I had arrived to Oaxaca just in time to receive my friend Catherine Allard, recently arrived from Montreal, Canadá, and with whom I was going to ride together until Tuxla Gutierrez, capital of Chiapas. As soon as we got the luggage, we tackled the task of putting together her brand new bike, christened Mathias. As I was putting everything together I realize that something was missing: The fast-closing clamp for the seat. They forgot it somewhere… With some metal clamps I improvised a temporary fix and “voila”, we were ready to go into the city. Thinking about how hard was the road to Oaxaca, I looked at Cath and jokingly I said: “I promise that these coming days will have blood, sweat and tears!!” I never thought that my words could be so prophetic.

The Magic Hostel, where we went initially, turned out to be disgusting. The owner seemed to be drunk all the time and had an aggressive fixation with Argentines… or at least with me! We didn’t last long in that noisy place and fortunately we found the ideal place to rest a bit at the Paulina Hostel, for the same cost and a huge difference in quality compares to the last one. I urgently needed a few days resting; otherwise I would have had to get a prosthesis for my knee!

We spent some time wandering around the historical and cultural city of Oaxaca. The historical downtown had a great beauty, with facades conserving the old architectonic style of the region, imposing temples such as the Santo Domingo monastery and a zocalo (gazebo) where there were always musical or dancing shows. We coincided with the “night of lights”, a cultural multi-event with many options in the musical and artistic front to enjoy for free. That’s how we learned about the work of Sarah Carrere M’Bodj, an African artist that made a great job integrating music and poetry with the help of an instrument from the 1100’s, the baobab. After the recital we talked to her for a while and she turned out to be a very warm and charming person.

We visited the archeological center at Monte Alban, a group of imposing and colossal Mixtecan ruins that were only 10 km outside the city, which from growing so much into the hills; it was almost on top of it… Even though one depended on getting a guide in order to get detailed information about the place, the grandiose constructions spoke for themselves, giving an idea of how advanced this civilization was. The only sad picture was the vendors, how roaming through the ruins, offered carvings and sculptures common in the region, without any policy about artistic conservationism. Hopefully they were mere imitations to trick the tourists.

Considering how hard was the road to the coast and that retracing it in the opposite direction implied the same conditions and titanic efforts, I considered that it would be better to get the the coast by bus and take the road to Puerto Escondido. Cath wanted to see the beach and that way we were sure to make good time to arrive in Tuxla before her return flight.

We said goodbye to Oaxaca trying the traditional “Chapulines” at the local market, which from too much chili they only tasted like that, and we went to the Bus station. The procedure to put the bike on the bus was simple: you only had to pay a bribe to the driver and that was it! A bribe that he would set and therefore there wasn’t any receipt available. In spite of knowing it, I had fun making them uncomfortable when asking for some proof of payment… 

Doing in 7 h what it had taken me 3 ½ days turned out to be a bit overwhelming. Mostly when realizing how many climbs and descents I had done during that time. My pain in the knee was more than justified!

We arrived to Puerto Escondido and its beaches captivated us. Form the area where the surfers were taking advantage to the impressive waves, to the calm waters of the central bay, everything was an invitation to stay… and that’s what we did!! We spent a whole day like alligators sunbathing and we ended up like red lobsters. I felt like a porteño tourist (from Buenos Aires) recently arrived to the beaches of Mar del Plata after its first day under the sun. Even though my face, my arms and legs were already tanned from riding the bike, the torso and back suffered like never before. And what to say about Cath, that was coming pale as a ghost from the Canadian winter!! But who would take that away from us?

The beds at the hostel had a new peculiarity: the mosquito netting. I never had the chance to sleep under those conditions, so I felt like I was in a woman’s pantyhose! It was a very particular experience, not apt for claustrophobics!

On Friday February 22nd the great moment arrived. Finally we started to ride together the roads of Oaxaca. After the picture of rigor with a chilly morning, we set course to Puerto Angel. The experience of traveling on a bike was new to Cath, so she was still in the break-in process of the bike, which with the entire luggage was a bit unstable. But she had a determination that was bullet-proof and wasn’t afraid at all. Not even of the dangerous traffic that was on the narrow road. To reassure myself that everything was all right and trying to act as a shield from the back, I decided to stay behind her while we were riding the first kilometers.

When passing through the town of Tomatal, we stopped to drink some coconut water and after that we took up again the road. We were advancing well, the day was splendid and the wind was blowing on our backs. If we were continuing that way we would arrive early to our destination and we could take advantage of the afternoon on the beach.

But destiny had something else in store for us. We had made about 30 km when we started the descent to the Zapote Bridge. All of the sudden I saw Cath veering to the middle of the road. What was going on? She started a dangerous zigzagging and unexpectedly, PAF! She lost control and I saw how she scattered all over the road. I clamp on my brakes to avoid running over her, I left Maira to the side and immediately I asker if she was all right. She sat down at the side of the road and I quickly recovered the things that were scattered all over the road before a car would hit them. “Are you OK? Are you OK? What happened?” There was blood everywhere and the worse wound seemed to be an impressive hole she had on her left knee. We quickly checked for wounds on other parts of her body. Fortunately she didn’t hit her head and the rest were minor bruises. She told me that the wind destabilized her a bit and when she felt exposed to the traffic she tried to correct her trajectory but she lost control and the next moment she was on the ground.

I cleaned the wound with whatever I had at hand, but we needed to look for better help. Asking a woman that was passing by we found out that the nearest first aids station was 3 km away. Once convinced that Cath could walk, we started to go towards Santa Elena, in a bold action that was by far more dangerous than riding the bike!! We were about to get there when we noticed that we were being hailed from a truck. They turned out to be Misael and his family, almost all of them physicians from Guadalajara and Oaxaca, who were occasionally passing by on vacation and they suspected that something was wrong when they saw us on the highway. A quick inspection determined the next course of action: “we have to put stitches on the knee and drain the liquid accumulated from the hematoma” Ouch! Where was that?

We loaded up the bikes, squeezed our gear in the truck and we took off fast towards the town of Pochutla, very close to our original destination, where we were taken to the emergency room of the regional hospital. The medical report was a bit frightening: 

 “Upon arrival she presents a cutting wound leveled with the top of the left kneecap, approximately 3 cm wide, perpendicular to the leg, with active bleeding and presenting also a subcutaneous hematoma at the level of the ipsilateral patellar body. Under sterile conditions the hematoma is drained through the wound, the wound is cleaned and a transdermal drain (penrose) is put in place, the drainage is fixated with polypropylene suture and the main wound is closed with polypropylene 3-0. Gauze and bandages are added for protection”

After reading that I thought that she was going to end up with only one leg, but fortunately she was in one piece! Beyond that, the bummer was that obviously she was not going to be able to ride the bike for the rest of her stay in Mexico, so we had to turn to plan B! In this case it meant looking for an appropriate place so she could rest while we could see how to coordinate the logistics of her return. Being so close to the coast, it was a shame to stay in Pochutla, at only 10 km form the ocean and not too many attractions. It wasn’t easy to convince someone with a truck to give us a lift with the bikes, but after explaining the accident, looking desperate and obviously, paying a “tip”, we could arrive to the town of Mazunte.   

The afternoon was upon us and we couldn’t get a decent place to stay. The majority of the options were window-less rooms that barely had beds in them. It was a place with hippie atmosphere that was more suitable for camping or hanging from a hammock than for the circumstances that we had to face. Fortunately we crossed paths with Mark and Susan, a nice couple from California that told us that on the other side of the small hill there was another beach called San Agustinillo that was very quiet and ideal to find the rest that we were looking for. Susan took Cath by taxi and Mark took charge of her bike until we got to the Mexico Lindo Inn, were they interceded so we could get a room. And on top of that, they invited us the 1rt night!! They were angels!!

Effectively, we had arrived to the perfect place. We were mere meters from the ocean, the atmosphere was very relaxed and people tended us like kings. Also, the inn had a restaurant where at night offered stone-baked pizza that was delicious. That’s how a week of “forced vacations’ ensued, where I exchanged my role of cyclist for the one as nurse. Cath’s spirits were unbreakable and she always found the way to see the positive side of the situation. In spite of everything, she was happy and enjoying her vacation days on the beach. I couldn’t avoid remembering the character of the Ren & Stimpy cartoon with his song “Happy, happy, joy, hoy”!!

While we were there Cath was able to change her flight from Tuxla to the closer city of Huatulco, so little by little things were falling in order. In Mazunte we could visit the Turtle Center and there we met Cuauhtemoc, a biologist that was a friend of a friend of mine from Morelia and offered to help us with anything that we might need. It was precisely him the one that gave us a hand by taking us back to Potchula, our base for Cath’s last weekend in Mexico to organize everything for her departure.

Miraculously we were able to get a box for her bike in the only one bike store in town and according to what we were told there shouldn’t be any problem to get it on the bus to the airport. Potchula wasn’t a tourist destination, so there wasn’t much to do there. The usual urban noise, like the one from tanker trucks, trash collectors or the water vendors was intensified by taxi cabs and their endless honking. You couldn’t walk more than 2 m without a taxi passing by and honking constantly while trying to offer their services. It was usual for the driver to make a gesture rising his hand palm up, with the index finger and thumb extended, at the same time that he was raising his head as saying: “so, what are you waiting for?” It was very aggressive indeed. 

Stuck there for the weekend we joked around saying that Potchula had a “Je ne sais quoi… I don’t know what I’m doing here”

On Monday March 3rd was time for the goodbyes. After a vertiginous bus trip where the driver seemed to have a formula one racer’s complex, we arrived to the particular airport of Huatulco. It was particular because it was a great palapa! There was a thatched rood and it gave me the sensation of being in Hawaii instead of Mexico. With the firm objective of having another chance on the bike in the future, we said our goodbyes and I got back to get ready for the road again.

The plan was to get to Tuxla as soon as possible. I had to cross the Tehuantepec Isthmus. Famous by its intense winds that could reach forces strong enough to flip over the trailer trucks that circulated in the area. It wasn’t something I wanted while crossing it on a bike!

The next day and celebrating 9 months on the road, I rode 120 km on a wavy road that, close to the ocean, was going up an down the coastal hills. I arrived to the town of Santiago Astata, where the time and my tiredness imposed a stoppage. People looked at me as if I arrived from a UFO and they were a bit surprised when I greeted them in Spanish. I had learned that the best way to break the ice and even get a smile from the local people was to address them with a loud and clear greeting. Here, it wasn’t the exception.  

Even though the armed presence of the police force was a bit more relaxed and less abundant than in other states where you can always see them attentive and with a finger on the trigger, I had to pass several police roadblocks that were on the road. Instead of checking my luggage for drugs or who knows what, the guys were curious to know where I was coming from and where I was going to. When finding out that I wasn’t a gringo and that I spoke Spanish they got along even more and they asked me many questions. I spent long moments chatting with the soldiers of the Mexican army.

Before arriving to Salina Cruz, I discovered a toll road with almost no traffic on it. The road conditions were optimal and it looked like it had been recently inaugurated, judging from its cleanliness and smooth pavement. I didn’t hesitate to take it even though I knew that I wouldn’t have chances to get food or water until getting to a tool booth at the other side of the road, 55 km away from there. The heat, as usual, was intense and the sun was hitting hard. I had to stop underneath one of the many bridges that crossed the highway to rest for a bit under the shadow before continuing.

I had done almost 120 km when in the horizon, and as a miraculous mirage, the toll booth appeared. At that moment I was a bit delirious for some fresh water. It was as such that I thought that I saw a man in shorts and sneakers running on the shoulder ahead of me. Was I lost? Was I crazy? Was he real?

When I caught up with him he asked me where was I going to and I told him, pointing to the booths: “just right there! If I don’t get some water I’ll die! I hope that they let me camp here to spend the night”. He smiled and told me: “Don’t worry, I’m the boss here and I’ll give you a place where you can rest”. Effectively, Ramiro was the civil engineer in charge if the highway maintenance. He let me use the multiple-use room, I could take a nice shower, drink as much cold water as I could and later, he invites me to have dinner in the nearby city of Ixtepec, where I could taste the Oaxacan specialty, the tlayudas. Talking to Ramiro, he told me that the day before the wind was blowing hard and the previous week it gusted at 150 km/h. Just about the time we were planning on going through there with Cath!! Brrrrr…

But luck was on my side. The forecast for the next day was quiet and I had to take advantage of that to cross the critical Isthmus area in one shot. For the third time, 120 kilometers of road were waiting for me!!

After a couple of hours I arrived to La Ventosa (The Windy), a town which name fitted perfectly with the usual weather conditions. The countless plastic bags hanging from the shrubs like Christmas tree ornaments were a clear example of people’s laziness combined with Nature’s fury. The electricity poles were anchored with steel cables fixed to concrete drums. Apparently it wasn’t a joke what they said about the regional winds…

15 Km later, I passed through La Venta, a place where its distinctive mark were impressive wind turbines that splashed the landscape with a touch of technology and modernity while contrasting with the simple and humble towns of the area. If I had survived until now, the worse was over. Nevertheless, I didn’t stop and continued without pause until Tapanatepec. I had crossed the Isthmus without major difficulties and I was at only 160 km from Tuxtla!

After climbing the hills that run parallel to the coast, I entered to the State of Chiapas, my last stop in Mexican lands before crossing over to Guatemala.  At Rizo de Oro (Goldilocks) I stopped to get something to eat and I was received with surprising kindness and cordiality. While I was eating some delicious ham and eggs, Don Benemerito sat down to chat with me:

“Do you have guerrillas where you live?”
“Well, we don’t have them now, but I don’t know if you ever heard from Che Guevara… well, he was Argentinean”
“Ah and where’s Argentina?”
“At the southern tip of the American continent, far from here”
“Like Brazil?”
“Yes, yes, down there”
“And how’s your country’s economy? Did you know that they want to privatize the oil?”
“In Argentina we had a nefarious president that privatized everything: oil, water, electricity, gas, phones… Even Patagonia is owned by foreigners!”
“Ah then you are much worse than we are!”

A bit later I saw a couple of kids getting out of school that were signaling me to stop. For their surprise, I did and I asked them what they needed. When they saw me, they though that I was a gringo and they didn’t expect me to stop and talk to them. “We saw several people like you on bikes, but they almost never stop”. “It is because gringos are afraid of people, but I’m not a gringo and I have no problems”, I said. “It’s Ok; in Chiapas we don’t like gringos”. Again I was a witness to the sad and complex reality concerning the “bilateral relationships”. They gave me a pendant with the Virgin Mary and together we took the picture for the 14,000 km that I had recently reached.

A couple of days later I arrived to Chiapas capital city, Tuxla Gutierrez. The SOS Children’s Village’s people were expecting there for a new visit to the boys and girls of the institution…

Until next time

Good Trails,

Damián

 

A long way back home

Until recently, for me Tibet was simply a lost place in the middle of the Himalayan Mountains. During my winter in Antarctica in 2006, I met François Prevost, the expedition doctor, who turned out to be an expert on the subject. He showed us a documentary that he made about the conflictive political situation of its inhabitants due to China’s oppression and the spiritual uprooting suffered with the Dalai Lama’s exile.

Along with Amelie Breton, editor and Francois companion, I learnt a bit more about this fascinating culture. During the long months that we spent at the southernmost point in the world, the traditional Tibetan praying flags fluttered at the wind’s will. Before starting this trip, they gave me one of each color to bring with me and to let them wave in different parts of the American Continent, and that’s what I have been doing since the first strokes.

I recently found out through them that during this year where China will be at the forefront of the news with the organization of the Olympic Games, the Tibetans want to call society’s attention about their political situation and make a change.

A group of a hundred Tibetans, followed by a thousand Indians, is walking pacifically back to Tibet from Dharamsala, India. They started their walk on March 10, 2008, when the same day 49 years ago, the Dalai Lama had to leave Tibet.

It’s a pacifist fight for human rights, for freedom, to recuperate the homeland.

Knowing the reality where we live is part of my trip. That’s why I invite you to learn a bit more about this reality that can seem far and away, but which is affecting us all.

I you want, you can go to the websitealso read the invitation letter of one of the marching participants, Tenzin Tsundue.

Thanks  

 

Acknowledgements

To Sarah Carrere M´Bodj: for the good vibes and your cordiality… and that beautiful art that you perform!

To Misael Barragán and all his family: fro your unconditional help when we needed it the most. Without your intervention we don’t know what could have happened to Catherine’s poor knee!

To Mark Levin & Susan Erb: for taking us to the place that would be our refuge while Cath was recovering. Thanks for your kindness and endless generosity.

To Cuauhtemoc Peñaflores: for giving us a hand with the logistics to go to Potchula from San Agustinillo.

To Ramiro Martínez Segura: for let me sleep at the Salina Cruz-La Ventosa highway, your generosity and the exquisite dinner that you invited me to in Ixtepec.

To Víctor Aguilar and José Miguel Pérez, from Rosendo Salazar, Chiapas: for lending me your fingers for the 14000 km picture.

To the people of “Ryders”: for having confidence on my trip and the associated projects, sponsoring me with a new couple of lenses and pare parts that Catherine brought from Canada.

To Roberto Schottlaender: for the interest and support given with your economical donation. And also for the spreading of the trip through your website

To Isabelle Savard: because on top of unselfishly investing a great deal of time to translate this webpage to French, you sent me a generous economical donation so I won’t be hungry while on the road. Have no doubt that I’ll be well invested!

To Marco Fania, my great friend and brother from Sedna IV: for getting me in Canada all the spare parts that I needed for Maira and with whom I will have an eternal gratitude… on top of the economical one!

And very specially to Catherine Allard: for having the courage and bravery to get along with  such adventure, for many gifts, for arranging the sponsorship of my sunglasses, for the money that you “forgot behind” , for your unbreakable positive spirit, for your company, for your friendship, for the good memories.

 

Some Statistics

Days on the road: 279

Days on the bike: 166

Kilometers done: 14,163 km (1,400 on gravel)

Average kilometers done per day a: 85.32 km

Hours on the bike: 842h56m (35d12h56m)

Average speed: 16.8 km/h

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

Meters climbed: 130,283 m

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

How scare I was when I saw Cath crashing on the road: too much

Chances of becoming a nurse in a near future: very high!