I left the city of Morelia on February 1st. I had exactly 15 days to ride the almost 1,400 km that separated me from the city of Oaxaca, where that day at 4:30 pm I had to be at the local airport to receive my friend Catherine, form Canada, who was coming down to share the ride for a couple of weeks.

I had two options: traversing the central part of the country, going through big cities and crossing the endless valleys in the region, or going towards the coast, following a “true descent” to the ocean, riding on the coastal roads and lastly climbing towards my final destination. I opted for the second possibility, because even tough it was longer, it promised to be a bit easier due to the terrain… If I only knew what was waiting for me!!!

As warm-up I started with the road of the “Mil Cumbres” (Thousand Summits), or better said, of the thousand turns!! It was a spectacular engineering masterpiece that entered the hills of Michoacan, offering impressive landscapes of the mountain ridges that were waiting for me to the west. The lush forests were Nature’s present when stopping to rest and as most of the vehicles preferred the highway, transit was not a problem. That 1st night I reached the highest point in the trip until now. Looking for a panoramic point, I took a dirt road and after climbing for 6 km, I ended up at the base of some telephone antennas and a fire tower. The panoramic views with the sunset colors were captivating. I found some abandoned houses and I settled down there to spend the night. My only companions were some sleepy hornets that didn’t understand what the hell I was doing there… That was my first night at 3000 m (9000 ft) of altitude.

The short term objective was to visit the Monarch Butterflies paradise at “El Rosario” Reserve. I arrived to the town of Ocampo and I “only” had to climb another 12 km more. I still had a bit more than one hour of light, so I faced the climb with determination. What I didn’t know was that the climb was brutal, to the point of having the sensation of going backwards! After doing 90 km, it wasn’t the best way of finishing the day. The advancement became desperately slow. Every meter of altitude gained was a litter of sweat that I lost. After 5 km on that cobblestone road I realized that I was never going to make it before nightfall. I was looking for a place to sleep when a sign on the road appeared like if it was a miracle: “La Cascada Diner” Yes!! Food was assured, with water and a place to sleep. My hopeless expression made things simpler and sooner I had my stomach full and was settling down in a room used to put the tables when the place was closed. Excellent!!

On Sunday morning I started early in the morning, taking advantage of the cool morning weather, which was almost chilly with its mere 5 °C (41 °F). But the huge climb didn’t give me any slack and I was soon sweating again, asking myself how they built such a climb. I traversed the town of El Rosario, which was already bustling of activity with people coming and going, while I was looked upon with incredulous expressions. I greeted them cordially, recovered my breath invested in those words and kept going with the climb.

Almost 2 h later I was at the doors of the sanctuary, but still I had to see where lo leave the bike. There was too much movement around the area and it wasn’t a matter of leaving Maira unattended for a few hours like that! I decided to get to the entry kiosk to leave it in custody but the path that I had to climb demonstrated that it was impossible. Going on a trail that gave me the sensation of being inclined at 45 degreed I pushed the bike until some stairs stopped me on my tracks. It was definitively a compete madness to try to climb that. Luckily a kind lady at the Lety Diner offered to take care of it and trusting her good intentions I put the bike at the back of the restaurant and say goodbye until sometime later.

After walking up for almost 40 min, I finally arrived to the area where the butterflies gathered. Form the trees there were some dark bulges clinging to the branches that from the distance looked like parte of the vegetation, but when looking carefully, they revealed hundred of thousands of butterflies, one on top of the other one, hibernating. When the sun warmed up the atmosphere and hit the bundles, the show was simple spectacular! Hundred of thousands of butterflies started to fly, flitting everywhere and extending their showy wings to the sun. It was part of a ritual that happened every year: after migrating from the far boreal latitudes in the south of Canada and north of the US, they found in these regions, the weather conditions and the ideal altitude to hibernate, within the shelter of the forest. During the months of December to March they reproduced and then they went back to the northern hemisphere to restart the cycle. It was definitively a worthy effort to get there and being witness to one of the most beautiful manifestations from Nature that I have ever seen.

By the chances of the road, among the hundreds of people that started to crowd up the place, I ended up talking to a man, Alfredo, who turned out to be cousin of the director of SOS Children’s Village in Tuxla Gutierrez, my next destination. Incredible coincidence, wasn’t it?

While I was descending the steep road making my breaks scream, three kids on horses got close to me. They were curious to know what I was doing with such a bike and soon the competitive challenge was set: “should we race?” proposed one of them. That how we started, making a scene that was probably a bit bizarre to the drivers that were coming on the opposite direction, looking at me coming down fast in the middle of the road and followed by three horse riders that spurred their steeds to reach me. As rewards they each got one of my most precious possessions: some Dulce de Leche candies that my parents sent me on a recent mailing. They had won them fair and square!!

While passing the outskirts of Zitacuaro, a little truck stopped in front of me and an anonymous benefactor pulled his arm out showing me a can of “Red Bull”. It was cold and it was an energy dose that I needed to end the day! A great man he was! 

Little by little I got into rural landscapes, passing through little towns that were not on my maps…not even the roads I was on!! I was following directions from the people that I run into, consulting at each crossroad and pointing toward bigger cities that could be easily identified. I entered Mexico State and my good luck was with me because, in a way or another, I always found a place where I was allowed to spend the night with my sleeping bag and I even had the chance to build a fire to warm up.

Everywhere sounded the popular music, the Sinaloense band, and it was very funny to see cars passing by, with their loud speakers tuned to those songs that in general where reclaiming the love for a girl…

The roads were killing my legs. The topography was marked by hills that run north-south, so by going form east to west, I had no option but to go up and down constantly. People reassured me every time that what was coming was “pure descent” but of course, to be able to descend one had to first climb some hills that would leave me with my tongue out and my legs trembling!

In Donato Guerra I was surprised by the warmth and the receptivity of the people. I stopped to get something fresh to drink and in a few minutes I was surrounded by a mass of curious boys from town that riddled me with questions about the trip. We took some pictures, Daniel gave me a bracelet that I added to the gifts hanging from Maira and as if I was part of that place since long time ago, I said goodbye and continued my route.

Once again and climbed up slowly the twisting road that crossed the hill in question and in a vertiginous descent I arrived to Valle de Bravo, a city at the shoreline of a lake that turned out to be a touristy center plagued with people in four-wheels, luxury SUVs and a yuppie atmosphere that made me leave the place as fast as I could. The task wasn’t easy because the heat was bad and the terrain was very irregular, with steep hills that required all my energy to go up in the middle of the vehicle congestion that circulated around.

Texlascaltepec was my next destination and as it couldn’t be any other way, it was settled in the heart of a valley. In another words, I had to climb again to let go on a vertiginous descent on the zigzagging turns of the road. When I asked a taxi driver which way was best to go, he told me to go to a town that it didn’t even register on my maps, San Simon. I had a short time until nightfall, and without exception, I had to get out of the valley with a tremendous climb. The narrow road left me little room to maneuver and in a turn I felt a tanker passing me way too close. On my right I had some bushes that kept me on the road and while trying to avoid the trailer wheels, I started to dangerously bounce back from the vegetation, almost touching the endless truck that slowly passed by me. Worst, it was a double trailer, so those seconds that went by were endless! With my teeth clenched and holding my handlebar as hard as I could, I stayed on the narrow white line that is on the side of the road and by a miracle I didn’t end up squashed down by the truck’s rear wheels! I remembered every member of the driver’s family for a god time while at the same time I exteriorized my ire and indignation screaming at the top of my lungs!

The next day I arrived to San Simon, when after having some exquisite quesadillas for breakfast, I went by the municipal office and was received very cordially. It wasn’t common to see a long haul cyclist through those places, so because of my visit I was immediately surrounded by local people. We chatted for some time while I was getting instructions on how to get to my next stop, Texcaltitlan. I was supposed to follow a terrace and as usual, I was going to have “pure descent”… Of course, after flanking the imposing wall that enclosed the valley.

There were 10 km where I kept asking myself where the road was going to when I got into the lush pine forests that started to dominate the landscape. When I arrived to the crossroad where my descent was supposed to start I took a break under the trees shade to recover my breath. I spent the whole morning climbing that. The tranquility of the place engulfed me and without realizing it, I fallen sleep. I woke up suddenly when some cows surprised me when they got close while they were grazing nearby, being completely un-afraid of my presence. One of them was particularly confident and soon it was sniffing my panniers and licking everything that was exposed! With the spit still hanging from the sides of the bike I embarked on my rough descent to Texcaltitlán.

I was graciously impressed by the fact that the indigenous traditions of the region were maintained and that’s why most of the places that were mentioned to me along the way had names that were impossible to pronounce in one shot and without twisting my tongue. Luckily there was a short nickname easier to pronounce and that’s how I arrived to “Tixca”

I stopped at a school in order to get my traditional stamp with the name of the town, for my “personal passport”, a custom that I have since my original biking trips and that sometimes it was a real challenge! For the first time the lack of trust ruled the encounter and the school principal didn’t bulge in spite of my explanations. She asked me for my identification, she wanted to see my real passport and even a Mexican documentation! “Miss, I’m traveling across Mexico, how am I supposed to have local papers?” I explained my social work with SOS Children Villages, showed her my cycling t-shirt and I said: “Do you think I would travel all loaded up and would made a t-shirt like this one just to steal stamps?” Just when I was about to give up, she acceded to give me the prized “booty” and I could kept going on my way. Did I look like a criminal?

I arrived in the middle of the weekly “trianguis”, or local market that gathered the local sellers from the surrounding towns, in a chaotic array of stands on the streets where one could get practically anything. I left Maira under the custody of some policemen and I entered this interior world plagued with colors, smells and marquees that forced me to walk bent down because of how low they were. I restock with some “delicatessens” to charge the stomach and after talking to the officer for a while I retreated. 

I expected to get to Tetipac, a town that showed up at a certain distance on my map, following a short and innocent straight line that looked like a piece of cake. The experience demonstrated me that the map’s scale was not correct and that if they actually put the turns and huge climbs that I had to surpass, It would’ve been a zigzag similar to an electrocardiogram of a patient with tachycardia!

Obviously I didn’t arrive to Tetipac until the following day. That night I ended up a bit lost going through a series of towns that were spread out along a sinuous dirt road. Every time that I arrived to a crossroad, I had to wait for someone to confirm my course in this labyrinth I was in. It was my welcome to the State of Guerrero!

The final climb until reaching the “pure descent” to Tetipac surpassed my astonishment. It was a sandy track that climbed without mercy the side of the mountain. Who was the engineer that designed the trace of this road? Without a doubt, on those days they just let a donkey or sheep free and followed it making the road!! What madness!!!

After going pass that instance was not the end of it. I could see the next range I need to go through the get to the city of Taxco, famous by its silver crafts. At least with each climb one was rewarded by enviable panoramic views of the surroundings and how small the towns that I just passed were getting to become just a little dot down there and far away.

When after a few hours of a hot climb I arrived to the summit, I took advantage of an occasional stand to drink something refreshing. The lady looked at me astonished and asked me: “are you coming form the hills of Guerrero?” “Well, yes” I said, as if it was pretty obvious considering that there weren’t many other alternatives. “But it’s so dangerous! It’s full of bandits and drug dealers!” “Are you serious? I haven’t seen them… or at least they didn’t pay attention to me!”

As if I was a nose diving bird, I went into the city of Taxco. It was an incredible place, built on the step sides of the mountains, with a maze of narrow and intricate streets of extreme and abrupt slopes. I didn’t want to think of retracing my descending path if I mistakenly made a wrong turn. The place looked like an ant hill in the midst of activity. People were walking smashed against the houses on the almost inexistent sidewalks while an endless line of cars pushed madly through the streets. Even though I was familiarized with the presence of the classic VW beetles or “bochos” in Mexico, I never saw that many in my life! They were selected by the city as taxi cabs and one could see them literary everywhere.

In spite of the chaos that seemed to rule the place, it had a special charm. The downtown area conserved a colonial quarter that was very beautiful and one could see the tourist affluence in the region. The people I talked to during the hours I spent there turned out to be very friendly and cordial and I would’ve liked to spend more time there! But I wanted to get to Iguala and as I was told it was all “pure descent”, I decided to continue and advance a bit more.

This time they didn’t lie to me and in those crazy 35 km I descended 1000 m of altitude! With exorbitant eyes and a big smile on my face I entered Iguala at the same time it was getting dark. It was the birthplace of the Mexican flag and its downtown looked very similar to a commercial area in a Buenos Aires neighborhood. Asking at the police department, they confirmed that indeed there were volunteer firefighters in the city, so I went to their place to see if they could host me for the night. Their characteristic solidarity showed up right away and I was soon thereafter settled down with them, watching a friendly football (soccer) match between Mexico and the US.

The chat went into late hours in the night with countless questions about the different aspects of my trip. All of the sudden I noticed one of the guys telling another one: “go ahead, ask him!” I looked at him and I told him directly: “No problem, ask me anything you want”.  I could imagine what was coming! Smiling, half-closing his eyes as an accomplice, the fireman didn’t waste any time and asked: “you already have 9 month on the road, right? During that time, how many times did you get laid?” In the middle of the general loud laughs I answered him: do you mean the number of girls or the number of times I had relationships with them?” More laughs. “Never the amount of times that I would’ve liked it!”, was my final answer. As if they were moved by my situation, they proposed to go visit the city’s “nocturnos” so I could have good memories of the Mexican women. Fortunately everything was just words, because with my state of tiredness after such a long day on the bike, I think that the Mexican women would have been disappointed with the Argentinean men!!!

I was a couple of days away from Acapulco’s coast/ Two days marked by intense and braising heat, that made the last climbs a physical challenge even bigger in spite of the fact that they were not that steep. On the eighth day after leaving Morelia, I was at the anteroom of the renowned tourist city. For me it was like being at the anteroom of hell! The city presented a notable contrast: the famous bay with the beaches widely promoted in touristy leaflets was surrounded by a series of hills where people built practically everywhere, and in the majority of the cases with a high degree of precarious state. That’s were the true inhabitants of Acapulco lived.

Even though there was a tunnel that connected directly with the city’s heart, I was categorically sent away when tried to go in with the bike and I didn’t have other option than climb the hills on a road congested with a truly demented traffic. Conjugated with an oppressing heat and the tiredness that I had accumulated, it was a miracle that I didn’t end up smashed by one of the many buses that passed way too close to me. By far, it was the most complicated access to a city that I had to get around since the beginning of the trip.

From the top I could see the great barrier of luxury hotels, which as a concrete curtain, surrounded the bay, making its attractive beaches accessible only to those with the economical means to pay for their elevated cost. Fortunately, among the countless contacts of Jorge, from Morelia, was the manager of one of those establishments, and that’s how I ended up staying in a room at the Crowne Plaza Acapulco, without paying a single peso. It was like being in a bubble, a world reserved for just a few and where I felt a bit out of place. But “never look a gift horse in the mouth”! I spent some time on the beach, I took advantage to take a few baths with hot water (one wasn’t enough to wash out the marks of the last few days on the road) and I could rest my tired bones on a huge and comfortable bed.

The illusion lasted a short time and the next morning I was ready to keep going on the roads, I definitively couldn’t spend 250 dollars to spend another night there and it was time to get back to reality as soon as possible.

AI was going on the “scenic avenue”, from which you can only see store fronts and the front of the hotels, when a traitor sewer cover blew my rear tire. While I was doing the reparations of rigor in the middle of a copious sweat, a family from the Federal District got closer when they saw the Argentinean flag and they started to ask questions about the trip. I answered as I could in my deplorable state, at the same time that I kept fighting with the rebellious tire. When they found out about my work with SOS Children’s Village, they immediately tried to give me money as a donation. “No, no, please, go to the webpage and make your donations through their site. I’m just a connection between people and the Villages and I cannot receive money directly” I told them. I gave them one of my cards with the info and still they couldn’t resist the impulse of giving me a few pesos so I “didn’t have to sleep anywhere” When I saw the amount of money they gave me I couldn’t believe it! I had enough money for food for the whole week!! It was the most fruitful flat tire of my life!

I started my way through the coast of the Guerrero State, but paradoxically, after a few kilometers from leaving Acapulco, the road moved inland inside the dense and leafy vegetation, so I never saw the ocean again. The green color was intense, the palm trees full of coconuts dotted the landscape and the heat combined with the humidity and the sunshine made a deadly combination for biking.  In spite of the beauty of the vegetation, to which the sounds of unknown birds was added up, the human presence was patent everywhere and there was trash in every area at the side of the road. I was surprised to see the amount of “baby bombs’ or disposable diapers that decorated the road. I even saw a couple that stopped their truck in front to me and with impunity they threw out their trash exactly next to one of the many signs that said “No loitering”. It looked like it was an endemic problem in the whole area.

I didn’t have other option than search for refuge from the sun in the small towns that dotted the route. They were usually settlements with a few inhabitants and one could feel the precarious conditions in which they lived. I noted that their attitude towards me was a bit more closed up and hostile in comparison with what I had already experienced in other regions of Mexico. Talking to people I was told that the southern Stated were the poorest of the country and that’s why many men had illegally immigrated to the US looking for jobs that could sustain their families. The treatment that they received from the people and the authorities in the north was far from cordial and that explained their resentment towards the “gringos”. And that’s what I looked like to them at first glance. Clarifying that I was coming from Argentina didn’t help because the majority of the people in this region didn’t know where my country was. Now I had to say: “No, I’m not a gringo! I’m Argentine, I might be güero (blond), but I’m not gabacho (American)!”

While I was getting ready to spend the night at a Pemex gas station in San Marcos, a group of men from Veracruz, which was traveling on a truck selling wooden tables in the nearby towns, approached me. They usually stopped at gas stations and settled down among their creations to sleep. Curious when they saw my tent, they started to ask questions, and of course, they thought that I was coming from the “north”. I explained to them that I was Argentine and they became more interested. “Are there any jobs in Argentina? They asked. “Well, the situation is not the best, you know? To give you an idea, if you want to get to my country crossing borders like you do to get to the US, you should go the opposite way and pass through 10 countries before you get to mine!” They opened they eyes with astonishment and they said: “10 borders? Ahh, no that’s too much! With only one to the north is more than enough!”

Those days I crossed the 13,000 km (8,125 miles) mark. I getting was more remarkable to talk about the distance done since the beginnings of my journey.

Arriving to Cuajinicuilapa, a town which its name was impossible for me to say in one tries and without making mistakes, I had my first rejection when asking for shelter. I went to the local Red Cross and when I saw that they had an ample space at the back of the first aids room, I asked the nurse in charge if there wasn’t any problem if I set up the tent there to spend the night. That day I had pedaled 150 km and I couldn’t go any further. With a parsimonious tone and looking at me with suspicion, there wasn’t any explanation about my trip that would convince him that I wouldn’t be any problem for him. He used the excuse of having to call the doctor in charge, but he was in downtown and the phone didn’t work! Seeing that I was in a no-end situation and that it was already nightfall, I decided to try somewhere else. It was a let down from an institution that generally was characterized by its unconditional hospitality.

Downtown, I asked a policeman if there was a place where I could sleep and he told me that there wouldn’t be any problems if I wanted to sleep in the park, just across the street. I saw the flux of people coming and going through the place and I thought that it wasn’t prudent to ask for attention and I wasn’t in the mood for socials. I ended up in an economical motel across the street from the local market, where as usual, the rooms where on the second floor. Climbing the stairs with Maira loaded to the brim was the last drop on an exhausting day.

The place had a peculiarity that I hadn’t seen in other areas. Great part of the population was of mulatto origins! Apparently, many years ago, a ship with slaves from Africa had run aground nearby and the survivors settled down in the area, mixing up with the local people and forming a genotype not common in Mexican territory.

The next morning I entered the State of Oaxaca. The landscape continued to be green and leafy, but new characters appeared in the story. As marking the identity of every settlement in different ways, I saw that the mass transportation was distinctive of every place. So, in some parts there were vans; in others there were trucks, bicycles pulling roofed wagons… but by far the most interesting ones were the “taximotos”, which like little wheeled eggs, they roamed everywhere with engines that seemed from toys… I wanted one for me!!!

My right knee was a bit banged up, probably from so many days of pushing the pedals without pause. That night I arrived to a little shack called “La Humedad” (The Humidity) and decided to end the day. Asking where I could eat something, I ended up in the humble home of doña Herlinda. As if they were waiting for me, she received me with open arms along with her family and they offered me with a delicious fish as I was telling them about my trip. They let me set up the tent in front of their home and while I was setting my little ‘house” up, they told me that a few years back, a fellow argentine passed through there. It could’ve been anyone, I though. But when they started to give me details, I was shocked! “He was also an Argentine, but he was on foot. The pulled a wagon with his things and wanted to camp there, in between the trees. But because there was too much garbage, he settled down there, where you are”. He was pulling a wagon? He was on foot? Would it be ‘El Cacique”. That was a guy from Mar del Plata that a few years back decided to go around the world with his “patamovil” (foot-mobile)!! What a coincidence!!! It was true that the world was small!!

Finally, I was at the bottom of the hill. I only had 250 km to get to Oaxaca, but to get there I needed to climb to the homonymous valley. I could face the climb from Rio Grande or form Puerto Escondido. Apparently the first option was shorter so I set course to Juquila, at 55 km from the crossroad. It was noon and I thought that I could get there by the end of the day. The landscape topography slapped me in the face so hard that made me lower my expectations in a few kilometers. I didn’t know what I was getting into!!

With an unbearable heat that on the road was around 45 °C (115 °F), I slowly started to climb. When I passed a settlement called “Pie del Cerro” (Bottom of the Hill) they confirmed that the worse was still to come. I had 12 Km of steep climbs and with many turns. Every time they announced turns I knew what was coming: a torture for my legs! In effect, the slope of the road became absurd and my advance arduously slow. I felt as if the meters were never moving. The speedometer barely reached 5 km/h and my agony was patent. The bike looked like it was anchored to the ground. Many times, I checked to see if I had a flat. Its weight increased by the minute, or at least, that’s what I felt! The extra effort took a toll on the side of my right knee, where I had the impression that a knife was being stuck in it. I was trying to compensate with the other leg, but it wasn’t working. Painstaking tears were mixing up with the copious sweat that was falling on my face. At one point I couldn’t go any further and I had to push the bike for the first time on the trip. I was depressed, defeated, crushed by the circumstances.

After three hours of agony I arrived to the town of San Marcos Zacatepec. Obviously, I couldn’t continue like that, in spite that I had only done 25 km form the crossroads in Rio Grande. Doña Mariana greeted me with a big smile and gave me a room where I could recover my beaten body. The place had its charms and peculiarities. Even though there were only 300 people there, their politics were very polarized and there were two municipal agencies!!! The former government officials didn’t want to leave power and the legitimate winners of the last elections had settled themselves in a little house near to the offices of the other ones. Where should I ask for my stamp?

Through some speakers that acted as the local radio was blasting the classic band music. The funny part was that one was obliged to listen to it, like it or not. They also announced some adds offering little tamales at such house or tacos on that other one and they even reminded the students that the next day was a school day. Life had other rhythm in these places…

If I though that the worse was over, I was wrong. Like an extension from the previous day, the road to Jaquila became more complicated because the pavement ended and the road continued its tortuous climb on a bed of dirt and sand. The only good thing was that now I was in the middle of dense woods and the trees offered me some protection from the sun. On those 25 km of climbing I gained more that 1000 m of altitude!!! 

Without knowing it, I was arriving to the most famous pilgrimage center of Oaxaca. Thousands of people came from the capital city and different parts of the state to pay homage to the Virgin of Juquila. Cars and buses carried her image with pride on their front, many times accompanied by palms and flower bunches. Even a few of them did their trips on bicycles. After another “pure descent” I got to the heart of the town, in the middle of a deep valley and arrived to a chaotic downtown where obviously, everything revolved around the church and the souvenirs that the pilgrims could purchase. I went into the temple and I could be witness to the intense fervor that people professed for the venerable image. Most of them covered the path from the entrance to the altar on their knees and there were many devoted indigenous people. I was impressed by an old lady with a face with more wrinkles than a raisin and showing a very humble uprising. As a matter of fact, she took out a handkerchief where she was carrying her money tightly and took a big amount out to leave as an offering to the Virgin. I thought to myself if it shouldn’t have to be the other way around…

Leaving Juquila requires another dose of pain. The incredible descent to Juchatengo was far away and before being able to enjoy it, I had to take a new and steep climb. The sky turned grey and as if they appeared from nowhere, some menacing clouds started to descend from the top of the mountains. In the distance I could see some lightning, and the situation experienced before arriving to Morelia, added to my wishes to stay alive, made me stop to look for shelter in the town of Yolotepec. It turned out to be an unfriendly place, where the population was mostly indigenous and they used their local dialect, the chatino. They looked at me with distrust and it took me a bit of time to find a place to spend the night. When the municipal agent arrived, I took out most of the recommendation letters that I was carrying with me and that I never had to use, and finally they allowed me to settle down next to the church. Taking advantage of a room used by the seminary students, I went inside to stay away from curious onlookers and I finally was able to rest after one of the hardest days in terms of climbs until now.

I was close and at the same time, I was far away! After a vertiginous descent to Juchatengo, which had more bathrooms and diners than any other place due to the amount of pilgrims going to Juquila, it was the time to crown my efforts. I had to surpass 36 km of climbing to some antennas that I could see in the distance and very high up, before taking advantage of 17 km of “pure descent” to Sola de Vega. I asked a passer by how was the road up there: He looked at me and said: “on a bike there must be 4 h, but with yours, not less than 5h!!” Lapidary and certain he was…That was the exact time that I took me to surpass that climb which was a nightmare while awake. With the knee ready to explode, a tiredness that had no precedent and such a slow pace that even the ants at the side of the road seemed to go faster, I suffered as I never did. A thousand times I thought about hitchhiking, put my pride was bigger than that. Not so big as to walk in some stretches. Even the mild climbs had turned impossible to surpass. Cursing in low voice, looking for encouragement everywhere, advancing slowly, I kept gaining terrain until I reached the highest point in the road.  I plop down on a chair at a little stand that I found and devouring several packs of cookies and drinking a great coffee, I talked for a while with Doña Adela. During that conversation she told me about the harsh reality they have to endure in the area with their survivor economy. “As with this stand I can’t sustain my family, sometimes I buy a few little lambs on the hills and I  later sell them for some celebrations, and that way I can make 100 pesos”  As many other people that I’ve met, she also had two sons, 20 and 14 years old, working in the farms of “the north”.

The next day, February 15 2008, I arrived to the city of Oaxaca. It was 3:45 pm when I arrived to the local airport with Maira and my entire luggage on me. The Mexicana plane landed punctually and sooner I was meeting my friend Catherine. I had made it!!! Mission accomplished!!

Until next time,

Good trails,

Damián

 

A few more images

Just to give you a more polished idea of the incredible show that Nature offers in the Monarch Butterflies Reserve, this little video tries to transmit in a more graphic way the experience of being surrounded by thousands of butterflies flying. Enjoy it!

 

Acknowledgements

To Don Ignacio and his family, from La Cascada Diner, El Rosario: for allowing me to sleep at their store.

To the people of the Lety Diner, At the Monarch Reserve: for taking care of Maira while I visit and admired the show of Nature.

To Alfredo Ley Palacios: for the camaraderie, the invitation for lunch and the pesos to avoid being hungry.

To Martín Trinidad and Rosalío Mondragón Ortega: for allowing me to spend the night at the Monarch Park in El Capulín.

To Daniel Lavares: for giving me a gift while I was passing through Donato Guerra and all the local guys for your interest in my trip.

To Luis Jaramillo Aleman: for allowing me to stay at a cabin on my way to San Simon de Guerrero.

To Víctor Hugo Albarrán and all the people of San Simón de Guerrero: for getting close to have a friendly talk with me when I went through your town.

To Zafiro Cortes de la Rosa: for allowing me to check my e-mail without cost in Taxco.

To Lourdes Estrada and Naialy Martínez: for asking for some free hugs at the taqueria “los Taquitos” in Taxco and for giving me a soda.

To Edgar Branco, Israel Cleto, Jesús Villalobos, Jorge Ruiz, Héctor Marquina, Toño Aguilar and the other volunteer firefighters of  Iguala: for receiving me with cordiality and hospitality.

To Alejandro Díaz Nava: for inviting me that exquisite and abundant breakfast when I was leaving Iguala and fro the pesos to keep the tummy full.

To Elvia Zavala, manager of Crowne Plaza Acapulco: for thatcourtesy night at your hotel that allowed me to rest in the middle of such luxury and comfort that are hard to find in my everyday life.

To Esteban Flores and family: for the interest demonstrated towards my adventures when I was leaving Acapulco and for the generous economical contribution that assured me several days with good food!

To Natividad Maldonado Ponce: for those nice Tacos that you gave me when leaving Acapulco while I was fixing my flat tire.

To Dalia Ramírez Justo,: for the good vibes when registering my 13.000 km on the road.

To Martín Sánchez Medel: for inviting me to a delicious “pozole” at the Cuajinicuilapa market and for the cordial conversation.

To Doña Herlinda Pérez and all her family: for hosting me in their humble home in La Humedad as if they were expecting me.

To Adela and Esmeralda: for that interesting conversation about the harsh reality lived in the Oaxaca State before arriving to Sola de la Vega

 

Some Statistics

Days on the road: 256

Days on the bike: 159

Kilometers done: 13,590 km (1,400 on gravel)

Average kilometers done per day: 85.47 km

Hours on the bike: 812h52m (33d20h52m)

Average speed: 16.72 km/h

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

Meters climbed: 124,995 m

Maximum altitude: 3032 msnm, Puerto Guernica, Michoacán, México (01-02-2008)

Monarch Butterflies that I saw flying at the El Rosario reserve: hundred of thousands!

Tears of pain shed on the endless climbs to Oaxaca due to my battered knee: more than what I would have like!!