My Nov and Dec Photos

I have caught up on uploading the rest of my photos from the trip.   Most of them were taken while en route so they may not be the best quality.  However, there are a few gems in there were I stopped and took time to capture the scenery.  Enjoy!

San Francisco to Los Angeles

Los Angeles, San Diego, and crossing the Border

Baja California

Baja California Sur

Mazatlan to Tepic

Escuinapa, Tepic, and Cheating to San Miguel De Allende

After I finished up my last post, I hit Escuinapa for some Saturday night fun.  I asked around and found out there was one disco in town called El Patio.  The cover was rather steep at 80 pesos, but I wanted to do something so I forked over the cash.  I enter a huge barn like warehouse with a stage set up for some more musica banda.  I was the first person not working in the building and had 2 hours to wait before the band would show up.  I sat back with a bucket of Pacifico.  However, the beers were the small 7oz version.  I felt like Godzilla with those little bottles in your hand.  I think Pacifico uses the mini beers bottles to market to the Mexican machismo.  It is rather similar to how Nike makes their shoes run a size or two smaller so you think you have bigger feet than you really do.  In any event, I hate those mini Pacifico and tend to avoid Nike.

The time is around midnight, and I watch people start to break down the stage.  Apparently the lack of patrons brought the show to a close.  I head to the door ready to get my cover back.  The owner gives me 60 pesos and walks away.  I was feeling rather aggressive so I wasn't going to let the owner snake me out of 20 pesos.  I ripped off my broken Spanish, and he actually forked over the rest of the money without much of a fight.

Sign in the bathroom at El Patio

I was hardly ready to call it quits, but my options were pretty slim.  I saw a cantina down the block, but after my first few cantina experiences, I try to avoid them at all costs.  I grab a bacon wrapped hot dog and start talking to the two boys eating there.  I ask about nightlife and they tell me let's go to Boulevard.  I keep asking questions to understand what they mean, and eventually I find myself riding shotgun in a Vanilla Ice body style mustang.  We cruise down a few KM and get to a street with around 200 cars parked on both sides of the street.  Each car has trunks and doors open blasting Mexican music and  acting as a beer trough.  I'm reminded of Mardi Gras as girls form circles so one of them can squat and pee on the street in privacy.  I press my two new friends about mingling with the other groups.  I guess my pressure was too much because they ended up leaving without offering to take me back to my hotel.  I am now stranded in a random street party patrolled by Mexicans with assault rifles and no taxis in sight.  I make the best of it and prowl the street for some conversation practice.  I felt like a total mooch as I had no beer and was using the locals to practice my Spanish.  A taxi rolls up and I jet back to my hotel as I had a 190KM ride planned in the morning.

I hit the road with about 5 liters of water, some bread, PB&J, and a few cookies.  I typically like to get out of town fast and grab some quick food at a taco stand on the outskirts.  After the first 50KM, I saw no places to reload on food or water.

Lunch under a bridge

I stopped here to make a PB&J and take a quick break.  No more than 2 minutes after I stop, a bicycle gang rolls up.  There were 10 of them and they parked uncomfortably close to me.  I think they just wanted to sniff me out as they asked a few questions and headed back into the ditch.

Leaving Sinaloa and entering Nayarit

100KM from Tepic

With an hour of sun left, I make it 30KM outside of Tepic and still have not seen a place for water or food.  I haven't had any water for the last hour or so and am feeling rather weak.  The ride was hot and humid so my water consumption rate was up.  With the sun setting, the temperature dropped helping me to advance my pace.  About 20KM outside of Tepic I begin to see a large number of policia.  In that 20KM stretch, I pass close to 100 patrol cars with vehicles pulled over.  I am really wondering where I have gone.  I make it into the city and am totally desperate for food and water.  I fill up my bottles and chug the remainder of the 5 liter bottle then proceed to ask a cop, why there are so many cops.  I believe he pointed to three locations to show me where the police strongholds were.  I clearly understood when he told me: "the gangs man, if they see you and don't like you, they shoot you."  As I am having this discussion with the cop, I am hearing random gunfire rain down.  I assume it is gunshots, but it could have very well been fireworks.  Regardless, I was legitimately scared for being in Mexico for the first time.  I took the nearest hotel on the highway, which was more than twice any place I had stayed so far.  I decided that night that I don't want to ride for a while.

I went to the Tepic bus station and bought a ticket to Guadalajara.  I got to Guadalajara at noon per the time on my watch.  I bought another ticket to San Miguel de Allende which has one stop in Guanajuato.  When I purchased my ticket, I asked the lady what time it was, and she turned the computer around which verified that my wristwatch was correct.  I was suspicious because the clock on the bus was one hour ahead.  I further verified the time with my iPhone.

I had three hours to kill and got some of the best tacos I have had in Mexico.  I was sitting in the bus station unsure of the protocols for boarding times for the bus.  I head to my bus 45 minutes before the departure only to realize it left 15 minutes ago because the time had in fact changed.  I got on a bus to Queretaro and took a taxi to surprise my mom with my presence in San Miguel.  I will be posting up here until late January when I'll head back to Guadalajara to explore that city and continue my bike journey.

Taco Stand next to the Guadalajara Bus Station where I had 5 tacos and a Mexican Coke for 40 pesos

Mazatlan Review

Knowing what I know now, I would have done Mazatlan slightly different.  Let me explain.

I picked a hotel which was half way between Olas Altas and Zona Dorado, which basically means it was near nothing except the beach.  If I went back to Mazatlan, I would stay at a hotel in Olas Altas during the week and move to the Golden Zone for the weekend.  The reason I suggest Olas Altas for the week is that it is on the beach and still walking distance to the Centro and the Historico.  The reason I suggest Zona Dorado for the weekend is that is where the discos are which are only happening on the weekends.

The Centro can probably be skipped unless you are looking for some cantina action.  Gringos entering a cantina get a similar reception to the one received by Hans Solo and Luke Skywalker. 


Church in the Centro



The Historico district felt like a tropical New Orleans.  The roads were narrow and paved in cobble stones, the houses were brightly colored, and there was a decent number of restaurants and bars around the Machado Square.  I went to La Tertullia on two occassions in the Historico and happily enjoyed 12 Peso cervezas and a decent margarita.  Beach Burger had great food and the best margarita in Mexico so far; however, the waiter tried to rip me off in a two ways that I know of.  First, he failed to bring out my entire order as described on the menu.  Second, he added tax to my bill when tax is already added into everything in Mexico. 


Machado Square in the middle of Historico





The urinal at La Tertullia in Historico.  I thought it was cool.



Olas Altas is the 4 block strip of bars and restaurants along the Malecòn.  I enjoyed myself at Fonda and the upstairs at Bicho.  They both had live cover bands playing American tunes.  After the show at Fonda, I asked the lead singer if he understood the words he was singing, he gave me the look like he was trying to decode what I just said.  I know this look well because I make the same one all day when I attempt to converse with the locals.  At any rate, his look answered my question.

 

Live band in front of Fonda.  The guitarist on the left could really shred.  He also played the drums.

















The Zona Dorado is where the tourists go to feel more like they are in America.  I went there to eat food other than tacos.  Even though there was construction going on down the block blowing dust in my food, I had a great Cesar salad at Gringo Lingo.  The food at Yooper`s was sub par but provided a nice place to watch Thursday night football in English. 

I feel like a broken record commenting that these tourist destinations are seriously hurting from the Mexican reputation, but it couldn`t be more obvious than at Fiestaland.  Fiestaland is a place that has about 7 discos.  The largest is Bora Bora.  The size of this place rivals those of Las Vegas, except this one is on the ocean and the drinks are about a quarter of the price.  I can imagine Spring Break 5 years ago must have been quite a spectacle.  I could count the number of people in this place on my fingers and toes.  Granted, I was there on a Thursday which is not a big night for Mexicans.  A place that put on a decent showing was Joe`s Oyster Bar at the Ramada Hotel.  This place is also on the ocean and played American Top 40s.  I ended up with drinks I did not order, but maybe the drink runners were mind readers.  I went here Friday and had a good time.

Thursday Night with Musica Banda at Valentino in Fiestaland which marks the beggining of the Zona Dorado



The Fisherman`s monument on the Malecòn



Photo of the Malecòn Facing South

Similar shot about 10 hours later

 I made a hasty decision to get back on my bike and forgo the better club night in Mazatlan.

It is what it seems.  ¨Speed bumps¨vibrate your car or bike if you are me.

 I am staying in Escuinapa de Hidalgo for the night.  My hotel is a block from where I took this photo.

Church in the Centro of Escuinapa de Hidalgo

Leaving La Paz and Moving to Mainland Mexico - Malecón in Mazatlan

I spent most of Sunday trying to get bike supplies, but of course, the cities in Mexico never keep reliable hours so the store I was told to be the best for road biking was inappropriately closed.  I did manage to get a new battery for my bike computer so I will be able to keep stats again.  I will switch to KM so I can navigate easier, plus it makes you feel like you are going faster and farther.


I came across this church while roaming aimlessly



I thought this ad was cool.  It says: if you don`t vote, you don`t have a voice.



Later Sunday night I went to Pappas & Beer, which is a chain in Baja with establishments in Rosarito, Ensenada, and La Paz.  Sunday night is Banda Musica night.  I did not know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised.  If I wasn´t so shattered from my Friday and Saturday nights, I would have enjoyed myself later into the evening, but nonetheless, I will go to another Banda show.  I tried to get some dance lessons from the locals, but they quickly were disappointed with my lack of coordination and general awkwardness.



Banda Musica

I was ready to depart La Paz Monday, but the only ferry out was the Cargo Ferry.  It sounded like hell so I decided to spend one more day in La Paz and take Tuesday´s Passenger Ferry.  I roamed the Malecón looking for the best beach spot.  Most were desolate so I ended up taking refuge under a bungaloo on the very north end at the Oromuel Playa Pública with only a few people in sight.  I stayed there to watch the famed La Paz sunset and was not disappointed.

The sky had an orange hue in this photo then had a blood red tint 15 minutes after the sun set.

I headed over to the ferry terminal to get my tickets.  While rounding a turn, there was a semi that passed me with almost no room.  I was thinking, dang that was close.  Then I realized that the truck had a second trailer.  The trailer actually bumped my left elbow.  There was about 4 inches of clearance on my right side to the shear cliff.  I thought for a moment that the worst would happen, but I managed to escape unscathed.  After going through the confusing process of buying a ticket, I headed back to the beach.  I had my bike so I headed for some nicer ones.  I went to the Northern tip of the peninsula to Playa Tecolete.  This was the best beach I have even been to.   The water was turquoise, there was a bar right on the beach, and the sun was shining.  I even got involved with some locals playing dominos and went from observing to learn the rules to beating them at their own game.  There isn´t really much strategy except, play your doubles first and try to reduce the options to your oponent so they have to skip their turn.  I also did the opposite of what is logical by playing off my lower dominoes first which they all held onto since that was a deciding factor in the tiebreakers.  It rarely goes to the tiebreaker so I´ll give up those wins for winning more of the games directly.

It was a bit windy this day, but other than that, it was paradise.

I make it onto the ferry and made friends with a 60+ year old Frenchman who had biked from Alaska.  His blog is jpsissia.eklablog.com  We helped each other through the confusing process of boarding the ferry.  I managed to get lucky, and when I pressed the entrance button, I was given the green pase sign while he received the red alto sign.  At any rate, I was on the ferry hoping it would be a fun boat ride.  While walking up the staircase, I see a Mexican man hunched over panting.  I offer him water but he declines.  His young children are half a flight up the stairs and I get a cross eyed look from them.  I don´t know if that was a way of them making fun of their father or me.  In any event, it certainly set the tone for the ride. 

The ferry had all of the amenities of a cruise ship.  I went to the bar and hoped to meet some interesting folks.  The bar had about 100 patrons, all of whom besides a group for 4 Germans guys were all Mexican men.  Literally there were no females in the bar.  The music was Mexican style where the singers get dressed up in bright colors with big dark sombreros and make that distinct Mexican holler.  The music gave me worrisome flashbacks of Guerrero Negro´s nightlife.  It wasn´t what I had expected, but I would be in mainland in less than 12 hours.  I went to find a place to sleep, but the movie theatre had people in all of the good spots so I went out to the open deck.  I laid in my sleeping bag in plastic lawn furniture.  It was a terrible night of sleep but provided for a nice place to catch the sunrise.

I was very confused by this sign.  I kept using it and saw other men in there so I think I was in the right.

I started feeling stomach pains while on the Ferry.  I couldn´t let myself get sick and let the locals think that the Gringo got seasick on the Ferry so I had to make it off the boat in reasonable shape.  However, the boat people kept us locked in a hot hallway for about 20 minutes before they unlocked the door.  My Baja Ferry experience was not great, but perhaps next time, I should opt for the cabin and not eat the chicken-like stew.



My Ferry in Mazatlan



Mazatlan like La Paz has a road called the Malecón.  However, Mazatlan´s version is about 3 times longer at 11 miles.  I rode my bike to what I estimate to be the middle and found a flee bag hotel.  I´ll post up here while I try to explore Mazatlan´s restaurants and nightlife.

¡Vive La Paz!

Constitucion was another non impressive Baja city.  I was losing my patience with Baja.  However, I heard there is an oasis, and it is called La Paz.  The topography to La Paz looks really flat on my map, but it was anything but flat.  I felt like I was struggling to get any measureable momentum all day.  This could have been from the subtle but relentless headwind.  I am still without a bike computer so my speed was based on my watch and km markers.  I started the day needing to keep a 22 km per hour pace.  I knew I was going to have trouble when my estimate shot up to 25.  Is the proper way to abbreviate kilometer per hour - kmh or kph?  Neither look right to me.

I finally met other bike tourists in Mexico.  They were a wolfpack of 6 and offered me into their wolfpack.  However, when you are riding alone, you make all the decisions and have to concede nothing.  I did not want to ride at the group´s pace, especially because they were planning to camp in the desert again.  I had to leave them behind, but I would soon see them again.  One of them looked as though he was going to join me when I mentioned I would be going all the way to La Paz in one day; however, the others in his wolfpack pulled him back into their group like crabs do when one is about to escape the pot of boiling water.

This was about 110 km into the ride, and I felt strong and thought I could make it before sundown.

For the next 30 miles after the above photo, there was this strange sort of cow land.  There were numerous cows in various forms. Some looked healthy, some emaciated, some with maggots and flies eating their remains, and some just a pile of dry bones.  I will never forget the pungent odor of a roadside rotting bovine body.

As you approach La Paz from the North, you are up on a mesa and can see the city down at the edge of the flat valley about 40km away.  Salvation was ahead!  However, darkness was looming.  I was on the road about 28km outiside of La Paz when the sun was completely down.  I was planning to ride in the dark even though I knew it was unsafe.  There was a situation that made me immediately change my mind.  I was riding in my lane when a car coming the other direction was passing a car in my lane.  I was buzzed by that speeding car and immediatly jumped off my bike and hitched into town.

The very first truck to pass picked me up.  I really had no idea what to expect.  However, I was lucky.  One of them spoke English.  The guy driving was the owner of a spear fishing store in La Paz.  They took me all the way into the heart of La Paz and showed me where the action happens.  I found a place for 220P a night 3 blocks from the Malecón.  This happens to be where all of the bike tourist stay as there are about 10 of us in there now.

As it is a Friday night, I head to the Malecón for some nightlife.  I wander down the drag and found a spot that was recommended by some younger guys at the spear fishing store.  I was struggling to stay energetic as I just put down a little over 100 miles in significant heat and headwinds. Even though I look very much like a zombie, a Gringo named Jason introduces himself.  He has been living in various places in Latin America studying Spanish.  We trade war stories, and my spirits are lifted.

Having fun with locals at Las Veritas Friday Night.  I ran out of sunblock during the ride, and my face got roasted.

This is Jungle on the Malecón Saturday night.

This is the Mexican version of Bingo.  I am not sure how you win, but I know everyone in this photo was really disappointed about 30 seconds later.

I am having a great time in La Paz and will be here until Tuesday at 5pm as that is the next Ferry.  Next stop - Mazatlan.

Legal Again, Randomness to Juncalito, and onto Constitucion

Before I dive into my experience at the Immigration Office, I want to share the night I had in Loreto.  Like every night in Mexico, I grab tacos for dinner.  I ask the taco guy where to go for nightlife.  This is the last time I ask a taco maker what bars are good because the only bars they think are good are strip joints.  In any event, I find a regular establishment called Mike´s Bar.  As I enter, a guy tells me, I´m ¨The Witch,¨ take a seat, and welcome to my bar.  He doesn´t look like a Mike to me.  Maybe a Miguel or Miguelito judging by his horse jockey stature.  In any event, he is very proud of his title and wants to show his power by kicking two of the three guys to my immediate right out of the bar.  The one he left was slurring his Spanish and wanting to chat with me.  I would compare this guy to a pound puppy when they give you the, ´my time is nearly up - please take me with you´ look.  Now my Spanish is pretty poor.  It´s even worse with loud music in the background but pretty hopeless when the speaker is 3 sheets.  I am not making eye contact or even acknowledging that he is there, but he is running his mouth about who knows what.  I leave the bar area and go to the back and sit at a private table.  He gives me 5 minutes of peace then comes over to me again.  I really thought this was some kind of joke, but he was for real.  He was no threat, just really blacked out.  The Witch asks me if I want him kicked out.  I don´t mind this guy, I just don´t want to talk to him.  He shakes my hand about 15 times and signs my notebook MARTIN DELA CRUZ DE LA CRUZ.

As I am going to the reception desk the next morning to get my deposit, my bike computer flies off.  This is no big deal as it happens pretty regularly.  However, this time it loses its memory and works only intermitently.  The last mileage I recorded was 1356 to Loreto and will be without a bike computer going forward.

In any event, I make it to the immigration office and am the 3rd one there.  Luckily there are 3 agents so I should be served right away.  After some waiting, I try to assert myself to make sure they know what I need.  I tell them what happened, filled out some paperwork, then went to the bank to pay a fine of 1200 Pesos and a tourist Visa of 246 Pesos.  I get back to the office and a few more people showed up.  There are the Mexicanos that come and go with hugs and kisses, then there are the American that are pulling there hair out.  One lady is balling crying as she has been to the office everyday for 5 weeks trying to get her FM2.  It´s clear that several of the Americans are there for the same issue as me, but we all basically have different waiting times and procedures.  Some of them have been there multiple times.  In total, I ended up spending about 3 hours in the office.  Towards the end of my wait, I really wondered if they would keep me in there from open to close and not resolve my issue.  I fill out another blank sheet of paper, sign my name on some forms written in Spanish, then get out of there.  All in all, there was no reason for me to wait as the agent wasn´t working on anything.  It just took him that long to pull a form out of the desk.  I hinted at a bribe to speed it up or skip the bank process, but I later learned that the Loreto office had federal trouble for taking bribes and now all of the money has to be handled at the bank.  It always seemed shady to pay the officer directly, but now the bank will be the one to rip off the state instead of the agent.  I´m not sure it is a lesser evil.  I also learned that the physically larger agent was part of a recent federal bribery sting but never lost his job.  I only brought up the crying lady earlier to mention this conversation between them:
Agent: If you don´t respect me, I can´t respect you.
Crying: I have given you nothing but respect. 
Agent: If you don´t respect me, I can´t respect you.
Crying: You tell me different stories each day.  How can I respect you when you are inconsistent?
Agent: If you don´t respect me, I can´t respect you...

I get out of the office, but it burned so much time that I couldn´t make it to Constitucion.  I stop and grab a sandwich, and in the parking lot of the restaurant, a Gringo tells me to come to his place in El Juncalito and have a shower and place to rest.  Just ask for ¨No Se.¨  It´s only 10 miles so I am not getting very much closer to the goal of La Paz, but it´s also the last place to camp on the Gulf before La Paz.  Juncalito is a tiny fishing pueblo where about 30 Gringos have set up semi-permanent winter camps.  All of the Gringos are in their 60s or older and retired.  There is no electricity and running water is intermitent.  Life is good.

Sunrise looking toward the Port of Escondito

I am greeted with a smoked filet of yellow tail and a Pacifico.  After tall tales and tall beers, we get invited to head down to another Gringo trailer where a bunch of people are hanging out.  I just entered a whole new world.  This was the world of the sailor.  One of the guys has been a ship builder since childbirth, another, shows me star constellations for 15 minutes and teaches me how to tell time with the stars, and another promises me a boat ride to La Paz in a day.  However, the most interesting in the 6 foot leggy blonde with two children that just spent the last year and a half at sea.  I hear tales of her boat, two daughters, and herself surving 50 knot winds in the open seas with 20 foot swells, having her boat sucked into a hurricane, having her boat thrown on its side then into a rocky shore, and a few others.  She was also a sushi chef before a sailor, so she said that she will spear fish and skin dive to provide food for her girls.  I´m a fan of sushi, but I can´t imagine the freshness of ones that are plucked out of the sea right in front of you.  The stories and passion that this group has for sailing is beyond anything I have ever witnessed.  We head back to my host´s pad to go to bed.  I eagerly waited for dawn to see if I would be apart of a sailboat crew heading to La Paz.  By virtue of this post, that didn´t happen, but it was fun to imagine it.  However, I am hooked, and I have never even set foot on a sailboat.  In the near future, I will get one of those and learn to take it around the world.  But back to what happened, there is a CB radio broadcast where all of the people around the port listen to.  The order of discussion is something like this: Weather conditions, arrivals, departures, crew, and it is closed with jokes and humor.  My host calls out offering my labor, but there were no takers, so I hit the road via bicycle.  Don and Brenda, thank you for bringing me into Juncalito and offering me wonderful hospitality.  I don´t know how I can return the favor, but please be in touch.

A parting photo of Don and Brenda in Juncalito

This was the last time I would see the Gulf until La Paz

The ride to Constitucion started with major climbs heading back over the mountains into the center of Baja.  I didn´t get the same winds to guide me up up the hill like a few days earlier.  In fact, the winds had now shifted and were hindering my progress.  After being at the peak of the mountains, I never got the fast joyride out of them.  There was a slow gradual descent with a headwind.  This was like sidestepping up a moutain on skis only to have all of the snow melt during the climb. 





After getting out of the mountains, there was a three hour stretch where I rode in a completely straight line and the scenery never changed.

This guy welcomed me to Constitucion

I will do my best to be in La Paz tomorrow, which is about 210 km.

Mulege Friends, Bahia Conception, and Loreto

An easy way to figure out what touristy things you should go see in a town you just get to is look at what images are on postcards.  In San Francisco for example, a typical postcard will have the Golden Gate Bridge, sea lions, Transamerica, and/or the Painted Ladies.  I walked into a store originally named ¨La Tienda¨ and saw the Santa Rosalia Mission.

The Santa Rosalia Mission is up on a hill.  Mulege even built a nice set of stairs so you can get a better angle for a photo.

This is the vantage towards Mulege from the same set of steps.

When I was walking back from the Mission, I finally felt a bit of hunger, but I was still uneasy in the stomach.  I decided I was destined for more tacos since I believe they are a safety food.  I cross a small river back to town, and the first restauran I see has a sign for happy hour margaritas.  I am not much in the mood for margaritas, but what the hell, you only live once.  When I go in, there are two men at the bar and another working behind it, talking about whether or not the hanging light should be on.  It appears they all know each other.  The reason I clearly know their topic of discussion is that they are speaking in English.  Jackpot - I just found a Gringo hangout.  English is like music to my ears in the depths of Baja California.

Happy hour turns into a 4.5 hour eating and drinking binge.  The owner of the bar Travis is a transplant from Palacios, TX.  The other two guys are Scotty who happens to own the place where I had my lunch cheeseburger and Jon who are transplants from Eugene, OR and London, UK respectively.  They each basically came to Mulege on vacation and never took their homeward bound flights.

I bring up my Visa fiasco, and Travis provides a good plan that will cost me very little.  I should go to the Mulege Ministral, tell them my passport and Visa were stolen, then take the evidence of the stolen goods from the Mulege Ministral to the Immigration Office in Loreto and get a new Visa.  I can then take my passport which I never lost and the newly issued Visa to the agents at the Guatemala border acting like I entered through Loreto, and the agents gave me a Visa but failed to stamp my passport.  I am totally on board.  ¨Honest is the best policy, except in Mexico.¨

Jon suggests that they always put stamps on the passports, and there is a new computerized system where they can actually check the records in real time.  I now have doubt.  Travis´ wife Rosalia enters the conversation and says to go back to Santa Rosalia and confess the truth to the people at their immigration office.  Now I have no plan.  I plan to dominate a game of darts to find clarity.  I fail to win but decide to mix all of their ideas and just ride to Loreto and confess my sins at the Immigration Office.

Mulege is at the very north end of the Bahia Conception.   

 This photo was taken only a few miles outside of Mulege.  I am thinking, well, this is a cool shot.  I better not miss it since the crazy road architects will probably have me head in the mountains instead of running along the beautiful low lying coast.

I was wrong.  There was about 10 miles of winding coast lined with white sand beaches and people lounging around with no responsibilities.

This sign confirms that these little shacks serving food do in fact serve donkey as their meat.  There was a donkey farm right behind the restaurant.  There were only baby donkeys so either they had a tourism run and the adults are gone, or the ´veal´ style fetches a higher price.

The road south of Bahia Conception has a few climbs back into the mountains.  There was a particular stretch where I started to gear up instead of down on the incline.  I decided to see what would happen if I stopped peddling, and I overcame a 100 feet climb on a 3% grade maxing out at 9.2 mph during a big gust.  If Only I had Halle Berry from X-Men in my back pocket for the long climbs, I could double my daily mileage.

Before riding in Baja, I had a vision that the place would be a dust bowl.  I packed a bandana and always left it at the top of my clothes pannier in case I need it quickly.  This is the first substantial amount of dust I have seen in Baja but still have not used the bandana.

I mostly raced myself all day so I could get to the Immigration Office before it closed.  I assumed government offices are early closers so I better make it to Loreto before 4pm.  I made it with 45 minutes to spare.  As I am approaching Loreto, I stop and ask the first person where the office is.  Crickets.  I then ask for the center of town.  I get directed down a dirt path.  After asking about 15 more people that were equally as uninterested in helping, I made it to the town center.

Someone told me that the Immigration Office was in the Municipal and I saw a sign for the Municipal, but it turns out I was one building over in a church.  Unfortunately, the Municipal was not where the Immigration Office is.  Great, I just wasted 30 of my minutes, and I had to back track.  I was told by an English speaker that I had to go back to near the highway, which meant asking more directions from locals with no real incentive to help.  I finally get to the Immigration Office to learn that they closed at 1pm.  I was way off.

I am going to be at their door as soon as they open in the morning hoping that I do not get deported.

I am getting a crazy tan line from the gap between my arm sleeves and my gloves.

Leaving Santa Rosalia, Stopping in a Decent Town, and Estimating my Coefficient of Drag

Even though Santa Rosalia is a decently sized town and directly on the Gulf, there was no reason to stay there.  The town seems to be the least "Mexican-like" of any Mexican town I have visited.  I mark Mexican towns as ones with narrow streets, poor pavement, and no car parking.  The streets were nice and parking was aplenty, which is perhaps why the candidates chose Santa Rosalia to speak.

Mr. Eiffel of the famed Tower designed this church right off the main drag.  Even though it is the town's biggest tourist attraction, it is still actively used for worship.

Still feeling the effects of the lasagna, I was happy that the ride today was short. I made it to Mulege in about 3 hours and quickly found a Huespedes for 100 Pesos a night.  I am now 1269 miles from SF.  Immediately entering the town, I was greeted by fellow Gringos.  In no time at all, I have made friends with a few other adventure travelers and have decided this is my favorite spot into Baja only behind Ensenada. If my stomach will agree, I should enjoy margaritas over Monday Night Football.

I learned to take photos right outside my hotel in every direction so I can look for markers in case I can't find it later.  This view is directly outside my Huespedes looking to the left.

As the University of Texas at Austin has bestowed upon me a degree in Mechanical Engineering, it is only natural that I wonder about the mechanics of my ride.  I wrote up this analysis over a cheese burger at lunch today.  I coasted down a 7% grade and held steady at 38mph which is the basis for the analysis.  Feel free to correct me on invalid assumptions and wrong data.  Everything was directly from memory.

Guerrero Negro Leaves a Bad Taste, Faceplant in San Ignacio, and Over to the Gulf Side of Things

It was Friday night, and I was looking to get some food after spending more time than I would like to admit in the last internet cafe.  Even though I was on the verge of being famished, I really could not stand the thought of another taco as I eat them for most of my meals.  I was craving falafel but knew this town would never give me such satisfaction.  I was tempted to go to a restaurant a few blocks from my hotel called Santo Remidio, but I felt like it had a shady operation going as its logo was on all of the rear window of every taxi cab in town.  I postulated that cabbies get kickbacks for bringing Gringos in there, and I was not going to be apart of that.  I walked several blocks farther and arrived at Los Caracoles which was recommended by the lady that helped me do my laundry earlier that day.  Los Caracoles was a one stop shop for tourists.  They had a hotel, restaurant, gift shop, whale watching tours, and bar.  The menu at the restaurant rivaled that of Friday´s back in the day when it was called TGI Friday´s and the number of pieces of flare mattered.  I ordered the potato skins then was stuck between pasta or salad for my main course.  I was thinking of going for a second century tomorrow and decided to load up on carbs.  I ordered the spaghetti, but the waitress convinced me that I would like the lasagna more.  I topped off dinner with an apple pie a la mode.  When the other waiter came by and asked how dinner was, I told him that the lasagna tasted funny.  I very rarely give bad reviews of food, but I chalked up the funny taste to a different way of making the tomato sauce. 

After dinner, I proceeded upstairs to the bar.  The place is mostly empty, and I pulled up a stool a few places down from the man who appeared to be the nicest dressed.  He wastes no time and introduces himself.  He is an air traffic controller and apparently wanted to practice his English with me.  About 15 minutes into my Q&A session, the TV is changed from wrestling to Karaoke.  The air traffic controller really loves his Tejano power ballads and controls the mic for roughly 50% of the night.  He decides that I need to sing a song, and I do my best to push the out of his head.  Regardless he scrolls through the American secion looking for the Eagles.  As I watch him do this, he thumbs to the ´T´ section, and perhaps a little piece of me wanted to sing, because I redirected him to the ´E´ section.  Now I am holding the mic and belting out the best rendition of Hotel California I could.  Why would I care that I am horrible at Karaoke?  I would never see any of these people again.  As the night progressed, more and more people showed up.  By people, I mean men.  By the time I left around 1am, the room had 50 men and 2 women.  I am pretty sure all of the men had the same idea.  Let´s go to Caracoles and pick up some women.  Damn, there are no women here, let´s get as drunk as possible.  When I was walking out, I thought for sure a fight would break out in the next 20 minutes.

This is the Volcan Tres Virgenes.  It is between San Ignacio and Santa Rosalia.  Perhaps if the Mexicans would refrain from throwing virgins in their volcanos, the nightlife of Guerrero Negro would not make San Jose seem like a college frat party.

I woke up Saturday morning and was not hungry.  This was a first.  There was a breakfast spot caddycorner from my hotel and the thought of breakfast seemed to make my stomach curdle.  I ignored these feeling and started peddling.  The road was flat with no wind, but I was really struggling to show any strength.  I was ridiculously thirsty and stopping every few miles to pee.  I made it to Vizcaino and really considered to quit for the day even though I had only ridden for a few hours.  So much for the century.  I casually rolled through Vizcaino looking for a place to eat, but I could not find something that was appealing.  Before I knew it, I was back in the desert.  At various times during the day, I was wondering, what could be wrong?  Did I have Montazuma´s Revenge already?  I had been super careful not to drink the water.  There was one time I had OJ and who knows what kind of water is in that.  Could I have Appendicitis?  I know my brother had his Appendix removed, and if it is hereditary, I clearly have the gene.  Or was it bad food?

I did not want to dwell on the negative too long so I crystallized political theories I would use if I ever go into politics.  I stopped around noon and tried my best to put down a sandwich and some breakfast bars.  Around 2pm, I was passed another single family pueblo town and stopped for food even though I was not hungry.  The place inside was swarming with flys.  The only dish for sale was Machaca burritos.  I have decided that Machaca is really donkey.  The way they make Machaca is to create a meat stew and simmer it down such that the consistency is almost like jerkey but still moist so you really cannot tell what kind of meat you are eating.  In my experience, Machaca meat has no resemblence of beef, and it makes sense that these isolated restaurants would look to reduce their variable costs at any measure.  Maybe this is presupposing a lot, but until you try one, you won´t understand.  This pueblo was 24 km from the next town San Ignacio.  As I was sitting at the table amongst my fly friends, I really considered just passing out on the table and seeing what happens.  This was the most lethargic I have been on this trip.  My stomach made me want to double over.  Fears of turning into a fly like Jeff Goldblume made me peddle on.

The road started to go uphill.  Great.  I had run through all of my camelback and the 1.5 liter bottle of water.  Even better.  Not to say that I was out of water because I had two others, but the plastic bottles make the water taste like cancer.  I pull up to a military checkpoint on the verge of hallucination.  I hope he does not want to make conversation.  Fortunately he waves me immediately through.  I can see San Ignacio in the valley below.  This is the first time that I felt any energy all day.  It was a delightful cruise down to the town, and I stop at the first hotel.  I can barely negotiate a price with the lady, but I knew that I was not going to pay 300 pesos regarless of my situation.  I can´t even formulate coherent thought, much less ones in Spanish, and she gives me the room for 250.  I walk in the room, get one shoe off and fall on my face on the bed.  I wake up a few hours later shivering in a cold sweat.  I decide to pull together my final bit of energy and rinse off.  I get under the tiny tepid trickle leaking out of the shower head and feel myself start to burp.  One of them makes a few chunks come out.  I swallow them down knowing what is about to happen.  I have had a fear of vomiting ever since watching Spinal Tap as an adolescent, but I knew it was not long until I would have to overcome that fear.  I dry off and chug some water just waiting for the inevitable.  The nautious feelings pass, and I slide into the covers.  Not even 10 seconds after laying down, I know it is coming.  I have a quick decision.  Do I use the toilet, sink, or shower.  I go with the closest which is the sink.  I let out 5 heaves of major orange fluid followed by a few dry heaves with some of that Machaca at the end.  I immediately feel better.  However, my sink does not drain, so there is about half of gallon of vomit festering in the sink.  I close te door, lay back down, and pass out.  A few hours later, I feel more stomach pains, but the problem will be solved from the other end.  I take a fast wet porcelain ride, and when I go to the flush the toilet, the handle is broken.  This is fantastic.  I have no interest in pulling off the lid to manually flush the toilet so the bathroom is going to eminate of a combination of vomit and diarrea.  In my condition, the smell made no difference to me.  All in all, I made it to 1184 miles for an 89 mile day feeling like death.  I am quite proud of the day.

This photo was taken in the morning after the cleaning lady helped me unclog the sink, but it shows how the sink holding my orange delight was in my face as I was going Number 2.  What is it with the Mexican water that makes the metal chain connecting the stopper to the handle corrode?  This is the 3rd one I have come across with this problem.

Still lethargic, I could not decide if I wanted to spend another night in San Ignacio or head to Santa Rosalia.  Knowing that I am capable of making a significantly longer ride totally sick, I get on my bike a little before noon and head on to Santa Rosalia for the 46 mile ride.  I was unable to put down any food other than a Snickers bar for the entire ride.  10 miles outside of Santa Rosalia, there was a long twisting descent.  In certain places, there were large speed bumps encouraging slower speeds.  However, the gaps between the bumps were large enough that my tires could fit through them.  The speed bumps were staggered so I felt like a sober Bode Miller heading down the slalom course.  It was a nice test of my hand eye coordination when I did not have much left in the tank. 

Here is my first view of the Gulf of California.  It is beautiful, but the first spot I passed on the coast smelled of decomposing fish and pelican poop.

As I am circling the downtown area of Santa Rosalia searching for a cheap hotel, I see the owner of Los Caracoles walking toward a political rally.  I stopped to chat with him for a bit.  I was so pissed that his place gave me food poisoning, and he showed no concern, that I was tempted to inform his wife who was within earshot that I saw him touching the young waitress last night in a way that most would feel unacceptable for a professional relationsip.  In any event, my stomach is still sour, but I finally am able to eat.  I am now 1230 miles from SF.

Here is a photo of the candiates for a particular campaign.  The man at the podium is Guille Santillan.  The shorter man with the yellow shirt on is Luis Armando and is running for Governor of BCS.