian Snowbirds who overwintered in
San Carlos. By evening, the harsh desert landscape transformed into a riot of
colours. I understood San Carlos was the location site of many movies,
including the classic films Catch-22, The Mask of Zorro and Lucky Lady -
starring Liza Minnelli.
The
northern region of Mexico is dry and semi-arid, with a typical desert-like
climate. Although winter, daytime temperatures hovered around 25°C. However, the
mercury dropped to freezing levels at night.
The
area was incredibly picturesque, with a bright blue sky in stark contrast to
the desert-like mountains, especially impressive at sunrise.
From
camp, a short cycle took us to the Mirador Escénico, a scenic lookout a few kilometres
from San Carlos; a stunning spot with a view over the Gulf of California,
dramatic Tetakawi (a hill jutting out of the sea) and the secluded coves of
Playa Piedras Pintas.
Surrounded
by all that beauty, staying one more day came easily as, reportedly, the
weather was unseasonably cold further north. By then, we had made friends with
the other people in the park. Joan, Mark, Lynn, Leo, Brenda and Al were all
Canadians and super friendly. We also met Susan and Karla, two gutsy ladies who
drove massive RVs. Almost every night, Al made a fire for all to enjoy. It
became a place to have a glass of wine and enjoy the snacks Joan and Brenda
kept bringing out, and I considered staying one more day.
23
January - San Carlos – Desert Camp - 101km
Late
on the morning of the 23rd, we waved goodbye to our park friends and
set out anew. As before, our path led past vast stretches of desert, with only
cacti and dry shrubs. Taking a break at an abandoned trucker’s restaurant, we
noticed two hungry and thirsty chickens, presumably left behind by the former
owners. Ernest fetched water from an old well and poured it into a pot from
which the chickens thirstily drank, while we fed them corn chips and leftover sandwiches.
The little rooster and hen were so ravenous they nearly choked on the food.
Sadly, that was all we could do, and I was not sure if we had merely prolonged
their agony.
A
secondary road led to Kino, past beautiful scenery and through the Cajon del
Diablo, an ecological reserve of 147,000 hectares. The reserve incorporates
mountains, valleys, coastal bays, estuaries, and islands and is known for its
rich biodiversity.
By
sunset, we had barely cycled 100 kilometres, and were nowhere close to anywhere.
The tents were set up out of sight of passing vehicles under a bright desert
moon. It was dead quiet, and I kept hearing things grunting and gnawing.
Finally, I fell asleep to the sound of jackals laughing and yapping in the
distance. Early morning, I was startled by something galloping past; I never
learned what it was.
24
January - Desert camp – Kino - 97km
We
emerged to a stunning sunrise and had coffee and peanut butter sandwiches
before resuming our quest along a completely level road. The desert is unforgiving;
now and again, one could spot animal skeletons baked white by the sun.
Amazingly
enough, if water could be found, which was the case around Kino, almost anything
could grow. The area permitted large-scale irrigation and produced vast
quantities of crops. Irrigation of the desert plains around this part of Mexico
converted the land into wheat and cotton fields. The largest was the Costa de
Hermosillo where, at its height, 887 pump-powered wells spew water onto more
than 100,000 hectares. Sadly, this greedy discharge exceeded recharge by 250 per
cent! As water tables plummeted, saltwater intruded from the Gulf of California.
The Mexican government eventually stepped in and halved the amount of water
pumped. As a result, many fields were abandoned. Others switched from
relatively low-value crops like cotton to high-value, high-risk crops like
brandy grapes, citrus, garbanzo beans, and vegetables destined for US markets.
The
route, therefore, took us past vast areas of fruit plantations and even
vineyards, all in their winter slumber. Finally, by late afternoon we came upon
Kino, a small fishing hamlet with a few houses and shops.
25-27
January – Kino - 15km
In
the morning, a leisurely 15-kilometre cycle took us into Kino, which sported an
RV park and a few shops. Kino was another popular place where North Americans
overwintered. The park chosen to camp didn’t have all the modern facilities but
was directly opposite the beach. Ernest made burritos (or his version) and we
sat outside our tents listening to an audiobook. It drizzled throughout the
night, and I was happy to be under a covered area.
By
morning, the clouds were gone and Ernest did his laundry (I was too lazy to do
mine). Instead, I hiked up the hill behind the park which had a good view of
the coast and surrounding areas.
In
the meantime, we discovered an old table and chair and made ourselves nicely at
home. I hauled out the laptop and speakers, and we listened to more novels.
28
January - Kino – Miguel Aleman - 55km
Ernest
wanted to stay an additional day, but I had itchy feet. We folded the table and
chairs; fortunately, Ernest didn’t want to take them with us.
By
the time our iron horses were loaded, it was 11h00, and a tailwind made it easy
cycling to Miguel Aleman. There was no reason to overnight in this tiny town,
but we did. Ernest went shopping and then busied himself with concocting a stew
– as there wasn’t much else one could do in dusty Miguel Aleman.
29-31
January - Miguel Aleman – Hermosillo - 65km
The
previous day’s tailwind had turned into a headwind and cycling towards
Hermosillo was into icy gusts. Nearing town, Ernest’s front brake broke, which
he fixed hoping his measures would last until he found a place to fix it. The
Washington Hotel with decent ground-floor rooms and Wi-Fi became home for the
next two nights.
I
usually kept a keen eye out for anyone willing to do laundry. I wish I could
add “at a small fee”, but the fee was generally pretty hefty. In any event, I didn’t
find anyone at the Washington Hotel, so I schlepped my laundry to the outside
trough and gave everything a good rinse. I say rinse, as one could hardly call
what I did “washing”.
The
following day, we discovered a shop where Ernest bought a new front brake and
spent the day fitting it.
A
saunter around town brought me to Catedral de la Asuncion, where I learned
about a tragic event in Hermosillo. On 5 June 2009, a fire broke out at the ABC
Childcare Centre, causing the death of 49 children. Most of the children died
of asphyxiation—almost 100 children were at the centre on the day, ranging from
six months to five years. I can’t imagine anything worse! Today there are 49
small crosses on the plaza, decorated with angels and bearing the children’s names.
I
wandered around town, had a haircut, went shopping at the supermarket, and
bought loads of unnecessary stuff. Included in my purchases was a tiny thermal
flask that I wanted to test to see how viable taking coffee along would be.
1
February - Hermosillo – El Oasis - 77km
We
departed Hermosillo in the direction of Nogales. The road ran dead straight and
pancake flat through the desert. I say desert because that’s what it’s called,
but it’s more a semi-desert or low rainfall area and nothing like the Namib or
Sahara deserts. The day was lovely, warm, and a simple t-shirt and shorts day. We
were lucky to be there in winter, as I could imagine cycling that part of
Mexico in summer would be unbearably hot.
Besides
a headwind there’s nothing worse than a false flat and we struggled along via a
route that appeared flat but was a gentle uphill ride.
The
tents were pitched behind a petrol station and amongst garbage and chickens
that evening. The petrol station didn’t make the quietest place to sleep, but I
didn’t mind and thought the sound of the trucks pulling in and out soothing. I
liked how they appeared from nowhere and disappeared into the night. The desert
dogs barking was far more annoying. At least I could look up into the night sky
and see fireflies and shooting stars, a terminology I preferred to ‘meteoroids’
as it sounds more romantic.
2
February - El Oasis – Santa Ana - 100km
The
scenery remained unchanged as we biked the hundred kilometres to Santa Ana. Roadworks
made cycling a pain, but the new section was smooth with a wide shoulder. Upon
reaching Benjamin Hill, we realised it was indeed an uphill trek. However, the
gradual downhill made it easy riding into Santa Ana.
3
February - Santa Ana - Magdalena de Kino - 22km
Tiny
Magdalena de Kino is situated in a landscape straight out of a Wild West movie,
amongst giant cacti and surrounding hills. At first, we missed the turn-off as
there were no signs and only once on top of a hill, did we notice the town
below.
This
charming settlement, with twenty thousand inhabitants, turned out quite historical.
It was here where Father Kino (not sure what his claim to fame was) passed away
at the Mission in 1711. In 1966, the town was renamed Magdalena de Kino after discovering
Kino’s remains (now displayed in a monument on the plaza for all to see - so
much for RIP). Magdalena was an agreeable settlement with cobblestone streets, historic
churches, and hotels. Vendors sold trinkets and local produce, but primarily
strings of dried chillies.
4
February - Magdalena de Kino – Nogales - 96km
Over
the hills we went, past shrines which were quite colourful in such a desolate landscape.
Eventually, Nogales rolled into view, our final stop in Mexico.
Nogales
was a typical border town, half-seedy with dodgy-looking money changers and
cheesy curios. The city was built right up to the border. The security fence, a
massive metal wall over six metres high, resembled the infamous Berlin Wall. Our
accommodation was near the border, as we planned to cross into the USA first
thing in the morning.
5
February – Nogales, Mexico – Green Valley, Arizona, USA - 75km
I
was up early as this was the day we crossed the border into the USA. The border
crossing was slow and drawn out like any other border crossing, maybe even more
so. Even though Ernest and I had visas, one needed a permit and had to join the
queue. I counted ten booths, but merely two were staffed and it was thus 12h30
before being cleared.
Sadly,
no “Welcome to the USA” sign existed, and only the familiar golden arches of
McDonald’s welcomed us.
As
in all new countries, our first day was interesting as we pedalled past Tubac,
a historic village and Spanish fort. Tubac was, by then, more of an artist
community than a fort.
The
day’s ride finished at Green Valley, a small settlement near a copper mine. The
supermarket indicated prices and allowed drawing US dollars. We stocked up with
provisions for the next day or two and then set off into the desert to camp.
The campsite was a tad of a disaster as the area was littered with thorns and it
was barely possible to find a spot to pitch our tents safely. We clearly had a
few things to learn in our new country.
