Mexico. In a word...marvelous.
About February 2nd we crossed into Baja California in the city of Tecate, rode across without showing passports or anything - there wasn't even anyone in the booth. We purchased tourist visas, which we never actually needed to show, but it was good to have them anyways. I'll say right off that despite the present state of turmoil, I personally never felt endangered as a tourist. The violent occurences which we knew of only through contact with friends and family in the U.S. are almost completely restricted to disputes between drug parties, while the rare cases involving foreigners, accuentated by the media, happens when people are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most Mexicans are friendly to visitors. That out of the way, back to our adventure. We grabbed our first Mexican meal at a nice restaurant - our first sit-down meal in a while; sat under umbrellas beside the popular town square, and enjoyed deciphering the meal options. I used my Spanish dictionary for first time of many. After lunch we got groceries which was a fun experience, figuring out names of various items and the prices in pesos. We were excited about the bakery, which had great chocolate cake and muffins. There are delicious baked goods at most grocery stores. How this works is you grab a tray and tongs, and go around selecting from the many fresh baked goods, then take these to the register where they bag them for you. We took advantage of this system many times.
We rode out of Tecate on the busy two-lane highway with trucks growling past, but once out of the city the road was single-lane and less busy. There is essentially one road down Baja - Mexico 1. There is no shoulder, so we had to ride half in the lane. It's as safe as in the U.S. though, with less traffic making up for the lack of shoulder. Also, Mexican drivers gave us plenty of room as they passed, so we never really had a problem. The first thing I noticed was the annoying reflectors on the road, located every 15 yards literally right where we cycle. They were especially peeving for me with the trailer, having to dodge them with four wheels instead of two. My other pet peeve is the snot I have to constantly blow out of my nose, which runs when air rushes past it, especially cold air.
Our destination was a campsite indicated on the map, but as the day went on it became apparent that we had either missed it, or it didn't exist. Near dusk, we were forced to find a spot to camp beside the road, but we found a pretty nice sheltered place down a small path. The trucks were pretty loud all night as they downshifted down the hill, but other than that we enjoyed the place. After dinner we made tea, and tried not to spill it as we climbed down into a ravine. Dave slipped and slid a bit which was one of the funniest things I've ever seen (sorry Dave). Down by the little stream, we made the smallest fire ever and roasted marshmallows, made smores with Nutella. The marshmallows were strawberry and vanilla flavored, which was interesting, but delicious nonetheless. In the morning we were startled and a little nervous when two men walked down the path beside our camp. They said good morning and didn't give us any trouble. We had yet to learn about Mexican people, their generally relaxed attitude and warmth towards visitors.
The morning was chilly, and hurt my hands while I changed a flat tire. It warmed up to another beautiful day as we rode to Ensanada. With only a few downhill miles to go, we pushed hard and arrived in the big city around 10am, and spent an hour finding an inexpensive hotel. We pushed our bikes into the room, and explored the city. Near the marina under the huge Mexican flag, I watched clowns entertaining a crowd, and watched the people walk the wharf, enjoying the gorgeous weather. Later, Andrew Dave and I ate tons of food at a Chinese buffet. Back in our room, we caught the end of the Superbowl. A big city near the border like this had plenty of American television stations. Dave and I went to see a movie, and were surprised it was in English with Spanish subtitles. It was nice to relax like that after a few weeks of camping. The following morning I took advantage of the sink in our hotel room to patch my punctured tubes. I pushed the tubes underwater and looked for bubbles to find the hole (or holes), and glued a patch on. We cycled on in the afternoon.
We rode easy along the coast to La Bufadora, and paid a man to camp on his property atop a little hill overlooking beautiful rocky cliffs. The town was a single street lined with shops and venders selling trinkets, leather goods, and cigars to tourists. We got beer and cooked a fine dinner of enchilladas and watched the sunset. More smores. A perfect night! While I was reading I felt something on my collar, and pinched it with my gloved hands (it was chilly) - a small white scorpion! That was a little nerve-racking, but cool - I'd never seen a scorpion in the wild before.
In the morning we rode back into town to see the blowhole - where the ocean waves collide with the cliff and spray as high as fifty feet. It wasn't shooting very high that day. Dave and I tried a fresh coconut, drinking the milk out of a straw. At the grocery store, the parking assistant guy used a whistle to direct cars. He whistled us into a place for our bikes; so serious about his job, and a bit comical for us. But he told us to try the seafood salad nearby. We did, and it was chopped fish, octopus, clams and oysters all mixed with a kind of bruschetta, ketchup, and squeezed lime. It was pretty good on crackers and tostadas. Afterwards, we rode on into lush rolling hills so much greener than I expected, and so beautiful. We decided to take a turnoff to a beach twelve miles away. The first ten miles were good, but then the road became miserable dirt and rocks. We finally reached the hostel near dark, and the American working there kindly let us camp for free. We did laundry and sat at the bar and I loved the classic rock he was playing. Music is one thing I really miss. Andrew was sick that night, probably from the seafood. I felt bad for him, up all night wretching. He felt poorly the next day, and I give him mad props for riding on.
We restocked on groceries in San Quintin, and planned to have a rest day at the beach. The road, however, was pretty bad so we ended up getting a cheap hotel, and paid for the low price with little sleep from a noisy bar and people walking up and down the stairs just outside our window. Our situation improved when we made camp on a quiet beach the next day. We pushed our bikes through a few hundred yards of sand to get there, which is no easy task. Hurray, vacation! We threw frisbee, went in the water, and then it started to sprinkle. We set up our tents, and dried to stay dry inside. The sand at that beach was magnetic, and left a fine black covering on our feet like graphite. My tent started to build up with sand. That night it rained for the first time on our trip. The next day Dave and I went for a jog along the beach, and watched some locals digging for clams. They parked their cars right on the beach, and took little pitchforks and bags to collect the clams. Clouds reflected in the film of water we ran over as it receded back into the waves, sliding beneath us making it seem like we were running sideways; what does it feel like? Vertigo? No, horizontigo, yes that's what it feels like.
There was a bar a little ways down the beach, and Dave and I walked there in the evening through a massive expanse of shrubbery, slipping through wire fences to cross sandy roads. After dinner, we walked back, taking off our shoes to wade through the estuary which had formed the night before. Unfortunately, it was Dave's turn to be sick that night. That meant we were staying a third rest day. But it was an intense day. Early in the morning Andrew's calls woke us up; I heard waves, and looked outside my tent to see waves encroaching about two feet away. The tide had risen immensely, rivers had formed through the low areas around our camping area, and water was rushing into the estuary. Quickly, we scrambled outside and moved the tent to a higher hill, and Dave went back to sleep. But I kept hearing sand falling into water, and I reluctantly crawled back out into the cold wind and rain to inspect the stream flowing a few feet away. The bank of our little mound of sand was receding slowly each time a big wave pushed a surge of water to the estuary, eroding the edge until part of it collapsed. I watched it come closer and closer to the tent, maybe two feet while I stood there, until I was cold and went back inside. It didn't reach the tent though, and the tide eddied eventually by the time we woke up for good. We were surprised that the entire landscape of the beach had changed, the estuary had quadrupled in size, and there was now a wide channel a few feet from my tent where our bikes had been before. Dave's bike was covered in sea grass, and mine was rusted. We had to carry everything through the estuary to get off the beach. We went back to the bar for dinner, but it gave me an upset stomach all night. I didn't get sick, but I had the same digestive "issues" that my brothers had. It rained again, and my "sand castle", as Dave called my tent, became a mud castle. Andrew and I rode into town the next day, and the dirt roads were thick with mud. I was covered in mud, as was my bike, and it caked up around the breaks. I cleaned the dry mud off my bike for weeks. So finally we headed out after 3 1/2 rest days, and rode just 35 miles before we needed to make camp, the next place with water 72 miles away. That was when I felt sick, so we needed another rest day. I was tired of resting, and wanted to make progress! I stayed in the tent all day and read, out of the strong wind outside. Andrew made fried quesadillas that night - all I can say is "wow."
So finally we headed out and rode 75 miles, a new record. The region took on a much more desert appearance as we moved inland, with many cacti of various types, most notably the several-pronged saguaro type that is the quintessential symbol of the southwest states. Throughout Baja the road was generally very good, with just a few poorly maintained sections. Occasionally it was immaculate blacktop, over which we glided effortlessly, almost floating above the soft sing of our tires. There were more long sections without much to see, and just a few houses along the way. Still, I liked it out there in the desert, where the wildness of the earth shows through and reflects the nature of its maker. I was grateful for a backrest against a gnarly white tree as I journaled, beside peculiar plants that stick way up and then sometimes wave over horizontally at random. Everything is spiky...
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