Getting out of San Diego wasn’t as simple as said. Because the highways were forbidden to cyclists, I had to go through secondary roads until I got completely lost. Fortunately I found Alfredo, a homeless who was riding his crumbling bicycle and took me to the border at the Otay crossing. While talking to him, I found out that he’s been living as an illegal alien for a long time in the US and from the frequent calls to his cell phone I could infer that his work was as a “pollero” that is, the person that would let the “Coyotes” know the movements of the Border Patrol officers while his colleagues took people illegally across the border. I found it quite curious that a person that helped those seekers of the American dream to get into the US was helping me to get out of there!!

 

Listening to the verses of the classic Manu Chao song “Welcome to Tijuana” I entered Mexico almost without noticing it. If I didn’t ask, I would had missed the whole immigration process altogether. What I did notice was that I had changed cultures abruptly. People flooded the streets, there were people selling thing everywhere, the traffic was a complete chaos, the potholes dominated the roads, the noise that was product of endless honking was terrible, the cars were no longer brand new and now I was catching some attention too. Opposite to the aseptic and indifferent atmosphere that I had recently experienced in the US, as soon as I step into Mexico I could see the change in culture. People talked to me!! They asked me where I coming from and after knowing that I was from Argentina, they started the omnipresent conversations about football (soccer) and wished me the best for the rest of the trip and all of that just minutes form having crossed the border!

 

Spontaneously I was lend a cell phone and that way I was able to get in touch with Cesar Diaz, a researcher that I knew from previous academic work and he invited me to stay at a nearby hotel during my first nights in the tumultuous and chaotic city of Tijuana. In spite of being in one of the most violent and unsafe cities, I was in a bubble of security, isolated from reality, inside the hotel where I was staying at.

But that didn’t prevent me from knowing a bit closer the typical night of this city. After my visit to the SOS Children’s Village (see previous chronicle) I went with some friends to the dancing salon “La Estrella” (the star), a typical place for the locals that was like entering into a different world. Surrounding the dancing floor were tables with metal benches were people piled on top of each other. A gallery covered with provocative murals where women showed their sculptural bodies idyllically surrounded the scene lighted with bright fluorescent lights. The music sounded loudly with tunes of Norteño music and “corridos” typical of the national folk music. There weren’t any set criteria when dancing and one could see couples of every kind and color: thin with fat, tall with short, young and no so much… The important thing wasn’t the appearance nor what would they say; it was mostly to have fun and enjoy the moment. The men with white hats, cowboy style that I would see pretty much everywhere, abounded. They looked tough at first sight, but revealed themselves as sweet and kind when dancing with their occasional partners. The beer was sold in plastic buckets full of ice containing 10 bottles that were opened and served with a napkin on the top so one could wipe it clean before chug it down. I was in a very different world than the one I had observed and the contrast was obvious in every corner.

There was a show of people imitating famous Mexican singers that was followed by the anxiously awaited live show: Los Cadetes de Linares, a classical music group that had a long tradition on the local scene. Since 1961, they’ve been accumulating hits and it was obvious on the years that the original members were carrying on them. The sound was terrible and one could not make out what they were singing about, but the crowd knew the verses of every song in its entirety and sung along loudly while taking pictures of their beloved idols. All of them wore impeccable white suits, decorated with golden ribbons and jewels that contrasted with the local ambiance. The white hats were certainly ubiquitous on their heads.

The show emcee that night seemed to have been there for decades and all of them without sleeping ever. With his slouchy posture and scarce hairs, he announced at every moment that the fun would not end until 7 am!!  Looking at him one doubted that he could survive until that time in the morning!!

Nevertheless, by far the most extravagant thing that I got to see was a game with a macabre twist. Among the usual flower vendors that were in the place, an unusual character showed up, getting closer to the tables and brandishing a pair of metal sticks and offering something that I couldn’t quite understand. When I asked they told me that it was the “choques” (shocks). What? Yes, electrical shocks. The game consisted on making a human chain by holding hands with the people at the table and the outer ones would hold on to the sticks. The man would then move a dissimulated knob on a box that by far looked like a character of Sesame Street, and the electricity would circulate until someone would break the chain. Who would’ve said that one would pay to receive electrical shocks!! 

When we left we did a short tour through downtown and we could see closely the night clubs that attracted the US masses looking for fun and pleasure. At the alley, we could see the wide variety of sexual offers that abounded on that dark street. There, countless young girls offered their services in front of bars, discos and hotels of unknown reputation. It was hard to see how young they were and the hard reality they lived every day.

As if I was part of one of the many criminal organizations that abound in Tijuana, the previous night to continuing my trip I made an exchange of merchandise at the border. Miguel, an Argentinean that I had met in San Diego, had offered me a revitalizing dose of Yerba Mate and Dulce de Leche (milk caramel spread) to enjoy on my trip, but we ended up missing each other in the US. This time, and with the complicity of the night, Miguel had crossed to this side of the border and I was finally reunited with my precious argentine merchandise. Thanks to him I could enjoy a few mates and fill up with the preferred argentine “candy”. Thanks!!!

Leaving Tijuana required a high degree of concentration and skill. I was spoiled form riding in roads with wide shoulders and drivers that were generally kind to cyclists. Here, reality was quite different. I had to ride again defensively to avoid being run over by a car or a bus. The pieces of glass on the road threatened my tired all the time and the potholes that I had to ride around were daring my juggling abilities at any minute. I took a detour through the city low areas, where I passed though poor and precarious constructions that hanged from the hills like the Brazilian favelas. (Shantytowns)

The local language was another permanent discovery since I had entered this country. Even though we spoke Spanish, the localisms and the amount of words that were different from the ones that I was used to required a new learning curve to understand and to be understood.

Riding on the highways I learned that “libre” (free) was the toll-free road and “cuota” (toll) was the toll toad. Between Tijuana and Ensenada was the only place in Baja California where one could pick between one and the other, and even though it was forbidden to ride with bicycles on the ”cuota”, I took it for a while to stay close to the coast. It was a coast with a great American influence, with big condominiums of unreachable prices for the locals and good deals for the residents of the excessively expensive California. Even more, the signs announcing places of recreation and fun activities were all written in English!

Arriving to Ensenada I met another cyclist that was training on the road. Najash offered me to stay at his place along with his girlfriend Esther, but as I already had a place to stay thanks to Gerardo, from the warmshowers site, we arranged to see each other the next day to do some sightseeing. They were really nice to me and they made my two days in Ensenada quite unforgettable. We went to the “Bufadora” a natural formation that don’t abound. It was formed by a cave next to the sea where the water entered with the tide pressure and forming a natural geyser that expulsed it a few dozen meters high, accompanied by a very particular roar (or bufido). We also went around the city’s cafes and one of most typical bars, Hussong’s, where beer in hand, the people crowded the place, the musicians played norteño songs by request, there were cute and easy in the eye girls and one could really breathe the Latin spirit.

By chance I went swimming with them during one if their training days and during my first incursion into a big grocery store in Mexico I felt so moved that I cried when I saw that here I could purchase the precious untangling conditioner from Sedal!! My curls were grateful.

On Dec 5th I continued towards La Paz, where I expected to arrive on Christmas Eve. I had 1500 Km in front of me, which would be full of experiences of every kind.

The first couple of days to San Quintin were a challenge. The highway had no shoulder and wasn’t leveled, so getting off the thin white line where I was riding on, was like jumping into the abyss. The trucks were more than plenty and not always patient when passing me. So, the close calls multiplied with the riding hours and I had to have my senses sharp to avoid getting smashed by one of those metal moles with engines. On the other hand, in only one day on these roads, I received more supporting honks and waves than in the entire in trip. People were wonderful in that sense and practically everyone shower their solidarity with my slow and hard mode of transportation.

My attention was caught by the return to the scene of loose dogs. I hadn’t realized that in my previous months I hadn’t seen them on the roads. Now they were everywhere and not only alive, but also splashed against the pavement every few meters. The raccoons and skunks had been replaced by the canes that covered the road in every state of decay possible: from the recently killed to the ones that after a long time seemed to integrate to the pavement itself. A grisly show!!

Also, there was something that caught my attention even more: the amount of crosses that covered the side of the road. It was a dangerous road without a doubt because at every moment one cross would appear as to show how fatal would be to circulate over there. Was that part of a gruesome system to mark the kilometers? I had never seen so many together in my life. Sometime one could find them at both sides of the road and a close inspection showed the same dates of the accident: a frontal impact for sure!! Also, it was certain the when a signs announced a dangerous turn; there were always crosses at the side. I just only hoped not to be the next cross on the road!!!

I toured this area of farms and fields where people almost always waved to me from the distance.
The little towns were scattered, usually all bunched up along the road and without much forays inland. They were a sure source of supplies and I didn’t take long to discover that in Mexico food wasn’t scarce. The places where one could buy tacos, burritos, carnitas and the thousand and one gastronomical varieties from this country were a feast to the cyclist, of course, accompanied with the omnipresent tortillas. Unfortunately, when I was disappointed when I asked for a coffee and I got a cup of hot water: it was instant coffee!! I had to wait until the larger cities to get a good espresso.

Another detail was to discover that the drinkable water had to be purchased. The water from the faucets cannot be drunk, so one depended on the stored to replenish the precious liquid or on the water purifying plants, with more economical prices. With time I realized that in every house there were 20 lt. tanks so I simply changed my strategy asking if they could “gift” me some water… If I asked where to get some, they always sent me to the store.

Little by little I submerged myself into this new society when always there was someone that wanted to talk to me. Of course, they first had to overcome the prejudice of thinking that I was a gringo. Even though I spoke Spanish, they would answer back in English and I had to emphasize at every moment that I was Argentinean and not American. It would be a karma that would follow me everywhere…

The perpetual wire-fences made me ask for people’s solidarity to find a place to spend the night because it’s was impossible to camp out freely in any desirable spot. For that, I still needed to get to Baja California Central Desert.

That’s how in San Quintin I ended up asking for permission to stay at the Episcopal Church of the Faith in Jesus Christ. I was welcomed there by Pastor Pabel and his family and they let me put my stuff in one of the temples they had there. Sooner they invited me to participate in their religious service and I gladly accepted. It was an incredible experience. It was somewhat strange to listen to the Psalms with a Mexican intonation, but little by little I was getting into the celebration with the expert help of Miguel, Pabel’s son, who was explaining me the evolution of the service. The most emotive part was when Pastor Pabel presented me to the community and with the other ministers and the rest of the people they offered a special pray for my trip and wishes that everything would be fine. They moved me to the point that I was crying!! After the ceremony, they invited me for dinner to a restaurant where I could keep widening my knowledge of Mexican cuisine.

The next day one of the congregation members invited me to go to the school where his wife was a teacher to talk to her students about my trip. Without thinking bout it, we were on our way to the Secondary School 35 Emiliano Zapata. At first the kids looked at me with curiosity, one could hear giggles and they were s bit shy. But they started to loosen up little by little and soon it was hard to stop them. They asked me a thousand questions, we went to see Maira and they were impressed with the amount of cargo I had (me too!!), they took me tons of pictures and they even asked me for autographs on the tests that were recently given back. Either for natural curiosity or just to skip an hour of class, the interactions was quite intense and it was hard to leave the place.

Close to noon I got back on the road. I was full of energy from all the received generosities and I had all the best wishes from that community. That made it easier to face the climbs that were waiting for me.

Of course, I wasn’t counting on the weather turning against me and as soon as I left the Pacific coast towards Rosario, a persistent and freezing rain fell on me, leaving me drenched and cold. I passed one of many military check points under the incredible look of the soldiers and after a shivering descent I got to the town itself. I looked for shelter in the first gas station that I found and there, Florentina, a worker with a happy spirit and an eternal smile, welcomed me with hot coffee and some crackers to slow down my trembling. It wasn’t prudent to keep going in such weather so I decided to look for shelter. This time I found it at the Nazareno Church, where Laura and Samuel offered me a little room to rest my wet bones…

CIt was the beginning of the great climb to the Baja Central Desert. It was the great natural jewel of the peninsula, where the landscape offered postcard views that were captivating and dreamy. It wasn’t easy to reach that place because the climb made sure that it cost me quite a bit to get there. Even though the topography so far offered me constant climbs and descents, this time it was serious. But the effort was well worth it. Slowly the various types of cacti started to fill the terrain and a bit further up it was the time for the boojums (cirios), of a unique beauty and with their stylish figures stretching towards the sky. According to what they told me,
one can only see them in the part of the planet and in Syria… so what I had in front of my eyes was truly unique and wonderful.

Nevertheless, there were also contrasts and it was sad to see how the trash piled up everywhere. The bottles and plastic bags were part of the landscape and were visible signs of the presence of human beings in this place. The broken glass abounded at the side of the road and sometimes it was even impossible to find a spot where to rest for a while. Also, it was striking to see the junkyards with cars and vehicles piled up in different states of corrosion.

The degree of urbanization had decreased notably and one could find little settlements scattered every 50 Km where if one was lucky and it was open, you could eat something. Sometimes they seemed like abandoned structures, which you could also see everywhere. The bathrooms were almost always outhouses, with a hole in the ground where one could relieve the body needs. Little by little seeing a toilet with a water tank turned into a utopia.

Thankfully the traffic was more relaxed and now even the trucks took their time behind me while I was in a sharp turn, waiting to see if anybody was coming from the other side. In several occasions I had one of those huge machines roaring with their noisy shift brake for minutes while I pedaled as fast as possible, climbing and stretching my neck to see if anybody was coming from the other side. When I saw that it was clear, I signaled them to pass and they always responded with a wave or honking.

Just before arriving to Cataviña, the biggest town in the area, I reached the 10,000 Km mark! What a thrill! Almost a third of the trip under my tires! As a self present, I went through an area of rocky formations as big as a house, but unfortunately covered with graffiti by the occasional visitor. The sky was of menacing grey color and it didn’t last long before it started to rain. And how it rain!!! I arrived all drenched and freezing, so I had to stop my riding day. I became friendly with the people at the local police station and they offered me a place to stay. It was an empty house and it would be the office for the future new doctor in town. It didn’t have electricity (as the rest of the town) or water, but for me, it was like a 5 star hotel. I had a dry place to lie down and rest during the night.

But the weather conditions made my stay in Cataviña a day longer. It’s been 4 years since they have such intense storms like the ones they were having those days and I just happened to be witness of them! The cold was intense and didn’t forgive either. I took advantage to write a bit and to know better the people, that without fail got together at the bar La Machaca to have something to eat or drink. There, I met reverend Carlos Fryre, a colorful character with who I talked for a while and share breakfast with. He even made me sneak into the local hotel so I could take a nice warm shower. A total luxury for me!!

On December 11th it look like the weather was getting better and I could continue with my ride. I said goodbye to my new friends and started pedaling with the ambition to reach 100 km that day. Nature showed me again how wrong I was. As soon as I started the sky turned darker and it started to drizzle. The drizzle became a downpour and with the wind things turn for the worse. I saw the thermometer plunge without mercy, marking just 6 ºC (42.8 ºF) and that was without considering the wind chill. I was in the middle of nowhere and I couldn’t see anyplace where to find refuge. I had to continue until Chapala, 15 km away, where I was told there was a restaurant and a garage. I put my head down, concentrated on the white line on the road and I pushed without a rest, everything to avoid becoming hypothermic.

When I finally arrived to my destination, I saw that the garage looked like a pile of ruins more than anything else. I asked about the restaurant to some people that passed by and they told me that there wasn’t any. So, now what? Well, all drenched and shivering, I found Andres, the mechanic, who let me get myself settled in an abandoned house to seek shelter from the rain.

Once I got a dry set of clothes on I got close to the decrepit car that he was working on and with the loud music of “El Diablo” blasting from the stereo we chatted for a while. In slang almost impossible to understand to me, he told me his life story. He was a drug addict for many years and told me that he left the habit a while back, mostly because of his little daughter. He told me scary stories about the world of drugs and the things he did with hi friends to get them. Everything was allowed and I was starting to get a bit scared when he looked at me and told me: “Don’t worry; I don’t steal to get high. I work, make some money and with that I buy some crystal. Here, you’re safe.” That’s what I was hoping for…

The next morning, as I was having some breakfast in the restaurant that effectively existed one kilometer ahead, I had my first encounter with cyclists in Baja. They were Amber and Duhane, a couple from Vancouver that was riding from their hometown to the end of the peninsula. I had heard about them before but we just crossed paths without seeing each other. We even stayed in the small town of Cataviña for two days without any encounter.

That day we rode together a decent amount of Km taking advantage of an spectacular tail wind and a soft descent that let us enjoy the splendid landscape of cacti, boojums and even the unusual views of the terrain covered by water from the recent storms. Even though we got separated because ewe had different plans for the night, we would cross paths more than enough times in the future.

I spent the night at Nuevo Rosarito, in the humble home of Beto Camacho, a friend of reverend Freyre. It was very interesting to chat with this man of more than 70 years old and with a life experience in the country like no one. Just recently, the town was connected to the electric service and many things were still like the times when there wasn’t a highway. The simplicity and transparency of this man were touching and gratifying.

After a long day on the bike and after riding through and endless and boring straight part where for kilometers I could see a huge Mexican flag, I crossed the parallel 28 and I arrived to Gerrero Negro. It was my first relatively large town after a few days on the central desert. I was moved by the access to electricity, internet and full bathrooms!! There, I stayed in the home of Marcelo and Elizabeth Neim, a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses that I’ve met on the road and that had invited me to their place when I passed through there.

It was a family of lobster catchers, so the next day I was invited to go with them during they work day and, of course, I accepted without a doubt. Along with Diego and Jesús, I spent an entire day on the pangas (fishing boats) learning the hard job of these men. They had to check 43s submerged traps, take the lobsters that made the minimum size requirements for commercial use, and change the bait, that were some clams with their shells broken to expose the animal to the lobsters. It was an arduous and tough job that I was able to experience with them. The reward that afternoon was to enjoy one of these little animals that usually cost forbidden amounts for a traveler like me. What a delicatessen!!!

The ambitious plan of riding 140 km in a day to reach the oasis of San Ignacio was again frustrated by the weather. This time it wasn’t the rain getting in between my bike and my goal, but the strong winds that conspired with my advancement. The terrain was relatively plain and with long straight sections that made sure that if the wind was coming from the wrong side, it would be there for a long time. I was slowly advancing when I saw something that caught my attention. I thought that it was one of the many crosses at the side of the road, but no, it turned out to be Japhy , a cyclist from Nepal that was riding the America’s roads from Los Angeles to Patagonia.

The road was only one and what a better deal than some company? We kept riding together and we discovered that we had the same ambition of reaching San Ignacio that day… how gullible we were… We didn’t lose time in becoming friends and transform ourselves in a pair of vagabonds of the road. Japhy just finished his studies in anthropology and appropriately thought that the best thing for his profession would be to see in person those places and cultures with the detail that no book could offer. And there he was, riding Latin America, searching for his destiny and using a bicycle as mode of transportation. He was a character with clarity of mind hard to find on someone only 23 years old, sensible to the natural and social environment that we were going through. He made me remember my friend Jonas, when I met him in the middle of the Andes in 1999 and implanted the seed of this trip in my spirit.

We had 25 Km to go and there wasn’t much light left. We stopped at a small settlement at a crossroads and fate was set in a few minutes: Marco Antonio welcomed us with a huge smile and the coffee he had simmering on a spectacular pit fire convinced us quickly to stay there. Little by little some people from the area started arriving and the atmosphere turned very familiar where we shared our trip adventures and they shared their life experiences. We devoured with extreme pleasure the beef tacos that our host prepared and when everyone left, we settled down in the room where all the tables were to spend the night. Impeccable!!

In the morning Marco Antonio invited us with exquisite coffee mugs and after chatting for a while with truck drivers recently arrived, we went back to the pedals to get to the mythical San Ignacio. It turned out to be a real oasis, full of palm trees that contrasted heavily with the rest of the landscape that we had seen in the desert. We went to see the mission, the picturesque old downtown and who was there? Yes! They were Amber and Duhane, who had arrived the day before and were resting and sightseeing that day. We had to celebrate the reunion so, after a late lunch we went on our way with Japhy towards the unknown…

It was a short and close unknown, because with our full stomachs and the laziness post-lunch, we couldn’t advance too much before it got dark. We arrived to the little town Ejido Urbano Bonfil and we started looking for a place to spend the night. With my usual lack of shame I was able to get permission to stay at a house in construction that we saw nearby. We had to get in through the blocked windows because it was closed, but it wasn’t too hard. We cleaned up thoroughly one of the rooms and sat down to munch on something. Then, we heard engine noises and some guys that were evidently having some beers. Would they be some gang members from the area? What had we gotten ourselves into? Would they steal everything from us? We stayed as quiet as possible but finally they discovered us. They turned out to be gentle sheep and not the wolves that we imagined. They offered us some beer, the music that was blasting was Maná and they even took us on their truck to a restaurant to eat some food…  

After going back to the same restaurant for breakfast we took off with direction towards the coast. That day we would finally see the Sea of Cortés, we climbed a gentle hill surrounding the Three Virgins Volcano and we drop down with a fast descent that put us at sea level near Santa Rosalía.

Getting to that town wasn’t the most picturesque scene. The junkyards abounded and there was trash scattered everywhere. The vultures or zopilotes flew in circles over us and soon we learned to recognize the presence of urban centers by their presence. The trash was synonym of human settlements and where there was trash, these vultures were there too. Actually, the most shivering thing was seeing them on cacti or road signs with the wings wide opened... Were they refreshing themselves? Were they sunbathing? Or were they just observing their future prey that was moving slowly on bicycles???

Santa Rosalía redeemed itself when the smell coming from a chicken rotisserie stopped us in our tracks. It was irresistible and the crowd that filled up the place was a good indication of the quality of the merchandise. And we were right!! We ate a full chicken between the two of us and we even found one of the guys from Ejido Bonfi that was casually there too.

That night we ended up in a little fishermen town called San Bruno. We looked for a place to camp when we found the ruins of a tourist complex that was never built. It even had a small golf course in the middle of the cacti and everything. The roof in the recreation area was perfect and we settled down there asking ourselves what would be the story of that place.

I have no doubt that the world is small… otherwise how could it be that we coincided getting out to the road with Amber and Duhane? Incredible but true! Form then on we were a quartet of cyclist and taking advantage of the scarce traffic, we decided to do a mini-critical mass encounter, covering the whole width of the road.

We were getting closer to one of the more scenic areas of Baja California South: Concepcion Bay. We passed Mulege, a touristy oasis-town where we stuffed ourselves with rotisserie chicken again and continued our way towards the heavily promoted beaches of the region. Even though the area was beautiful, the closeness to the highway made the noise from the passing trucks continuous…Even worse, due to the low prices compared to the ones in their countries of origin, these places were overcrowded with houses and RV’s belonging to gringos and Canadians that had colonized even the smallest area of the beach. Fortunately the government had recovered the Santispac beaches and now they were managed by the local towns. Casually this one was managed by the Ejido Alfredo Bonfi, so after talking to the manager and telling her how well they had treated us in her town, I managed to get in without paying… We had to keep the budget low!!

We settled down as kings under some palapas, open-sided dwellings with a thatched roof made of dried palm leaves, that made us feel close to the luxuries of the Caribbean resorts. That same afternoon we went to the local restaurant where we were told that there was a party going on. We thought that it was something traditional with norteño music and runs, but it was completely different. We walked into a birthday party where all the people where dressed in costumes as hippies from the 60’s. They were all American and were speaking in English. It wasn’t the most typical scene in Mexico, but it was in this area crowded with gringos. We blended in and soon we were eating cake and drinking beer. Gigi, the birthday “girl” took me out dancing a couple of times… how to resist her charm? On top of that, she was the celebrated one and I had to treat her well! When we finally decided to go back to our tents, I went to say goodbye to Gigi and when I got close to kiss her on the cheek, she turned her face and kissed me right on the lips…. Surprised, I looked at her and she took advantage of my confusion to kiss me once more. I smiled, got a bit closer and whispered in her ears: “Happy 60’s, Gigi”… and we returned with Japhy to the palapas.

After a day of rest and relax in that spectacular place, we got back on the saddle. Japhy wanted to get to La Paz sooner, so he took off by himself to go on a faster pace. I stayed with Amber and Duhane and after a long and abundant breakfast we decided to take it easy and go to El Requeson beach, to settle and enjoy the rest of the day far from the other tourists.

The landscape was a constant invitation to take pictures. The sea at the bay fused itself with the blue sky, the mountains that surrounded the area framed it with its ochre hues and the cacti silhouettes were outlined by the sun, reminding us of the nearby desert.

We made a stop in a small settlement called El Rosario, like thousands of other places in Baja, and we had breakfast with a family in their kitchen, which was in the open and covered with a tarp. The man turned out to be the typical Mexican macho-man, but with a surprising sense of humor. Even though he barked orders to his wife constantly, she never failed to answer back with irony. Among his requests where: “I’m hungry”, “tortillas”, “I’m choking”… to what she answered appropriately “So what?” The atmosphere was getting more relaxed and we presumed the guy had two women, one for the day and one for the night… When he asked us who Amber with, Duhane answered: “with Damian during the day and with me during the night” The laughs lasted quite some time and the guy, with his eyes wincing and slyness in his sight, confessed that we figured him out…

We continued going until we got to the promoted town of Loreto. We settled down in the camping area and went to eat something at the picturesque downtown. The church was the main attraction of this town that once was the capital of Baja. We sat down to have dinner in a little place where its charismatic owner, Aristides, treated us like kings, without knowing, we beat an incredible record: everyone ate a beef sandwich and a stuffed potato without leaving a trace. According to out host, we were number 9, 10 and 11 in finishing up the potatoes, but with the sandwiches that was new!! Well, he probably didn’t have too many cyclists going through there.

This time it was my turn to keep going alone. I wanted to be in La Paz by the 24th and in three days I had to cover 350 km. The guys weren’t in a hurry and that morning I got on the road by myself. The wind became alternatively my ally or my enemy depending on its direction when I faced the long and steep climb of Ligüil. It was an ascending switchback where I was pushed forward by the wind on my back, out of the road when it was from the side or stopped almost completely when it was on my face. But after that it became mostly a tail wind and the light descent to the town of Ciudad Insurgentes was a mere formality. The road was an endless straight line that was very easy to ride and let me cover almost 140 km that day. As I couldn’t ride though Baja without camping among the cacti, I looked for an isolated spot between thorny shrubs and settled down on that mine field of thorns that threatened my tires and inflatable sleeping pad. I was witness to a spectacular sunset in the middle of a particular and beautiful place.

For the second time I did a long day ride and after covering another 120 km on endless and boring straight lines, I spent the night among the cacti where the moon painted with silver the surroundings. I could also experience the painful effect of the Cholla cactus, because one of them adhered to my ankle and when trying to get it off, it attached to my hand… Ouch, what a pain!! After taking every thorn with my pliers, I had a similar sensation to when one had a vaccination, but multiplied by a thousand.

It was December 24th and I was getting close to my objective. As soon as I started the day, I passed the 11,000 km on the road. It was a day with side winds and endless climbs and descents that destroyed my legs little by little. But finally, with the sunset, I entered the city of La Paz. It was shocking to get into a place so urbanized after a few weeks riding though inhospitable places and through very small towns. When passing the welcome monument I realized that the computer was marking the 11,111 km!!!

That night I ended up in the house that Japhy had to stay for a few days in La Paz and we spent Christmas Day with some Canadian friends that he had met arriving the day before. On the 25th Amber and Duhane joined us and together we share some time in this city characterized by a beautiful and picturesque boardwalk and tempting beaches in spite of the reigning cool weather.

As a Christmas present, the next morning after our reunion, we woke up with all of our cycling shoes gone. A night incursion over the wall and up the stairs to the terrace left us without our pedaling shoes that we had left outside, trusting as if we were in one of the rural areas that we just passed through. Welcome to Latin-America!!!

Until the next time!!!

Good trails!!

Damián

The story from another point of view

I sometimes ask myself what’s the impression that I make in the people that one is meeting along the way. Well, I had the luck of having two stories that tell how that experience was. On one side, Esther, from Ensenada, wrote the story on her blog where she shared in a very entertaining and fun way my passage through her town. I invite you to enjoy these lines with me

Damian Obedient Curls

On Sunday Najash met Damian while he was training on his bike. He was coming down the highway entering Ensenada and he noticed that he wasn’t a local cyclist. He offered his help and that’s how we met a guy that one doesn’t meet every day. He’s from Argentina and he’s crossing the continent on his bike. Yes, by bike. Yes, the continent. He already had a place to stay, so he arranged to come by to eat next day. Of course, I was advised that I had a guest to eat just half an hour ahead of time, but the pasta and recycled soup from Angie (thanks Angie) didn’t disappoint.  

While we ate he told us that he started in Anchorage, Alaska and that his plan is to get to Ushuaia in March of 2009. He crossed the Artic circle alone, just we his soul and his bike Maira along, and for 20 consecutive days he was camping and didn’t use a mirror. I look at myself in a mirror at least every two hours. Not that I was going to get lost into myself… That’s what I thought and I tried to imagine what it would be to not know if you were still the same or changed already. His passing through the US almost made him lose faith in humanity, because of their cold souls. He crossed the Death Valley and nobody even offered a bottle of water, not even when he was seated at the side of the road with his full bike and his Argentinean flag. A family got back and got off their car where he was resting, prepared their sandwiches but didn’t invite him one. Apparently, they used him as reference of a good place to sit down.

Of course, coming from there, he was a little afraid to pass to Tijuana. The horror storied, you know, the Mexicans steal your soul and sell them in Tepito, and so on. But he said that just after crossing, a good Samaritan tijuanense offered him his cell phone to make a call, and someone there posed for a picture and offered him coffee.

Najash took him to the “bufadora”, to get stuff for his trip and to his house so he could use the computer and so Najash parents could tell him what was coming in Baja. So, that’s how he travels. He depends on people, someone that can give him a hand, to go out, to tell him their stories, and wherever he arrived, when he tells his story, the offerings are endless: that I have cousin that can host you in such town, that a group of cyclist in another one, that if you need something here’s my phone and if you get lost just ask for such and such. And Najash and I are happy because he was very well treated everywhere we took him. Baja is his first Mexican impression and judging from what we saw, we are very nice people…

It’s nice to see ourselves through someone else’s eyes. As a human being and as a nation, it is the true sentiment behind the word Motherland. And that’s how we understand again why is that we are here, why we hang on to our small pieces of land, that more than land, they are concepts. Talking to Damian I realized how lucky I am to be Latin American. Of having genes from here. To have rhythm in my blood and being able to dance decently and not to look like a paraplegic gorilla in recovery when I try…

He says that the GPS is to know exactly where is that you are lost, with latitude and all that. He tells us that he prefers to carry more wait so he can have more comfort. That means two pair of socks instead of one, on change of clothes, a pair of goggles (antiparras is how he calls them) and a tent for two, instead of one, so he can put all his things inside. So is redundant to say that this puts in perspective everything that one needs and has. I have more than 10 different lip shiners. Sometime I feel alone, even when I’m living in the city and it’s just a matter of going out to find someone willing to talk. Sometimes I think that I have problems and I’m not crossing the Artic circle, the Death Valley or facing flat tire. But the other thing that stood up was that in fact that wasn’t his attitude. He always put validity on those that we are not as crazy as him. There’s something on what he does that makes us see what others are doing too. It might not be as impressive as crossing the continent on a bike, but everyone, in their own way, manages to make incredible things too. An old guy in a Jacuzzi and does mountain bike is fresh in our memories. Don’t stash a fortune away and lose you life in the process. Live free and don’t tie yourself to things that are just that, restrictions. Get close to what you love, but don’t get too close.

That night we took him to Hussong’s, of course. We invited him for a beer and he was fascinated with the flock music, with the different people, with the mariachi and the “taka taka”, we explained the difference between the two and we taught him to dance a bit of norteño. A girl in front of us flirted with him and my friend Vale talked to him about her adventures. It was all part of the show. Najash and I reaffirmed how nice was to go out and see people, nicer than show off or getting drunk just for the sake of getting drunk. Another girl behind us was already facing down on the table, even though it wasn’t that late. Also there was the bizarre Japanese with a laced shirt and skin toned pants! We celebrated with him the freedom of being in Mexico (and not in the US) throwing peanuts peels on the ground on either side of us and even to the back…

So that’s how I fall in love with my life, more with my guy, who also does extraordinary things lie a trip inland also full of adventures; and that’s how I see that my crazy ideas that scare me are not so crazy and the fear is relative.

But something that Mexico gave him back, and that made him feel ridiculously happy to the point of tenderness was to find out that here it’s easy to find the hear cream Obedient Curls from Sedal. Nobody said that it was easy to travel across the continent with the wind on your head if you have obedient curls…
 
If you want to know more about his trip, go to his webpage and there you’ll find chronicles, and may be in a future one we will be on  it (I wan to be on TV… or the Internet al least) Check his route (in Mexico he goes to La Paz, then in Mochis, Creel, Jalisco, DF, Oaxaca and Chiapas basically) and if you have a friend, a relative, a hotel, a restaurant or whatever that you think it can help him, you can send him a message, or if you want to tell me I can pass the contact to him. Thanks for reading this if you are still reading!!! Applause, applause.  

On the other hand, Japhy also included his version of our encounter in his webpage where if you follow his chronicles to January 1st 2008 you could enjoy the great prose of my road friend Also the are plenty of pictures of that part of the trip together.

Argentine-Mexican Dictionary

They say that we speak the same language, but it wasn’t that simple. Even though in Mexico and
Argentina Spanish is used, there are plenty of words and expressions that give the language the characteristic twist from each country and because of that one can be a bit lost at the beginning even though one thinks that knows the language. So, here are a few new meanings that I have been discovering through out Mexico:

“Abarrotes” is the store or local market, in a “depósito” beer is sold, the “gasolinera” the gas station, a “llantera” is a tire garage y a “birriería” is not a place where they sell beer, but birria which is a lamb stock that is served for breakfast.

A “güero” is someone with fair skin and a “gabacho” o “gringo” is someone that comes from the US or simple “the north”. The “pochos” are the Mexicans that live in the US and are more racist than the American themselves. One can see them showing off their 4X4’s bought on the other side of the border and talking in English.

The “carros” are the cars and “buses” are trucks. So, what are the trucks then? They call them “trailers”. The bicycle is a “bicla” or “baika” and hitchhiking is asking for a “raite”. The “lana” is the cash, “nota” is the bill and the “feria” is the change. A “nieve” is an ice-cream, the “carnes frías” are the cold cuts, and the cow is called “res”. The tent is the “campaña”, a “llave” is a faucet and “vieja” is not the mother, but the wife or girlfriend.

A “chela” is a beer, a “torta” is a sándwich and a “pastel” is a cake. “Enfadarse” (to get mad, in english) is to get bored, “chivarse” is to be ashamed and “chambear” is to work. The road shoulder is called “acotamiento”, asking for “lumbre” means to ask for a lit and a “foco” is a flashlight. The jackets are “chamarras”, a t-shirt is a “playera” and a sweatshirt is a “chaqueta”. A “bote” is a soda can or a trash can.

Someone hip and cool is “fresa”, “chido” is something cool, “padre” is super and “suave” when is cool. “Mande” is used as a what? “a poco”  to express a “don’t say” and “órale”…well órale is just órale!!!

As you can see, similar but not the same!! And these are just a few examples!!! A dictionary here, please!!

Dedication

December 11th. I left Cataviña with the hope that the weather was going to get better, but as soon as I left, I got immersed in a rain and wind storm that frizzed me to the bone. A few days later I found out that at that precise moment Noel Belanger, my friend Helene’s dad, passed away. I met Helene during the navigation back from Antarctica to Canada at the end of 2006 and her dad when I passed through Montreal in May, before starting this trip. Noel was a man full of energy in spite of the illness that hounded him. Finally and after a long battle, Noel left us and I understood why I had such weather: The sky was crying his departure the same way as his loved ones.

We will remember you always for your unyielding spirit and contagious courage.

Good trails my good friend…

Acknowledgements

To Miguel and Elsa Carrillo: for the empanadas, the yerba mate and the dulce de leche!!

To Alfredo, from San Isidro: for guiding me to the doors of Tijuana when I was lost in the streets of San Diego.

To César Díaz: Thanks for those two nights of luxury and comfort in a hotel when I arrived to Tijuana.

To Luis Manuel Reza, Alicia, Aida and all the people of SOS Children’s Villages: for the friendship and the affection with which I was received in your homes.

To Najash Marron and Esther Gamez: your uninterested friendship made my passage through Ensenada to be full of good memories and anecdotes to share with the loved ones. Thanks!!

To Gerardo: for giving me a place to rest my bones while in Ensenada. And to Delia and José Antonio: for receiving me with so much affection when I went through there.

To José Luis García Gallardo: for letting me spend the night at the Rancho La Furia, in Llano Colorado.

To Pastor Pable González, from the Episcopal Church of the Faith in Jesus Christ and all his family: for giving me shelter in San Quintín and allow me to have a great experience with his community.

To Carlos Cruz Lucero: for the brilliant idea of visiting the secondary school of San Quintín and the enthusiasm demonstrated towards my trip.

To all the students and teachers of the Secondary School 35 Emiliano Zapata, in San Quintín: for offering me all your interest and affection during my visit to your institution.

To Florentina Figueroa: thanks fro rescuing me from the cold and the rain giving me an unforgettable cup of coffee with cookies when I arrived drenched and shivering to the El Rosario gas station.

To Laura González and Samuel Valdéz: for giving me shelter in the middle of the storm in the church El Nazareno in El Rosario.

To Dennise Salazar and her family: for offering lunch when passing through the settlement El Descanso, on my way to the Baja’s Central desert.

To Rosa and Urbano Exziquio Monreal: for letting me spend the night in their garage in their llantera in Guayaquil.

To Olegario Flemate and Herlindo Reyes: for sharing with me my celebration for the 10,000 km and giving me those delicious dry figs.

To José Luis Suárez, Chief Police, Salvador Velasco Osorio, municipal representative and reverend Carlos Freyre: for the good vibes and made my stay at Cataviña unforgettable.

To Adrián, from the llantera inChapala: for giving me shelter from the rain and let me know first hand about the destructive powers of drug abuse.

To Beto Camacho: for your hospitality in Ejido Nuevo Rosario and your life lessons as a countryside man.

To Marcelo and Elizabeth Neim: thanks for inviting me to share your home at Guerrero Negro and for giving me the opportunity to know the hard work of the lobsterman along with Diego and Jesus.

To Marco Antonio López: for that unforgettable evening with friends at Rancho Nuevo Crucero. And to Eduardo Villegas Murillo: for the graphic demonstrations of the of cave painting in the area.

To the people of Ejido Alfredo Bonfil: for your hospitality and generosity.

To Gigi Page: for that unexpected dose of love in you 60th Birthday…

To Arístides Armendáriz: for your good vibes and those unforgettable stuffed potatoes in Loreto.

To Josie and Marie Dalcourt: for you friendship and affection during our stay in La Paz.

To Lalo, Rafael & Fernanda: for the good vibes and the unselfish help during my pass through La Paz.

To Davida Malley & Sid Mitchell: for giving us a place to spend our rest days in La Paz.

To Amber and Duhane: for the shared good moments during the km that we rode together through Baja with the camaraderie and friendship proper of the madmen on bicycles.

To Japhy Dhungana: a brother on the road, a friend and dream catcher whom I ‘m proud of knowing. He is a source of inspiration and example of life philosophy. I’ll see you on the trails…   

Some Statistics

Days on the road: 203

Days riding: 130

Kilometers done: 11,118 km (1300 on gravel)

Average kilometers done per day: 85.5 km

Hours on the bike: 647h00m (26d23h00m)

Average speed: 17.18 km/h

Maximum speed: 81.5 km/h, descending from Sunwapta Pass (15-08-2007)

Meters climbed: 95,003 m

Maximum altitude: 3023 msnm, Tioga Pass (03-11-2007)

Wear of my teeth from clenching my mouth every time that a vehicle passed me closer that recommended on the narrow Baja highways: 2 mm

Mexican people warmth: unsurpassable!!