The Big Big Trip Journal! If you want to make the man (or woman) upstairs laugh, just tell him your plans!

[HobbesOnTour]

Crash Boom Bang Day Whatever.....

So, there have been a few times on this trip where the reality meets the concept. There was the time I "found" myself riding the bike in Mississippi and had a real "Wow" moment. More than a year later I still can't fathom why? Or, why there, specifically?
Or the day I crossed into the tropics! Only for a sign on the road it would probably still be a nebulous concept.
They have been positive moments, inviting a thrilling feeling, surprise and a sense of accomplishment.
Unfortunately, not all experiences can be positive and I've recently had a negative reality meets concept moment.
I fell off the bike!😊
The concept in this case is that I am, or at least a majority of me, is 17 years old.
The reality is that my body doesn't flip, bounce nor heal like a 17 year olds!

At this time of the year, these trees with their lavender blooms are everywhere bringing even more beauty to this beautiful town.​

It was my own darn fault! It was a Monday morning a few weeks ago and I was cycling into town just after 7 am. Traffic is light enough that it's pleasant, the temperature is fresh and the city looks fabulous as the sun rises gilding and shading, adding oodles of character, mystery, beauty and perspective to just about everything.

As always, I was going slow, riding in the bus lane soaking up the experience. Trailing one of the blue trolleybuses (electric) I instinctively pressed hard on the pedals when it suddenly accelerated away.
Ha! Dumbass!
The bus was hightailing it through a brand spanking new red light on a 4 lane junction. Once I realised that my chances of survival were a whole lot less than a big, blue bus I pulled on my brakes. Hard.
It's amazing how the mind works! In slow motion I was fully aware of the back of the bike rising up, of my ass ascending higher than my head, of the traffic to my right starting to roll forward, of the impending impact with the road, the need to relax for that impact and yet to be able to scramble to safety once the impact had occurred to avoid further impacts with that rolling traffic!
It felt so slow that I'm sure pedestrians on the corner had lots of time to whip out their phones and record my embarrassment. I haven't looked on Youtube!
A few good Samaritans did come to my aid, but I was already up and dragging Roccado off the road.
Like a 17 year old!
I examined the bike before myself (an instinctive reaction that makes me think I may actually be some kind of cyclist) and saw no damage.
Then I looked at myself. No blood, and I didn't feel too bad, apart from two sore arms. Not bad!
Like a 17 year old!
I could have gone home, but my 17 year old self decided to continue on to my destination of the Immigration offices to see if they were now open (they've been closed since before Christmas).

Not the greatest photo in the world but there's a wide range of trees, of shades of green, of light and shade​

By the time I got there, I was in a whole world of pain! I registered that after being closed since mid December they were now open again, but it did not bring the satisfaction I would have expected. I crawled home, breathing through my teeth, every bump, every braking manoeuvre like a particularly evil road buddy stabbing a stiletto into my wrists and elbows.
I got home, sank onto the bed and took a little siesta, thinking a little rest and the pain will evaporate.
Like a 17 year old.
Ha! Dumbass!
When I awoke, things were worse!
It seemed like my arms had set themselves into two different positions, both painful.
I couldn't straighten my left arm at all and realised that I had no strength from elbow to fingertip in either arm.
Not like a 17 year old!

I thought either cold or heat might help so I opted for a shower. Except I couldn't raise either arm above elbow height. While I may have contemplated showering in my unremovable t-shirt the removal of socks was impossible.
I opted for cold and went to the freezer for a bag of frozen veg. Even two handed I couldn't open the door!

I gave myself an examination. I could detect no swelling around wrists or elbows, there was no excessive heat from the areas, I had full movement of my fingers (just no strength) so I concluded that the whole flipping myself over the handlebars had probably made the tendons around my elbows and wrists do something that they'd never thought they'd have to do. In fairness, they were entitled to protest!
I prescribed myself rest.

I love this momument not because of its design, its significance or its location in a beautiful park. I love it because it sounds cheerful and full of joy! The slopes beside the steps are used by kids as big slides!​

Standing was painful. My left arm was most comfortable bent at 90 degrees. Standing, gravity tried to straighten it out - pain. I tried to improvise a sling from a strap but couldn't muster the strength to unclip it!
Sitting was ok. I could read or watch my tablet. Typing or pressing the screen was a no-no.
Lying down was ok, except for the lying down and getting up parts. Instinctively, I'd go to use my arms - big mistake!
Sleeping was interesting! I couldn't roll onto my side so I'd lie there, my hands interlaced on my belly. Stick some beads between my fingers and I'd have passed for a corpse!

Let's just say that it was not a pleasant week! We use our arms a lot, you know!

I lived on porridge. Boil water. Brace myself and dump oatmeal in. Wait. Stir a bit. That was the easy part. Using a spoon was painful! I couldn't raise my arm so my head was as close to the bowl as possible.

Brushing my teeth? That was an experience!
I'd no strength to squeeze the tube of toothpaste so I had to balance the tube off something solid and use an elbow to press down and force out some toothpaste.
This presented two problems.
The first was that the elbow was very sensitive and I needed to find the "sweet spot". The second was that there was nothing to catch the toothpaste. I had to squeeze enough out (for my teeth) without too much that would cause it to fall on the floor. Trying to find the "sweet spot" on the elbow could invoke a pain spasm that sent a squirt of toothpaste on a journey of freedom only to crash to the floor!
Once the toothpaste was successfully on the brush, I had to lower my head as much as possible, hold the brush as tightly as possible (not very, in reality) and move my head up and down, over and back.
And that was just brushing my teeth!

It was a pretty crap week! I couldn't use Duolingo for Spanish for long. The most comfortable position was lying down but then I couldn't hold up any of my kindle, phone or tablet. I gave up on the idea of going to the Immigration offices. I listened to the radio a lot and Spanish podcasts. Going out was not really an option. I had lots of oatmeal so no need to shop. I had veggies like potatoes and carrots but couldn't peel them!
However, one good thing I noticed, was that an internal dialogue I'd normally have with myself after yet another dumbass moment was surprisingly absent!

I know I keep harping on about light, but really and truly, light + trees + shiny buildings can really create some wonderful scenes!​

That was Monday and I did pretty much nothing until Sunday, when, with the strategic planning of a General and the execution of a die hard soldier I got up, shaved, showered, dressed and went for a walk.
Monday morning, I was ready for the immigration offices again!

Since they are about 12km from me, there is no direct public transport (and besides, that's very Covidy) I opted to take the bike.
That won't go down in the annals of my good decisions!
Every bump (and there's a whole lot of bumps here!) seemed to remove an hour's worth of healing. Every time I had to stop (and there's a lot of traffic lights here!) put pressure on my arms and wrists that seemed to knock off half a day's worth of healing.
By the time I'd arrived at the offices I was starting to think that I'd a flux capacitor on the bike and Marty McFlylike I had gone back a week in time!
Other than the pain, the first thing I noticed was how busy the offices were! In fact, they were now opening up at 8 instead of 9! I joined the efficiently flowing queue and was soon at a counter presenting my documentation.
Prior to the offices shutting down, I'd visited, received instructions and carried them out by filling in forms online, getting them printed, going to the bank and making two separate payments. I was ready!
Ha! Dumbass!
The first problem was that I'd filled out the wrong application! (You do have to give me credit for consistency!) In my defence, it's very complicated, all the forms required the same information and this time my extension is not for humanitarian reasons.
The second problem was that the two fees I'd paid in December had gone up! I'd have to go back to the same bank and pay the top up charges!
That was a killer! I could have popped into any copy place (there are lots) knocked off the correct form and been back in 30 minutes. But the bank? That was in Coyocán - even further than home! (Dumbass had decided to make the trip to the bank an interesting walk!)

An interesting walk!​

Swiftly outside, I unlocked Roccado and decided I wasn't riding any more. We walked home together. According to Gizmo, it's about 12km door to door and I was able to do that almost completely under trees! Think about that for a moment.
I got home, went online, completed the correct form, down to the copy place, got it printed, then off to the bank where the top up payments went fine.
Tuesday morning, I was ready to go again!
Except I wasn't. I felt like crap. My arms were sore again, for sure, but I was nauseous, lightheaded and very weak. I couldn't even face coffee! A bad sign!
I stayed in bed for the day, forcing myself to drink water.
Wednesday, I tried again.

Upgrading the doggy section in Parque España​

Up at 4 am, leaving before 6 (everything takes longer with bad arms!) I walked and arrived not long after 8 am.
Again, I was swiftly seen.
Problem.
The name on my passport (full name) did not match the name on the (4) bank receipts (middle name missing!) Things could not proceed! Back to the bank to request new receipts in the correct full name! In Coyocán!
I did, but the man at the Banco….he said "No". He said "No" to every single proposal, occasionally breaking into English to say "No"!

I returned again to the immigration offices having walked about 40km before noon. While walking I hit on a possible reason for my dead day on Tuesday. It gets pretty hot and very sunny here these days! I was definitely feeling off when I arrived back at the offices.
Back in the queue, soon at the counter, given a form (4 copies required!) that could be used to explain how dumb I was for not using the correct name on the form!
Home again (wrecked!), down to the copy place, forms filled, then bed.
Thursday would be the day!
There was no getting up at 4 am! I was shattered! I made it to the offices for 10 am. Soon up to the counter, presented my paperwork including the 4 "I'm so dumb I don't know my own name but please let me stay in your country" forms.
Problem.
The forms were correct and according to procedures they could accept them...but….it would take a whole lot longer. Months longer, with a kind of a shrug that suggested the Rapture might just pip it to the finishing line.
It was my choice, but if I considered paying the fees again (in the correct damn name!) everything would go far more smoothly.
With this, I had no problem. This wasn't a shakedown. I was paying money into a Govt account, not cash in an envelope. It was about €100 and considering that I've already received one extension gratis and how good México has been to me, it's perfectly fair in my book. Best of all, I could use any bank - including one around the corner!

Perhaps I'm just odd, but long walks in this city are not a hardship! ​

It's also significant to me, if no-one else, that all this was done in Spanish! Not only did I understand what was said (ok, it took two attempts!), I also understood what was not said and the implications of that.

Done and done!

The rest of the day was waiting and watching. An occasional visit to the counter to sign a new form, another bank visit to pay the last fee and I was the last person to receive a visitor permit on Thursday, just before 6 pm.

The place is incredibly busy and the process is very bureaucratic. My "file" grew in size through the day with copies of copies. After 4 pm (normally the offices are closed at 1, but hours are extended until 6) there was a visible increase in pressure and tempo.
They have to deal with all kinds of unusual situations so procedures are not as clear cut as normal. Despite the constant grind of paperwork, of data input, cross checking, double checking, dealing with people as inept as myself there was no snapping at people (colleagues or clients) and occasional displays of humanity. A pregnant woman being brought to the front of everyone and receiving priority treatment, a young woman, maybe 21 years of age who became overwhelmed as the day progressed until she couldn't control her tears was brought up to the counter and chatted to until whatever seemed to bother her was put to bed and she could resume her waiting with a happier look on her face.
Even the security guys at the front are a pleasure. I don't expect armed guards to display much in the personality stakes, but they are pleasant, friendly and put people at their ease. Hell, they saw so much of me this week that we were practically on first name terms!

Yes! Walking here is a boring chore, mind-numbing, devoid of pleasure and really something to be avoided! (That's sarcasm, Willie!)​

Every time I have been there I have been at pains to thank whoever I was dealing with for their work on my behalf. Practically none of them accept it, dismissing my gratitude with a wave of the hand which is about the only failing I can find.
They're not allowed to receive gifts and I witnessed one woman, obviously as grateful as myself, proffer what looked like a small box of chocolates to the "main" lady and be swiftly rejected. I understand the no gifts policy, but it is a pity that the time isn't taken by the personnel to receive the gratitude and genuine goodwill of the people they have helped.

So, to conclude, a couple of points. México, in its infinite generosity and compassion, if not intelligence, has given me another 180 days to stay!
Secondly, CDMX is not a place to enjoy with arms that are painful to raise. The sheer number of times that it's automatic to salute someone while wandering around in this city causes no end of pain!

What a great feckin' complaint!

Enchanted Street. Literally. Look where that branch goes!​

Chat away!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Day Whatever ...... Armless in CDMX

In a previous post I alluded to a self inflicted injury that had left me pretty much without the use of functioning arms. After 6 days of feeling sorry for myself (something at which I can excel!), no physical exercise and to remove a heavy cloak of lethargy, I dragged myself outside for a walk. I was not expecting to enjoy it and had "bribed" myself that I'd have breakfast out as an incentive to get out the door. However, as is the way in this magical place, it took my ugly expectations, put them through a mincer and presented them back to me as a thing of joy and beauty. This is a story of a Sunday in México City.

There's a house back there! Honest!​

I'm not going to go into the logistics of bodily hygiene with two damaged arms, but my morning routine also involved some coffee, each sip involving a head lowering and a two handed cup lift. After coffee I hit the road.

I'd decided on a destination, unusually, for my perambulations because I was sure that if left to my own devices I'd just wander around the block and home again. My destination was the Parque México near the centre. A particularly beautiful park that is always hectically busy at weekends. The route there, however, was in the laps of the Gods.

After about three junctions I was on the smaller streets and enjoying the early Sunday morning vibe - the heat of the sun, the cool of the shade, the occasional tree with birds singing and chattering, the almost complete absence of traffic - on my street, at least.
Since this is CDMX and it's been almost a week since I was out of doors she has a surprise for me. There are trees covered in the most beautiful purple/lavender/pink coloured blossoms everywhere it seems. These are big trees, towering above the streets, a multitude of skinny branches, denuded of leaves, stretching hither and tither. Along these branches are these beautiful blooms. Judging by the residue on the ground they're lavender in colour, but up high, subject to the bright sun and dark shade they can vary from sunny pink to an earthy purple.
I can't put my finger on why these trees strike me as so beautiful. They could almost be dead only for the blaze of colour. The blossoms themselves seem very fragile since the areas under the trees are often littered with the delicate, fallen leaves. The problem of trying to capture these sights is twofold;
First of all, holding a camera or a phone up is painful, not to mention almost impossible to do steadily.
Secondly, framed against a bright blue sky (sorry for the bragging!😀) a particularly fine camera will be needed!

A particularly large, concrete Church behind the lavender blooms. This photo highlights the problem of trying to capture them on camera. You'll just have to visit!​

After an hour of gentle strolling I come across a little café that serves breakfast and has outdoor seating. I look carefully at the menu, thinking about eggs and fruit but the devil on my right shoulder ordered the pancakes with nutella! When offered home made icecream to go with it, the angel on my left goes over to the dark side! The three girls working are very pleasant and friendly, my table and chair gets sprayed before I sit down, I'm dispensed some gel for my hands (a painful routine) and soon I'm sipping on a milky coffee.

My food arrives and I imagine that after a week of porridge flavoured with cinnamon and honey I look like a little kid who fell asleep in September and wakes up on Christmas morning!

My left hand can't take the cutlery so I try to hack with the fork in my right. Shockwaves to the elbow! Taking the knife now in my right, I try to cut bite size pieces. Better. The warm pancake is quickly melting the ice cream too, creating a creamy, chocolatey goo that is childishly delightful to try to scoop up with a fork!
One of the girls comes out to check on me mid mouthful and a look at my grinning face tells her all she needs to know.
Afterwards, I take out my kindle and read a little as I finish my coffee. What's the rush?

When I resume my wandering the sun is higher - and hotter - and the little street I am on is dappled with light and shade. A couple of streets over is Insurgentes Sur - a main thoroughfare - but where I'm walking it's so still, so calm that it's easy to believe that I'm not in one of the biggest cities on the planet.

Eventually, I have to break cover and brace the traffic, but this is México, and especially around this park traffic gives way - to everyone.

There's something of the jungle to this park. Lots of high trees, pretty densely packed together block out the sun so the first thing to feel is the coolness. Lots of lower bushes and plants fill out the space from root to treetop, and paths of various widths and surfaces weave through the park inviting exploration. Scattered around are lots of benches with wooden roofs finishing off the jungle theme.

In the rainy season it's steamy and exotic. On a bright, Spring day it is glorious!

El Parque México. Pack some money and a bit of imagination. A good time is almost guaranteed.​

Like a lot of things here there's a strange contrast to it. On the one hand, there is the definite jungle vibe to it, on the other hand, this is close to the city centre, traffic flowing on all sides (and even cutting it in two!).
There's the fact that it is heaving with people and yet seems so calm and tranquil. In most places here I could close my eyes and the only indicator that there are people around would be the music, soft conversations, the occasional happy screech of a child or bark of a dog.
This is in a wealthy area and attracts a lot of well to do folks - it's the place I'm most likely to hear a lot of English spoken, some of the dresses worn by the ladies wouldn't look out of place in an Italian fashion show - but you'll also see families having a picnic on patches of grass and there's always a few homeless folk around too. Different worlds ……. Collide is the word that automatically seems to follow but is completely wrong.
There's no violent collision, there's a gentle coming together.
There's no enmeshing - the wealthy are clearly the wealthy, the poor clearly the poor - but there's a harmony, a mutual respect - or at least that's how it seems to me.

At the weekend this place is packed! During the week it's quieter. It has all the things parks here have, but since this is in a richer part of town, they're of a higher standard.
You can rent the battery powered cars for kids - newer and cleaner than my local one, buy snacks and goodies, but "trendier", you can get massages on dedicated stools (as opposed to on a park bench) and there are amusements for the kids. Instead of buying a sheet of paper and sitting down at a table to paint in whatever image is on it, here the surface is a tile. There's a trampoline too that makes the one near me seem like something that the Spanish brought over.

Here, though, there's music and lots of it. The prime spot (today) is occupied by a one man band playing the Beatles. Only the Beatles! Stick to the perimeter and there's a blues band. A little further a guy is playing the sax. I settle down on a bench a little ways from a guy playing the violin. He has a backing track to fill out his sound and does an excellent job of several solos for each backing track.

Believe it or not this is a busy park! Again, and again, this city has magical areas where I just can't believe that I'm in such a large city. Tranquil. But never lonely. A smile is just around the corner!​

Taking out my book to read was probably a wasted effort - there's just too much to see!
First of all, the violinist had a dog who lay spreadeagled in the path in front of him - a magnet for every passing child. Such a mild mannered dog he never moved, just accepted it all with good grace. Somewhere in the park you can rent pedal cars for adults and a few were wandering around driven by people, apparently, who have never driven a real car! Honestly, 3 and 4 year olds in the battery ones are safer!
There is, of course, a constant stream of dogs wandering by of all shapes and sizes. But more on that later.

Normally, it's not a problem for me to pull out my kindle and read. Today, however, I have an itch, probably caused by a week of doing feck all.
I head first for the violinst and make a little donation. We have a brief chat and I go to head away. But there's a dog. I can't resist! I ask his Boss if it's OK and he just laughs so I hunker down beside a big, lazy golden retriever and say hello. To my initial shock, then subsequent delight, he rouses himself, hops up and wants to play! Some gentle wrestling ensues and when I go to leave he follows me and lures me back!

Eventually I make my getaway, only then realising how much my arms are hurting, and continue on, wandering inside the park. Of course I'm drawn to the doggy area. This one is particularly good, very busy at weekends and best of all has a low fence so that I can rest my arms comfortably.

A bit of time watching the dogs here and we'd be forgiven for doubting that we are the brightest creatures on this planet. They know how to get along with each other. Mangy mongrels and pure pedigrees, fighting beasts and handbag hounds coexist peacefully, play together, probe boundaries and respect each other.

The first pair that catch my eyes are total opposites. The big one is big, his back higher than my hips, the pattern and colours of a Fresian cow with a blocky, rectangular head. I christen him Blocky. His playmate is a pup, some kind of bull terrier, a coat of tight, dark brown fur. That's Pup. The little guy is delighted playing with the big fella! He's jumping up at his head, running under his huge paws and just generally making a nuisance of himself. The big guy pretends to be disinterested, but he's not - if Pup gets distracted he'll trot after him and start it all over again. At one stage, pup leaps high and gets a decent grip on Blocky's big ear! He's delighted to be swinging around until eventually he loses his grip, goes flying to crash and roll in the brown dust. Immediately he's back on his feet and plunging back for more. Blocky sends him rolling in the dust with a casual flick of a front leg. Pup lies there in a cloud of dust for a moment, his tail wagging in the dust the way kids (of all ages) use their arms to make snow angels and then leaps up to return to the fray!

Later, when Blocky is gone, Pup makes it his business to say hello to as many people (and dogs) as possible. He finds one lady with snacks and pesters her until she shares (after a quick look to his boss). Emboldened, he then launches a not so subtle attack on her bag looking for more! She just laughs it off.

It seems like every street has at least one of these trees, sometimes entire streets are full. Sunlight makes them pinkish, shade purple. Early morning or late evening the tops are different shades to the body - mixed in amongst the various greens of other trees - breathtaking. ​

An old woman with a grumpy old dog does a lap. He doesn't like attention from other dogs and protests loudly when anyone gets too close. Every dog respects his space, most with a confused look.

A pristine Lassie dog, gleaming and sparkling on arrival is soon fully immersed in the chasing, catching, rolling and wrestling. With such long hair he's soon covered in the brown reddish dust and he'll be shedding that dust all the way home.

Sometimes there's a group of big dogs, huskies, shepherds, old English Sheepdogs, Boxers, chasing each other, flying through the park, sending dust everywhere. At first glance it can seem a terrifying sight - but the body language of the dogs betrays their playful intent. There's that little extra spring, that little half jump in every pace that says loud and clear that this running is for fun, not fighting.

What a fandabbydooby place to bring a dog! Photo is from July​

Dopey (meant in the nicest possible way) is a happy, black retriever cross. He's with his bosses and nothing seems to make him happier than when one or other throws a ball for him to chase. He runs, gets it, bounds back to them then leaps onto the stone bench they are sitting on, right in the middle of the couple. A couple of minutes of him demanding attention and then the cycle continues.
Except when Desperado gets involved. Desperado is different and sticks out in this park. He's a light black, short haired shepherd and has a sinister vibe about him. He sticks close to his bosses and visibly tenses when another dog comes over. None stay around him. Whatever senses dogs have, they are picking something up off this guy. Desperado is close to Dopey and watches the routine. I don't know why, but something keeps telling me that jealousy is the driver, Desperado steals Dopey's ball on a throw.
Now, this is the kind of thing that happens all the time here. The dogs chase each other, there's a bit of a wrestle and now there's two (or more) dogs to chase the next throw.
Not this time.
Like the other dogs Dopey keeps his distance, trotting back to his bosses with the funniest confused look on his face.
Desperado's bosses finally realise what is going on and go to retrieve the ball from his mouth. Desperado isn't giving it up.
It's actually a little sad. This is the most attention he's had since I first noticed him a while ago. He is not giving up the ball. His jaws are clamped down. Hard.
Persuasion doesn't work. Tugging the ball doesn't work. Slapping doesn't work. Shouting doesn't work.
The shouting is a strange one. In a park with probably a hundred dogs running, jumping, wrestling and playing, shouting is a very rare thing.
All this time Dopey is looking at Desperado and then at his own bosses and back again with a genuinely confused look on his face. He has no idea what is going on.
Dopey's boss offers a treat to Desperado's boss who initially declines, then in desperation, takes it. A bait and switch manoeuvre and a moment later the ball and treat are returned. Desperado is shuffled out of the park.
It's unusual to see such a scene here. Dogs are well trained, compliant and easy going.

Afterwards, I sit down beside a fountain and take out my kindle again. Ha!
A hot day, a fountain …. it's not long until there's a dog leaping in to cool down. Then another. Soon they're chasing each other, sliding around having great fun.

With so many dogs in this park there are people selling name tags, collars, leads and other doggy accessories, some of them in the brightest, most cheerful colours. Normally such sellers make a bee line for me and at first, I was a tad offended until I realised what they were selling and was reminded of the fact I'm dogless!

However, I need not be. As I was sitting, more watching than reading, a confident little, long-legged mongrel trotted right up to me. I'm delighted to make any dog's acquaintance but as I leaned down to pet him I saw something that made my heart sink.
"Adoptame" said a laminated piece of paper that was almost as wide as he was long hanging from his collar. He was quickly joined by another little fella. The two trotted around seemingly unaccompanied and not at all bothered about their orphan status.

Later, along one side of the park a doggy charity is making good use of all the people interested in dogs to try to secure homes for mutts of all shapes, sizes, ages and personalities. I didn't know (and still don't) whether to be uplifted or sad. One particularly cute little fella was following a señorita and no matter what she said he just kept following her. It was both funny and sad.

Pool time! The jets went on and off sporadically - a source of much amusement to the dogs!​

The park is bisected by a road so that there are two halves. One half has a roundish area, concreted and surrounded with arches. This is the place I witnessed two football matches taking place simultaneously - in the same space! On a Sunday it's filled with kids (of all ages) on bikes, roller skates, skateboards, roller blades and scooters. A recipe for disaster….. but it's not. I could take a lidless jar, stand in the middle, sweep my arm and capture joy in a jar.

On the paths around this area are stalls of second hand clothing, mainly, for women, and if I'm understanding correctly, to raise money for women's issues.

It's time to start heading home and the side streets around the park are lined with eating places of all sizes and styles, all with seats outside. There's something very pleasant to me about wandering past terrases, especially here, where I can often walk right through them. The chatter, the hustle and bustle of people working and playing, the aromas, the literal eye candy of different foods feed something else than my belly.

I'm hungry, but I'll look for something closer to home. I have special dietary requirements these days - nothing requiring a knife and fork! Preferably something I can lift easily. I'm thinking Pizza, maybe a burger.

Tables on the path, tables on the street, and there's always a few dogs too. ​

The walk home can be as pleasant as I want to make it. I can take the direct route, stay on the busy main road and not get lost or I can stick to the smaller side streets and be tempted off course by the dying light working its magic on trees and buildings. I opt for the latter.

I'm about two thirds of the way home and the last golden rays are gilding the tops of the trees when I see my spot. It's a trendyish burger place with a couple of empty tables outside. Ordinarily I wouldn't touch the place (trendy and food are difficult concepts to marry successfully) , but now I'm hungry, the seats are under a big tree and even though the street is big it's very quiet. There's a vibe and I like it.

I wander inside, check they're still open and make my order, returning outside to sit. I've ordered a burger and fries and some onion rings because I'm hungry.
The waitress brings my onion rings first - a huge portion - and my first reaction is to burst out laughing! I must look like a piggy!

This is Kika who came over to me on a different day in a different park. Unusually for here she's a bit overweight but that doesn't stop her playing!
She trotted over, paused, looked at me seeking whatever dogs seek then leaped at me! Her Boss was on the next bench over, his wife and daughter (on a pink bike) having great fun on a nearby little hill so I reckon she was bored!​

The thing with the food here is that it always looks so good! The burger, when it came, looked wonderful and I'm useless at disguising my reactions. When my chips arrived I had a feast in front of me and there was no mistaking my pleasure.

My budget doesn't allow for a lot of eating out, but I have noticed that when I do, I read my kindle a lot less than before. The food is so interesting, the environment so remarkable that they draw more and more of my attention.

I think I may have startled the waitress because she returned a little later with a "preguntita" for me (a little question). She wanted to know where I was from because, I'm assuming something about me wasn't computing.

Food finished, I went inside to pay my bill. The waitress and the chef were sitting down (I was their only customer), so I settled up. I thanked the chef for her burger (fantastic!) and that started a chat between the three of us.
Apparently, my behaviour was a little odd! In their experience Gringos didn't try to speak Spanish. They aren't too impressed with the food, wanting this and that changed. They are impatient.
They asked me what I was doing there - sure, that's a tale all in itself!
The two girls were from Venezuela, economic refugees. They were happy enough in México and didn't disagree with my idea that México seems to act like a big brother for a lot of the countries in this part of the world. Since, technically, I'm in North America, there I was carrying on a conversation with two girls from the next continent down!

After a week of not much more than porridge and zero getting out and about my food finding skills once again proved themselves, leading me to a place that nourished body and soul.

México - it's feckin' great! (Venezuela might be worth a visit too!😀)


Chat away!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Sorry! Indulge me please......

Dawn, noon, sunset, the light falls differently and casts a magical aura around these trees.
Wandering around can be quite dangerous with my head focused on something in the distance!

The thing is, the trees are actually quite thinly adorned with the blooms. Standing under a tree can be a tad disappointing - the leaves are shadows against the blue sky, the tree is almost naked and deadlike.
But in the evening, find a tree, stand under it and wait. A gust of wind will come along and in moments I'm in a lavender snowfall!
It's Fall, but not as we know it!


Who wouldn't be drawn down this street?

Colour! Colour everywhere!

Line up with a Palm tree and the setting sun and magic happens

You doubted me!!!

More flaneuring required......

Perhaps I hit my head when I fell, but these colours, the contrasts, the vibrancy, the life simply lifts me.

Contrast! Colour! Life!

Sunday Morning Coming Down.

The Fall!

All of these pics have been enhanced, but not by much. The colours really have to be seen to be believed!

Chat away!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Drip Drip Days Whatever….

I don't recommend doing a somersault over your handlebars, but there turned out to be one welcome advantage!

After three weeks of self enforced exile, I finally was capable of using a knife and fork in public, so headed down to Alex for a T-bone.
Well! What a welcome! He'd presumed that I had already continued my journey and had been disappointed that we hadn't exchanged numbers. Soon, my steak was sizzling on the grill and I was introduced to a lady friend sounding like a great adventurer! Great for the ego, if more than a little inaccurate given that apparently a simple junction was so challenging!
So, I got a chance to recount my travels to a whole new audience, and answer some questions.
At one stage she interrupted me, asked me if I spoke Spanish before I arrived, developed a look I'm interpreting as amazement and complimented me on my Español! I'll tell you, it was nearly worth falling off the darn bike!

I responded by freaking out the poor lady when I casually dropped the fact that I travelled with a tiger. Cue me scrambling for my phone to show Mazi, then Hobbes and finally Frida. The phone got handed around for Frida! Everyone thought she was great! Mexicans are a proud people - with a lot to be proud of.

I've been playing with my photo editor, trying to do some scenes justice. I have been captivated by mountains here, the shades of colour.​

It's interesting that there's a big difference here than in the US when I talk about my travels. A lot of the time in the US I played down my destination, often shortening it to "bite size" pieces. In Charleston I'd say I was heading for Nashville, in Nashville to Texas. If people responded positively, I might elaborate, but more often than not the reaction was negative in the sense that such a journey was simply not possible.
(One man told me that I was on the wrong side of the world to be going to Argentina!)
Here? There's generally a moment to think, a subtle nod of the head as if to say "yeah, that's possible" and then a lot of questions. Not once have I encountered "But that's so dangerous".
So, well fed and well chatted my meander home had me contemplating (not for the first time) just how lucky I am.

The view from the top of The Devil's Backbone. Row after row of mountains, fading away in the distance.​

It took about a week, but I finally started to put intent to the fact that I'm viewing this latest visa extension as the last.

It's pee or get off the pot time.

I made up my mind on one of the (many!) walks between the Immigration offices and home. I knew it was a "real" decision when I immediately started to feel emotional about leaving this place.
México, and this city, has had a huge impact on me.

I think a combination of a growing frustration, a bit of loneliness, an awareness of a budget clicking down like one of those old petrol pumps in reverse and optimistic news reports about vaccines (elsewhere, not here) set me off, and once off no brakes were applied - given recent experiences I think, an understandable reaction!

I have two basic options:
Back to Europe or continue.
Europe would be the smart, sensible option. I could fly to Spain and wander slowly northwards. Hell, I could even stay in Spain!
I could head east - the Silk Road has long been a dream of mine, but it's the wrong time of the year. Without a home address visas for some places just won't be possible.
I'm not thinking of going back to Europe yet.

I could go north to the US but that idea leaves me quite cold. Expense is an issue, I don't have anywhere I really want to go. If it is possible, it feels like I'd just be treading water, touring for the sake of it.

South it is!

However, first I had to kick myself into gear, get my head in the game.
I have deliberately avoided thinking too much about the future the past year or so simply because the disappointment could be very difficult to deal with. I am, after all, in a country far, far from home and can count friends here on one hand and still have several fingers left over.
Fortunately, I am a simple chap. A look at the Tango scene from Scent of a Woman and a budget busting steak and (Ecuadorian) beer in an Argentenian restaurant I happened across was all I needed! (Oh that steak!!!)

While I had a rough plan when I stopped last year, I'm effectively starting from scratch again.

The road to Durango. Those little hills were a killer! ​

First things first. Virus. I need a vaccine.
I'll park that for a while.

The next thing is weather.
On such a long trip as mine, with various constraints about timing, it's difficult to plan to always cycle in good weather. Central America, with rainy and Hurricane seasons, can be tricky.
Add in Covid and several border crossings in quick succession it becomes more complicated. A fall back plan had always been to grab buses if the weather proved too inhospitable. Not a good idea in Covid times.

I've decided to skip Central America.
It's both an easy and very difficult decision. Easy, because, frankly, it removes a lot of fear. Central America can be scary.
Difficult, because that is exactly what I wanted to conquer. I'm far better equipped now in terms of language than I ever would have been, but Covid is devastating these countries.
I tell myself that I will return and it may seem dumb but it is on the way back to México!
There's another reason too.
I know me.
Cycling across the Mexican border and into another country will be incredibly tough. Some tough days in the new place and I will turn around. If I want to finish this trip I need a buffer between me and this wonderful country.

So, a plane it is!

The Cathedral in Morelia, at night. Ah, Morelia, that tempting Mistress! ​

But to where?

Again, the weather is key. Ushuia is best approached Christmas timeish and later. It's summer in the southern hemisphere then. Looking at a May departure that gives me 8 months to get there.
There's only one place left on my wishlist - The Trampoline of Death in southern Colombia. Also, I have a Colombian friend, who I think, will kill me if I do not visit her native country! Let's not forget my coffee addiction - could I live comfortably with myself if I skipped over Colombia?

Colombia it is!

Now, where in Colombia to start?
Part of my original plan was to catch a sailboat from Panama to Cartagena in Colombia.
(I am sad at the prospect of missing the Panama Canal. While not on my mental list of things to see and do, now that I will miss it, I'm surprised at the depth of that feeling. I've passed many a relaxing afternoon watching barges in Europe. Ocean going ships on a canal???).
This is a common way across for backpackers and cyclists and was something I was anticipating with equal parts of joy and horror!
Joy because …... boats! How exciting to catch a sailboat on the other side of the world and to land on a new continent!
Horror, because these boats are often occupied by backpackers who use the word "party" as a verb. Not my favourite kind of people.
The fact is that due to Covid this means of transport is not reliable anyway.

But Cartagena is still possible!

Time to check distances and weather!
A very, very rough calculation on Google Maps tells me it's 10500 km from Cartagena to Ushuia. Add 30% for my appalling sense of direction and general wanderings, say 13,000 km.
At an average 60 km per day (including rest days) that's 216 days, say 7 months. Start in Cartagena in May and it's possible - with time left over! Just the way I like it!

Then, there's the weather along the way.
I'll miss snow in the higher parts of Chile & Argentina (July & August), the rains in Peru (Dry season is May-September).
Ecuador, on the equator, is pretty consistent through the year. Besides, there's a few journals on CGOAB with folks travelling at different times. I don't see any red flags!

And that, folks is how I plan a tour!

The Big, Big Trip, Part II is go!

Colours!​

Ha! Dumbass!!!

I wrote all that about 10 days ago.

It was my own dumb fault. I didn't so much as cross the line I've been wary of even approaching, as take a good run at it and take a flying leap over it.

Nobody "parks" Covid and this last week has been a drip, drip, drip of bad news.

I won't get a vaccine here for months from the Government - and rightly so.
Way back in January, the Government did say that they would have no objection to private clinics selling the vaccine. That hasn't happened yet and is looking increasingly unlikely.
Any chances of buying one further south are non-existent too. Turns out that most countries have explicitly banned the private sale of vaccines in the time of a global pandemic. Feckin' Nanny States! (Even the US, that bastion of free market Capitalism!).
Plus, most are two shots - not exactly compatible with a wandering bike tourist.
Besides, the vaccine roll out here is a tad chaotic. The evening news still shows each new delivery being unloaded from a plane. I am struck by the small numbers of vaccines in comparison to the population.

Mazatlán.​

I've no reason to think that I won't be able to extend my visa again, either here or doing a border run. But that leaves the timing for further south complicated. It adds cost too.

Then, this past week I've seen European countries start increasing their lockdowns again.
Add to that the disaster that is Brazil and the danger is that with such high rates of infection in these parts that mutant variations form that leave a vaccine less effective. I was expecting the Andes to be interesting on a bike. With a dose of mutant Covid what adjective do I need? Exciting?

Cuatrociénegas. Last night before the desert crossing. The most basic of campsites but a friendly, warm welcome and this.....​

The last of the optimism drained away, and left me questioning just what the hell I'd been thinking.

It's a year down the road and I'm no further along. There's a sense of deja vu to all this. The embassy staff were bang on when they said that this could run and run. It has. And is.

I can't think of a single place to go to. (The UAE are offering vaccine vacations for the wealthy! Packages start at $25,000!)
I don't think I can stay where I am, not sure I want to, even if I could. México, from what I can see is pretty open so I could move around here. That's still a risk though, riskier than my current lifestyle, and always the risk of lockdowns kicking back in.

Who can blame me for wanting to get back on the road?​

Looking east, The Netherlands are still in lockdown, Ireland will quarantine me if I return! Spain, probably my preferred option (I don't want to lose my Spanish!), won't be the easiest on a bike, and besides, the only consistency about Covid is that that there is no consistency. Planning is a fool's errand.

On the positive side, my Spanish is better, my love and respect for this place has grown far beyond what I ever could have expected and I have been far better off than most for the past year. I have a different perspective of time, have a different perspective on life ...... and death, and have learned the power of a simple smile.

I do not regret a thing from the past year. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. Very lucky ones.

A brutal day's cycling, a glorious day's touring. The wind was ferocious, making me walk often, the sun was sinking, my anxiety rising inversely, but that sky? Valió la pena - it was worth it!​

Covid is a b****x, but México's feckin' great!

Some folks find crossing a desert to be boring. I'm not one of them!​

*I had not one but two earthquake alarms this past weekend, within 15 hours of each other. Earthquakes still don't jump to the top of the list of important/exciting things to write about!

***All photos enhanced.

Suggestions on what to do and where to go, all gratefully appreciated! https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

4 In A Row Champions Day Whatever

It's a strange, strange place this.
Walking around tonight there was a beautiful, yellowish, full moon guiding me along. Not quite a star in the east, and I certainly am not a wise man, but I do think there was some guiding going on.

Yeah, it's a crap photo, I'm just putting the moon in for posterity.​

It was Saturday, so my morning was quiet and calm, woken (a bit late) by a brilliantly bright rising sun.
Some coffee, a check of the news, a bit of correspondence and some Spanish practice on Duolingo. Today I've clocked up 365 days in a row!
Then I went out for a walk before the sun got too hot.
I've found a little breakfast place that is good, cheap and friendly so I have breakfast out once or twice a week. Then, off to the park to watch it filling up as I listen to my Spanish vocabulary on my headphones. And the dogs! Always the dogs!

Home for 11 am to watch the rugby! Champions again! Not as satisfying as beating England last week, but still pretty good!

The afternoon was too hot to go out (this weekend the forecast is 40-45C, in other parts 45+!) so I did some more Spanish.

Then, as the worst of the heat started to retreat from the day it was time for a wander.

Always interesting things to see on a wander.... I found the combination of frame and door intriguing! I was touching the door trying to judge its solidity and thickness when I heard someone on the other side! I scarpered!​

The traffic was the busiest and craziest I have seen since I got here! At one junction two cops were trying (and failing miserably!) to direct traffic. Pure chaos! The noise! Horns blasting in all directions! It really seemed the two lads had no clue what they were doing. And people were not shy in letting them know!

There appears to be a lot of Police corruption here and I get the impression that the Police don't have a lot of respect with the people. Women especially.
I did see two cops (men) activate their siren at a young woman crossing the road, once. She turned, and in one of the finest examples of non-verbal communication I have ever seen, raised her finger at them with such a look of disdain and pure, sincere contempt that I'm sure I could hear body parts shrivelling up in the car. I wanted to applaud but I was busy fighting some instinctive urge to cross my legs.
Another day, an old woman shuffling along slowly on a narrow street dropped about 50 years, acquired some kind of vocal amplifier and the vocabulary of a sailor when a Police car drove by too fast for her taste. "Hijos de putas" was the mildest from her mouth, and that's not particularly mild! Her gesticulations would have won a medal at the Olympics had she had ribbons in her hands!

I particularly enjoyed this mural on a (double) garage door​

Leaving the chaos behind, I started wandering the back streets of Coyocán. Not the big, wide, tree lined ones, the narrow, crumbly, tree lined ones. I know these streets, they're like old friends, but they are never the same. The seasons, the light, the trees change continuously. Familiar, yet not. There's always something new to see.

On my morning perambulations I finally noticed this! On the one hand I might seem half blind, on the other hand you can't see the rest of the street I've been soaking up for months!​

Walking slowly it took me a while to hit the old town of Coyocán. It still breaks my heart to see the very centre so restricted. Plazas taped off, benches taped off. A blue sky, the sun beaming from above and the cool shade of the trees is prohibited. It's cruel. And sad.
But, this is México. This doesn't put people off. The whole area was packed! Terraces were full. Couples, families, teenagers, the super trendy and the not at all trendy enjoying themselves, eating, drinking, laughing. There's a lot of laughing and smiling.

Coyocán may be closed, but elsewhere the fountains are coming back to life. The sounds they add are wonderful! Who doesn't like the sound of flowing water? Then, sometimes there are kids hooping and hollering and dogs in there too.​

The terraces are squeezing more tables in than even a couple of weeks ago. And people are squeezing themselves in to them.
There is a strange contradiction between the actions of the Government (closed park) and the restaurants and bars (jammed terrases), but contradictions are common here.
That main area of the old town always leaves me a bit sad, so I headed for my old friend, Francisco Sosa. Within a hundred meters all the action was behind me and the only noise was the birds singing in the trees. That sensation of moving so swiftly from frantic to free is the real vibe of this city.

Another Church and plaza, bathed in light and shade. ​

*Edited to remove some glare

I stopped for a coffee and a piece of cheesecake at a little coffee shop just as the power went. Hey, what's the rush?

Then I wandered up to the little plaza in front of the church and just sat and absorbed.
Francisco Soza has been adorned with a purple ribbon.
There have been protests recently against the Government in relation to their inaction on violence against women. I can only assume that Francisco, the great liberal thinker, has been drafted into these protests. Red and purple are the colours of the protests here.

Strangely, for me, in this country that does have a violence problem and one of violence directed against women, I see little evidence of it, or better said, I see no evidence of fear of it.
Just last night, out for a night time walk (it's cooler then) I met a young woman out with her (small) dog. As we passed her dog expressed interest in snuffling me. I kept on going, conscious we were the only people on the street. She, however, stopped and called me back. Pass up a chance for some doggy time? Not me!
In all fairness, this is not an unusual experience for me, but last night was noteworthy for the late hour and the fact that we were the only three souls on the street.

There's something about this building that tickles me. I can't help wonder what it's like inside. It strikes me as the kind of building I could go into and not find my way out for days! ​

These little plazas are great places for me. I can do a little eavesdropping - good for my Spanish - and a little people watching - good for the soul.
Someone helping an old lady out exercising with her walking frame, children squealing with joy playing with a balloon.
I especially enjoy watching the young couples. There's an excitement, a nervousness in the air. And to my eyes, an innocence, a lack of cynicism, a purity almost, that is refreshing and a tad inspirational.

It's so easy to pass time here that the sun was long, long gone when I finally roused myself. The moon, referenced at the start, was up and served as my guide.

One Lady Owner!​

Eventually, I had to leave the little streets behind and found myself on a wide, busy, ugly street.

Hungry, I was keeping my eyes open for a place to eat, having skipped the trendy places in the old town.
There, on that ugly street, was the place. Some tables on the street, fenced off from the noisy traffic with a few plywood crates and a handful of potted grasses. One customer and a guy on guitar with two amps and a stage light.
To one side was a red, round, domestic Barbeque, the kind with a lid. The kitchen.

The number one rule in the restaurant business is Location (as are rules two and three) but as I walked past, feeling more pity for their location than hunger I received a smile. Not a false one that restaurant hostesses give (while thinking something else) but a real, genuine, warm and welcoming smile. Through a facemask. I'd walked about 50 meters before it really hit me and I turned around.

There's a whole lot of communication in a smile.

Walks are always interesting, especially when the path just disappears!​

I had a baked potato and some beef cooked on the grill - simple but delicious. A beer. Some ice cream. Another beer. And passed a wonderful evening. The terras filled up, there was even a dog! The music was good. And occasionally humourous - he played a bit of "The Ketchup Song", a blast from my old life.
People passing stopped to listen. Twin girls, no more than two years old were delighted and clapped along.
Street lights were harsh and it should never have felt so comfortable with cars, pickups and motorbikes zipping past. But it did!

Vast amounts of money are spent on restaurant design and fitting out. Computer systems installed. Sound systems with playlists for all times of the day and different days of the week. Beats per minute set the mood.
Fortunes are spent on lighting systems to create the ideal atmosphere.
This place has worn, stained chairs, uneven tables, not a computer to be seen and the guitarist is using three old, paint stained plastic crates to support his tiny mixing desk. The menu is handwritten on a small blackboard that gets moved from table to table. The lighting is courtesy of the Government.
And they smile.

At one stage the singer singled me out asking where I was from. What followed was a conversation, his side amplified to the neighbourhood, mine without the same range. I was told I was most welcome, the other customers agreed. He went through his songbook for a song in English (John Lennon's "Imagine") and apologised for not knowing any U2! (His younger brother did!)
Ordinarily such an experience makes my skin crawl, but this is México - normal rules don't apply.
Maybe I'm being conned by most of the people all of the time, but I really don't think so. There's a genuineness here that is not common.

For a place with next to nothing this restaurant has got atmosphere. And a smile. And a new fan!

The only problem? When the time came to leave the moon had long disappeared and I had no idea where I was!

México - still feckin' great!

Chat away!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Day whatever.....

Sometimes there's a certain serendipity to life. Someone heads off on a bike adventure, a global pandemic strikes and he just happens to be in (probably) the kindest place to be, for example.

An idea occurred to me as I was cycling today to make a list of the things that impress me, that speak to me about this great, sprawling mass of CrazyBeautiful. I wanted to acknowledge the details, the small pieces that come together to form the crazy jigsaw that is this great city.

I was on my way to a big, big park where the roads are quiet, the signs tell motorised traffic to cop on and let cyclists have priority and where I tell myself I'll do many, many laps to improve my fitness.
Ha! Dumbass!
It's a park in México! It's got dogs and people - more than enough distractions to encourage a lazy bike tourist to pull up and engage in a bit of observation. And learn a few things too.
Dogs swimming in fountains, kids feeding fish, joggers running with their dogs with various degrees of success, families picnicking, playing and just generally relaxing.
If that wasn't enough, it's got lakes stocked with fish and various ducks and swans that has to be one of the nicest, calmest, most peaceful and beautiful places to sit down, pull out a kindle and read - and my kindle has been pulled out and read in some pretty special places!
If reading is too boring, the lakes have man made islands filled with a variety of different trees and plants. Pirate Islands I call them, the kinds of places Pirates of old would have buried their treasure. When I look at them a part of me wants to steal a boat and go digging! (There are boats, all out of bounds - Covid). At the weekend there'll be parties. Families with kids. Piñatas. Lots of food. No drunkenness. The excitement when the piñata bursts? That's something that has to be seen!

Pirate Islands! ​

So, a list was starting to form in my head as I cycled along. I love checking off lists, however I'm not a fan of making the damn things! As time has gone on, I've really come to dislike Top Ten Lists and the like. It's as if there's a subtle pressure being applied to see/acquire (insert verb as appropriate) the contents of the list.
"Oh! You went to X?! Did you see Y?" or "Oh you want to Bike Tour? You need A,B & C from ReallyCoolCo." followed by a sense of disapproval when I answer in the negative.
However, I resisted the urge to bin the nascent list because this one will be a bit different, I hope.

The serendipity bit comes into play when I got to the park. I'd had a good morning of Spanish and had promised myself a treat. I'd sat down with a takeaway sandwich and a coke - such a budget bustin' treat! - when I was approached by a tv crew! Yep! Apparently, I'm going to be on Mexican TV tomorrow morning! And I don't even have a tv!
Being on tv wasn't what got me excited - it was doing a short interview in Spanish and not making a total eejit out of myself!
They were asking for one piece of advice on how to be happy. Mine was very simple - Come to México! (A good friend of mine tells me that she hasn't seen me this happy in a long, long time).
Of course, my advice doesn't really work for a Mexican audience, so I was forced to think on the spot. No pressure! Only millions of viewers!
"Take a little time every day, for you", I said, swerving away from the second part which would have involved looking for the things to be grateful for, not the things you're not. The verb agradecer, to thank or to be grateful causes me terrible tongue contortions so I chickened out! It was national tv after all!

My amor, the Palace of Fine Arts, at night, with the beautiful Alameda Central Park.​

So, now that the long preamble is out of the way, here's part one (I expect more things to be added over time) of the (small) things that make México great.

A few have already been mentioned.
……….
There's the people.
The smiles.
The trees.
The parks.
The cemeteries.
The wildlife!
The architecture, old, new, dilapidated and not.
El Día de Muertos
The noise - nearly always present but never obtrusive.
The food!
My experience with the immigration folks has been beyond anything I could have expected.

A tree! I can stop and look at these guys for minutes at a time. Then move to look at it from another angle. It may be a sign that I'm slowly going a bit loopy, but it's also testament to this place that no-one passes any kind of a negative comment nor trys to haul me off and into a straightjacket! ​

The Churches. I went into a modern one the other day, on Vienna Street (Calle Viena). It was big, rectangular and very, very simply decorated by the standards here.
On either side, three quarters way up the white walls were regular square stained glass windows topped with a semicircle of the glass. Each window contained a figure. That evening, the sun shone brightly through the windows on one side and reflected off the white walls between, but just lower than, the windows on the opposite wall. A slightly vague, but wonderfully coloured representation of the window. Standing alone in such a simple, but amazingly elegant building was a treat! I always wonder at these things, especially in churches, if these effects are planned and designed or are just very happy, very beautiful coincidences.

There's a great advantage to having an international airport in a city - lots of low flying aircraft!
As a kid, I was captivated by planes. Enthralled. I was a regular visitor to the airport saying goodbye to siblings as one after another they all went away. Getting on a plane seemed like the most exciting thing ever!
As an adult, planes have lost all their allure. Long queues, invasive security, cramped seats. Damage to the planet.
But now? Now there's a constant stream of low flying jets that excite me like I was a kid again!
Some of them fly very low! They seem to skirt between buildings at times.
There's a particular park that is directly under the flightpath of landing planes. It's great fun!
At night, the departing planes bank and fly directly over my home. With the navigation lights and a white light on the fuselage it's like a giant Mexican flag flying above me!

There's a street I love to walk and cycle on because of the tree coverage. Traffic is one way and moves a bit crazily at times, but never dangerously when I'm on the bike. Then, for a period of a few weeks there were some roadworks and things got a little …… different.
Think of a roundabout with entries at 6 and 8 o'clock, exits at 4, 1 and 11.
6 is the busiest entry and the roadworks (a big hole) are between 6 and 8. (Remember, traffic goes anti-clockwise on the roundabout).
Traffic entering at 8 o'clock should drive past 6 o'clock but can't (because of the hole).
Instead, they head for 11 (no real problem), or 1 (bigger problem) or 4 (even bigger problem!), effectively going the wrong way around the roundabout.
Are there any signs warning of this? Of course not!
Any special road markings to highlight this?
Don't make me laugh!
And what happens?
Absolutely nothing! For the few weeks of the chaos I saw no anger, no frustration, only friendly cooperation. I didn't hear one horn - in a city that is full of them!
I kid you not, I used to wander down there to watch this. Humanity in action.
Such a thing could never happen in NL, and if it did there would be riots!

One evening out for a walk I saw these guys delivering an American style Fridge/Freezer to the appartment on the second floor. Two guys up top, one at the bottom, they just pulled it up.​

I find the names of streets to be very outward looking.
In Coyocán there are streets named Paris, London, Berlin, Vien(n)a, Madrid and these are elegant, beautiful streets. There's a section of the city where I can wander all 50 of the U.S. states. They name streets for Doctors here, something that I find significant in these times where there seems to be a growing anti-intellectualism. They have a street named for Pythagoras! When I first saw it, I had an almost Pavlovian nervous reaction! His theorem featured prominently in my life in the run up to my inter cert exams. It featured regularly on the exams, which was supposed to be a good thing - easy marks, but was also a potential trap if I fecked it up! Back in those days, a fear of feckin' up was bred and battered into me.
One day, meandering, I came across Oscar Wilde Street, a literary and human hero of mine. He's in an area with all the great writers. He connects with Virgil (Virgilio) and Jules (Julio!) Verne. He runs onto a beautiful park. Without a lockdown, the area is filled with restaurants, cafés and bars, most with the most wonderful terraces, marked out with moveable, potted palm trees and ferns. I can't help but think that Oscar would approve.
(There are at least two Esperanza streets (the Spanish for Hope). Given that Oscar's mother wrote fiery, nationalistic rhetoric under that name I like to think that the Wilde family is well represented in CDMX! The Señoritas are exceptionally pretty too - something his father, a known philanderer, would appreciate!)
The Park, filled as it is with outstanding examples of Nature and some accessible art would be an ideal place for him to be inspired and to write some more children's stories (if you haven't read his kid's stories you're missing out!).

"Oscar's" Park​

There's an Irish Martyr's Street that I found to be quite moving, more for the name and the stories attached than the actual street. (That's a whole other post).
As my Spanish has improved, so has my understanding of street names. There is an "Enchanted Street". Come on!! Who wouldn't want to live on Enchanted Street if they could???!

I witnessed a protest one Monday morning. Out on the bike I was on the scene as the dual carriageway that is Avenida de Reforma was blocked by a group of women and children holding banners.
Indigenous people, they were advocating for their own area in the city for workshops and shops as promised by the Government.
It's a busy, important road and traffic quickly backed up.
One old driver was very irate and had no qualms about getting in the face of an old woman. Something told me that she'd seen a lot worse than Mr Irate.
There were no camera crews, no reporters. They weren't even recording themselves. (A freelance team eventually showed up and judging by the fistbumps they gave the plainclothes Police they weren't called by the protesters).
Drivers took it upon themselves to turn around and find alternative routes. Police sirens could be heard back down the road as the Police started diverting further back.
In a relatively short space of time it was just the protesters, Police, pedestrians on their way to work and the occasional, errant car.
I saw one driver get out of his car, scan the crowd and approach one lady protester. Body language was civilised and respectful. He talked, she listened. Eventually she nodded, he returned to his car and he was permitted past.
Another driver seized his chance, but with no visible communication the protesters stretched and blocked him. He too got out of his car. His body language (and tone) was not respectful or civilised. A Police Officer put him straight. He reversed away.
Artisan crafts are big here, both as a statement of Indigenous pride and as a way for the poor, normally indigenous, to survive. Frida Kahlo, herself, was a strong advocate and helped to develop the idea. It would be very easy to imagine a fiery Frida standing arm in arm with these protesters.
Unfortunately, there was no Frida, nor anyone like her.
There was a stubborn defiance in the protest but no strategy.
Passersby were bemused, drivers resigned. None were convinced of the merits because no one was explaining them.
There were no collection buckets, no pamphlets or flags or stickers that people could take with them as a show of support.
Within 20-30 minutes there were only Protesters and Police.
At least the Police seemed to be in no rush to move them on.

I kid you not! Sunday morning, I spotted this guy crossing the road with his boss and two dogs. Into the park they went, lots of dogs. Did any dog bother the pig? Not a one.​

And then, there's this……

If you look at the road you'll see a series of cat's eyes running out from the kerb then back in again. These are a common feature along one particular section of road here, often including cyclist clobbering rubber poles at their widest point, (here it's at the start) but vary in width and length from one to the other.
They are potentially lethal for the distracted cyclist!
Not being the smartest tool in the box, these have bugged me for months and occasionally have scared the bejaysus out of me when I'm distracted, don't see them until the last moment with a bus on my ass.
So, one day, I stopped and had a look for the bigger picture. The gift of time!
Where a tree grows out onto the road and is in danger of colliding with a bus one of these "traffic management" bicycle death traps is deployed to divert the bus around the tree.
Stop and think about that for a moment.
They go to this trouble to protect the tree!
Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think in just about any other place the tree would have been firewood years ago.

A little girl walking in a park with her parents is enamoured by a show-offy handbag dog trotting past her. The dog has no time for her, a look of disdain only for the child. His boss, an older man walking with his wife notices all this, stops, bends down and picks up the mutt. Now he waddles on his hunkers to the little girl, primadonna dog captive in front of him. Little girl has her day made and I watched the dog closely - turns out he was happy with all the attention too.

Just one of the memorials to Irishmen who died fighting for México.​

There are a lot of problems in this city.
A lot.
Yet there is so much good to see and to feel as well.
I can go down "roads" that have twenty years worth of digging, refilling and neglect, yet money is spent to divert buses around trees.
The churches may be crumbling outside, but inside they are always spic and span. It's always a man keeping it clean. Sometimes they talk, sometimes not. All are proud. Pay them a compliment and their smiles match the windows.
A protest that shuts down one of the main thoroughfares and the business district? Life adapts and works around it. Displays of anger are rare.
Roadworks at the roundabout? A time for a bit of understanding. The horns will be active again at the next set of lights, though, if you're not already rolling on green! But for a little bit of time, just a little bit, when some understanding and cooperation is needed, it's there.
And it's not just little girls wanting to play with a dog that get noticed. It's not possible to feel invisible here. In a city this big? That's not nothing!

México is feckin' great!

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Day whatever.......

In the 80's México City was one of the most polluted cities in the world. Strict controls limiting vehicle access seems to have improved things. A common complaint among European expats are chest and lung issues brought about by poor air. I haven't noticed too much.
Until that Sunday.
Out for a ride on my bike and out of nowhere, it seemed, the air was dense.
It seemed like one moment I was breathing normal, hot, slightly sticky city air, then the next, something different was filling my lungs. Then me.
I could feel it spreading out through my body, down to my toes, out to my fingertips and when it reached my head I felt a little dizzy.

Alegría.

There has been precious little written about riding a bike here, more than a tad ironic in a travelogue on a cycling forum!
The thought butts up against my conscious mind on a semi-regular basis that for the length of time since I rolled out of T-town in the flatlands of NL an ever increasing proportion of time is non-cycling time. Perhaps that makes me a bit of a fraud!

An early morning bike ride is a great way to see firsthand the beauty of sunlight​

My recent clumsiness notwithstanding, I have taken significant breaks from the bike here. The rainy season is not pleasant to cycle in. There's a force to the falling rain that has to be experienced! More boringly, afterwards, floods, blocked drains and waterlogged potholes add significantly to the entertainment, excitement, risk or danger - choose your own description! It is an interesting dry day exercise to note all the holes in the road, half covered drains, fully uncovered drains, and then calculate how much of a bike, and sometimes rider, one of these could swallow when covered by water!

Physically, I suffered from a nasty, migrating saddle sore. I've never really had this problem before, despite not using padded shorts since I first started touring.
Micro saddle adjustments just seemed to make the bugger swap sides. It was very persistent and very uncomfortable, even when not on the bike.
After about 2 months off the bike, and just before the last lockdown here (December), I popped into Decathlon and got some padded shorts.
Yuck! I have no idea how people wear these! It's like wearing a (full) adult nappy.
They made not a jot of difference!

Just one road in the Bosque de Chapultepec, a humungous park in the city. I'd spent months wandering around, only to discover there was a second, bigger part!​

As it turned out, the problem is less to do with the bike and more to do with the one seat I have in the apartment. An old faux leather office chair, with padding long compressed to nothing, was the main culprit! Due to a disparity between chair and desk height I favoured one cheek, developed a sensitive spot, compensated to the other cheek and the sensitive spot migrated!

Another reason not to cycle so much is that walking is a far more pleasant pace to fully appreciate the city, the people and the dogs. Of course, some areas are horribly cobbled too, and best explored on foot - carefully!

Finally, there's the fear of bike theft! A global pandemic hasn't finished this little adventure off yet - a stolen bike? Quite probably. Paranoia? Perhaps but the size and thickness of some of the chains used to secure battered, ancient mountainbikes here have to be seen to be believed.

So, post Christmas in a drive to acquire at least some bike fitness I started going out much more frequently on the bike.

I will invariably create a route - cycle.travel now has full functionality in México!! - but I rarely follow them, unless needing to cross some particularly dense traffic.
There are so many streets to see and to feel that meandering by feeling is perfectly acceptable. Having said that, there are certain streets that I always take simply because they are covered in the most delicious variety of trees and cycling under them is a treat that should never, EVER be taken for granted. This meandering means that other than asstime on the saddle, I'm not exactly building up any endurance. Training?

So, how does one navigate "by feel" with a sense of direction as twisted as mine?

One is NBD - Navigate by Dog. Simply put, if I see an interesting dog, whether running loose beside his Boss, attached to the Boss' bike or even sometimes in a Boss' backpack or basket(!) I'll follow for a while! It is a very worthwhile exercise that really demonstrates the bond between human and beast and the wider society and beast.
Given that bikes break lights and laws with impunity here, it's hardly surprising that bikes plus dogs do the same! What gets me every time is how unconcerned everyone else is with the transgression.
There is something special about seeing man (or woman) and beast flowing together, understanding each other amidst all the craziness that is this city.
The other day I was tailing a guy on a bike with a fine, fit dog tied on to a spring attachment on the bike. I couldn't keep up because I'm (still) far more likely to stop for a red light and their weaving between all the obstacles a bike ride here presents was far more fluid than anything I could manage.
Time and time again I am amazed at how all the sights, sounds and smells of this heaving, magical metropolis have zero effect on a cycling combo.

Navigation by Sun!​

Depending on the day, I may also NBS, where S refers to Sun or Shade depending on the temperature. It's a great way to get around! I never know where I'm going to end up!
Then there's NBP. Simply, cycle until I see a park, explore, absorb then move on to the next one. There is always another one. Each park has its own character. I am charmed.
Another is NBSp, cycling until I see a Church Spire. Sometimes it can be a challenge to locate the actual church, often losing sight of the spire the closer I get. Ever decreasing circles is the key, but it's easy to be distracted.
Sharpen the pitchforks! One day I NBTd, where T is a tattoo. There is a lot of bodyart on display here, with heavy emphasis on art. Some of it is striking! I noticed a woman with a slit down the back of her top. As she cycled it opened to reveal a large round tattoo slightly below her shoulderblades. Black ink on nutbrown skin - it was captivating. I followed her for a while marvelling at the beauty of her artwork and trying to understand what it represented.
It's probably a good thing I'm alone here - I'd probably drive someone else demented!

Navigation by Spire​

The actual riding is quite good! I'm not a great one for city cycling and generally see it as something to suffer through on my way to somewhere else ….. unless I can do it very, very early in the morning!
Paris as the sun comes up is like another city! Pamplona at dawn casts a spell and watching grumpy pilgrims stream past while I enjoy a café con leche is a nice way of giving a metaphorical two fingers to some of the Pilgrims who see cyclists as the spawn of Satan.
Yes, surfaces can be crap, bike lanes can be filled with parked cars or trucks, rules are flexible, but this is México! Things are going to be different! Despite being many times the size of Mazatlán, CDMX hasn't come close to the craziness that I witnessed there!

If it hasn't become clear yet, I'm finding México to be a very friendly and welcoming place, even this huge city and even on a bike.

It became particularly obvious to me the days I attempted to cycle with my agony arms - waving and saluting is such a normal part of travel here (it applies to walking too!).
A busy junction, no traffic lights? Someone will stop and let me through. That requires a wave!
A car attempting to break a light, sees me, stops and reverses? That requires one too!
The guy in a pickup truck with a gas tank mounted in the bed, his truck and tank covered in stickers warning of catastrophic doom by explosion and fire, smiles cheekily at me as he breaks a light and pulls out in front of me, gets a wave and a good, hearty laugh.
At a busy junction, a motorbiker, with a passenger larger and wider than himself, who had overshot the stop line and was trying to balance while manoeuvring his laden machine backwards got a wave and a sympathetic smile.

Again, again and again there are so many micro, fleeting connections with people to be enjoyed on a bike.

Navigation by Shade​

But back to Alegría.

It was a Sunday and I'd decided to venture across town to see the Pyramid of Tenayuca. Traffic has picked up a lot recently, so Sunday is the best day for adventures on unfamiliar roads. I'd meandered past the Old Town and was heading North on still familiar roads when I noticed a lot of bikes on the far side of the dual carriageway I was riding on.
My side wasn't great for cycling unless you're the kind of cyclist who likes uncovered rain drains (about half a meter wide and 3 or 4 long), collectivo bus passengers hopping on and off in front of me and all the usual potholes, dips and drops. Seeing a lady directing traffic I popped across to have a chat. Thus was my introduction to Alegría.

I did, finally, make it to the Pyramid, fenced off, the accompanying museum closed. But the little Park beside it? Heavenly!​

Every Sunday, from 8am to 2pm the City Government hands over 23 prime kilometres of street to cyclists. Volunteers and Police man the junctions, access roads are taped off, volunteer tents are set up approximately 4 or 5km apart for repairs.
And the world comes!
Bikes of all shapes, sizes, brands, styles and noises are present. Ditto the people. Grannys out getting their exercise, dads teaching junior to ride. Mamá jogging while daughter pedals beside her. There are rollerbladers, joggers and strollers too.
There's music - there are always a few cyclists with a speaker of some sort - just work your way through the crowd until you find a station to your taste!

The world comes......​

Of course, there are dogs too! Dogs in baskets, sitting serenely, as if this is their due, dogs on leads trotting obediently beside their bosses, never once being fazed by all the activity around them. Dogs loose, just as well behaved, a stern, unwavering focus on their boss. Even dogs in trailers.
Special mention to the sausage dog, in a basket, facing his boss, paws resting on the handlebars. With the long body of the breed it looked unnatural but pet and servant seemed happy with the situation, or another, breed undetermined, transported in a menagerie of straps on his boss's chest. Head and legs free he seemed delighted with himself as they sailed past me.

And they bring their dogs!​

At the junctions where traffic crosses, the volunteer, usually female, has a stop/go sign and once stopped a little pep talk about wearing a mask, washing hands, obeying the rules. Invariably as pleasant at the end of the day as at the start. Say "Gracias" as you go by and in return you'll get a beaming smile, a "De nada" and some wish to have a great day.
At the bigger junctions the volunteer may have a megaphone and a couple of helpers to unroll a big banner emphasising Covid safety.
(I did have a look online when I arrived in the city, but the Sunday cycling was suspended due to Covid. At that time, I thought it was an organised ride (or rides) and thought that wasn't really my thing.) Ha! Dumbass!

So, I joined this slightly chaotic flow of cyclists thinking that it was a more comfortable route than my own. When the time came to turn off I didn't even try. The current carried me along to the end, the Cathedral of the Virgin of Guadalupe where I promptly turned around and headed for the other end.

I smile a lot here.
Cycling here has a far higher "smile per mile" ratio than anywhere I've ever cycled before. But on Sundays? The smiles are off the scale.
I'd pull in and fumble with my phone as if to take a photo but really I was watching a little girl wobble along after her dad had removed her stabilisers. Fear changing to joy to pride on her little beaming face over the space of 100 meters.
Or the two guys rollerblading, a husky trotting behind, a doggy rucksack with his poop bags and his own water attached.
Wincing as a guy pedalled past, his bike creaking, groaning and screaming in all kinds of protest.
The little fella on the side of the road throwing a tantrum because he'd had enough. His parents letting him vent until he threw his little bike on the ground. He knew as soon as he did it that it was a step too far.
The very little lad on a tricycle, pedals on the front wheel, a tipper on the back, pedalling for all he was worth, grinning from ear to ear.
Entire families on a menagerie of bikes, older siblings directing the younger ones.
I tucked in behind a Papá and his daughter, maybe 8 or 9. They were chatting away, or, to be more accurate, she was chatting away, her voice animated and full of passion while he seemed to struggle to get his own word in.
Moving on, Mother and daughter cycled in a line, Mamá behind. Despite a look of intense concentration, daughter was prone to weave this way and that - not an unusual thing in this group - only to receive a bark from Mamá. As I passed I made a point to thank the young lady for pulling over and couldn't help but notice the contrast between two little girls of similar ages, one happily cycling along chatting, the other intense, focused and under observation.
Of course, there's at least one Crazy Guy! He rides around on a bike seemingly made from cheap Chinese flashing lights, cheap Chinese speakers blasting whatever takes his fancy and held together with various bags strapped on. There's a bike under there somewhere but identification is difficult! When I first saw him he had one flag, now it's three and his latest gizmo is some kind of microphone which means that his bike is now a mobile karaoke machine.
I stopped to watch a father trying to teach his son, about 10, to ride. It was not going well. The little lad was quite overweight and was struggling to stay balanced. His father jogged beside, arm out, offering support. Eventually, too much, the young lad stopped and started to walk his bike, head down. His father took the other side of the bike and put an arm around a sagging shoulder.
I followed a young couple for a while on the rented city bikes. He was all dressed up for a date, wearing black slacks, a maroon, dress shirt and impossibly shiny brown, leather shoes. She was far more casual, in a strappy top, Levi's and comfy, well-worn, white Converse. He did not look comfortable at all, desperate, I thought, not to break a sweat, she, on the other hand was relaxed and smiley. Not a word exchanged between them.

One end of the 23km cycle route; The Cathedral of the Virgin of Guadalupe​

That's the thing - people talk to each other as they ride - even to me! It's more difficult than you'd think what with keeping an eye all around and the facemasks, but cycling along is just like anything else in this city - strangers are included.

Alegría.

alegría(ah-leh-gree-ah)
FEMININE NOUN
1. (emotion) joy
a. joy
b. happiness
2. (irresponsibility)
a. recklessness

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Day BlahDiDahDiDah

I sometimes wonder about myself, if I'm descending into some cavern of madness or dementia. I'm sure that some of my meanderings on here have caused some ocular distress as eyes rolled around in heads.
I don't think anything in here is going to disprove that thought.

I needed a focus, or to refocus, at least. I needed to ask myself the "why" again at this stage of my trip.
The why is quite simple, at least on the superficial level - because I can and because I know I'll regret it if I don't. I enjoy travelling around on my bike. Not all the time. The swearing on hills is proof, but as a way of seeing the world? Of feeling it? Of tasting it? There's no better way.

That much really hasn't changed since I rolled out of T-town.

Let's be honest here, this is not some long held dream, inspired by seeing pictures of a person on a bike in exotic places when I was a gasún (little boy). I don't yearn to photo Roccado and whatever of my travelling menagerie survive at the Ushuaia sign. I just like travelling by bike.
When push comes to shove, given my condition a couple of weeks before departure I should be grateful for every mile travelled - and I am. I'm very feckin' lucky!

Had my original plans of a few years ago not fallen through, I'd probably be at home now, my big, big adventure completed. I often think about that and have a good old smile.
At the time it was a tremendous hit to the guts in lots of ways. Now? Not so much.

The Mexican Job!​

My first "tour" was in 2013, along the Danube, my "stuff" being bussed from hotel to hotel.
Almost eight years later, here I am, all my worldly goods on my bike (and one box in a friend's attic in NL) in México in the middle of a global pandemic. One way to look at it is a disaster. Another way? Just look at where I've been, all the experiences I've had. Nothing disasterous about those (in the main!)

So what do I want to do or where do I want to go?
According to my rough list there is the Trampoline of Death in Colombia and that's that. But that is what was on my list when I set off. Is there anything else?
The only other thing that I can think of is to use my Spanish. There's got to be more, right?

Once I had rolled out of San Antonio I had pretty much checked off my list. A famous road in México*, another in Colombia. Ushuaia, El Fin de Mundo is still the destination, but that's not a driving urge. It's something to aim for (and Lord knows I need something to aim for!) but it's the journey that counts.

*Jeez! Reading that back it sounds so mundane, so boring. That climb was so, so tough, but so, so beautiful! (Hobbes has a great place to adventure in!) And that descent! One of the great thrills of my life!! And that little town at the bottom where I felt so comfortable? What a wonderful few days!

This ramshackle menagerie just keeps growing! I need a name for this guy! Suggestions please!​

I'm in the middle of a poker game and I have an opportunity to stop and reassess. I can stick, fold or (since I make up the rules of this game) buy a whole new hand although feckin' Covid still has a say. Time for some thinking!

Years ago, I spent a long time tracking down a famous book written in the 60's (I think) by a famous American Ad copywriter (can't remember his name now!). His book, apparently, was the key to generating good ideas.
I bought a copy on eBay after a long search and dived right in with the enthusiasm of a kid unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning.
I threw the book away.
I couldn't, in good conscience, resell it. His advice was:
Read about the subject from as many different vantage points as possible (I'm sure in an Internet age we can expand "read")
Distract yourself by doing other things, using your brain, this allows the subconscious to work.
The ideas just arrive.

Yep! That's it! I paid a feckin' fortune for "the ideas just arrive"!

So I took to my Spanish with much gusto, distracting my brain, addling my brain, tying it up in knots.

And I waited. And waited some more. Nothing was coming. In a country famous for the traveller's curse I appeared to be suffering from a form of constipation.
"Time" seemed to be causing the blockage. First of all time was counting down. I hadn't really noticed this before. Secondly, my brain kept returning to "Here by this time then there by that time".
From somewhere, a large clock has appeared in my mind, its ticking felt, not heard, and anything in the shadow of that clock isn't just gloomy, but sinister.
Where the feck did that come from? And how the hell do I send it back to wherever it came from?

Boo!​

Once again, CDMX delivered.

I didn't see Tabare, I saw his bike. A cycle tourist's bike, moderately packed, well travelled. Or maybe it was the handmade "registration plate" sign at the back that said "Uruguay to Alaska".

Confession Time! The previous week, bikeless, in Parque México I had spotted a tall, slender guy, wearing a Dutch football top and straddling a shiny, red Surly Disk Trucker (for non-cycling folk, the Surly Trucker is the bike for long bike adventures) I noted (with a little shock at my judgement) his very skinny tyres and thought "nah, not for me". I was on foot and thinking about going over to introduce myself. I mean no offence to the chap, but there was something too neat, too ordered about him that gave me pause. Also, I was reluctant to have a Dutch/English conversation. (I chatted to a Dutch friend a while ago and for a week Dutch words kept popping out of my mouth!) Overthinking, as it turned out because once he had his photo he was off. As is the way with these things, once the decision was made for me, I was disappointed in the result.
I spent the next couple of hours looking for him without success. (Online stalking turned up nothing either).

So, when cycling slowly through the park beside the still oh-so-beautiful Palace of Fine Arts I saw this bike and reflexively stopped.

One of my better moves.

There's a guy who posts on an American forum. A helpful guy who never misses the opportunity to post pictures. In his pictures, his (and family's) bikes are immaculate, matching Ortliebs, clothes to match. Not the Nuclear Family - the Co-ordinated Family!
I always thought I was the poster child for the unco-ordinated bike tourist - not anymore!

What's a touring bike? Well, this one has suspension, a basket that swings wildly from left to right, brakes as soft as Kerrygold left out in the hot Mexican sun. And four exciting years on roads of all types. ​

Tabaré, from Uruguay was sitting on a bench with a friend. He was just starting his fifth year on the road. Yep! Year number 5!

Originally, his idea was to cycle to Panama from Uruguay. Arriving in Panama, he thought he'd keep going through Central America. Having done that, Alaska is next. And he's already talking about crossing the Bering Strait, Russia, Mongolia and down to India!

I had a moment of kinship with folks I met in Georgia unable to compute my plan to go to Nashville!

There's a romance to his story that is just so hard to resist. He loves riding his bike, knows next to nothing about maintaining it!
He goes where he wants, criss crossing in a way that would drive efficiency experts to a breakdown. When he needs money he works, then moves on. He lives like a vagabond but bristles at the idea he's poor.

There's an easy gentleness to him that draws people to him, and probably tempers some of their worst instincts. His bike has been stolen twice - each time he got it back. He's had at least three phones stolen and is quick to blame himself for leaving them accessible.
He has a book - of which I am now a proud owner - covering his travels from Uruguay to México. It's not a travelogue, giving a day by day account, rather each chapter is a story from his travels. I'm savouring it.

It's cheaply produced, the photos, especially, are quite poor - think black and white photocopies of photocopies of faxes - but within the soft covers is pure magic! It is soaked in inspiration. It is radiating learning. It's at times terrifying, at others as comforting as a dog nuzzling on your lap. It has feck all to do about bicycles and everything to with travel, people, goodness, the intangibles of life, humanity.

Of course we compared notes on our travels. I was like a child at Christmas with a new toy wanting to use it all the time. My toy? Spanish!
(Spanish is an amazing language for sheer range! Starting in the US, with a bit of Spanish I can communicate with people in their own language all the way down to the very tip of Argentina! Compare that to Europe!)
Covid has hit him hard, limiting working options, but not his travel. He has been moving around the whole time. Depending, as he is, on goodwill, he has different decisions to me.
I can't help but think what a bright, warm and caring light it shines on México that he has been able to thrive and survive here.

400 days de-toured or 400 days of preparation? I know which one I choose!​

Thanks to @IaninSheffield for "de-toured"

I suppose the idea of travelling around during a Pandemic has a moral element to it. Recently, a dental surgery in Spain (possibly the Canaries) was inundated with appointments from Irish people, all looking for a proof of appointment to evade travel restrictions. Now, that's pretty morally reprehensible.
Tabaré didn't mention any negativity and he really doesn't have many options.

His attitude is infectious - best summed up as "hit the road - everything will work out". Yes, there's something of the blind optimist to him!
A few scary incidents in Central America and he knows from people there that Peru and Ecuador are bad due to Covid. Very bad. His face bright, his eyes shining since I met him, visibly darkened when he said that.

As if to highlight the differences between us, he rattled off the places I needed to pass through to get to Guatemala as if they were members of his family or old friends. I struggle to list the places I've visited in anything close to the correct order!
He continued on my route to Panama, where I should take a year off! On the one hand, it sounded crazy and bizarre, on the other it was pretty much what he had done in reverse.
That easy grasp of geography is the first time I've felt envious of anyone in quite a while. (Last year, in fact, two father son travelogues in quick succession here & here)

I spoke to his friend who seemed a little dazed by him.
Tabaré is not a foolish man. His bike, his sign, in a busy park in the centre of México city was an invitation to people.
I watched a woman peel off from her friends to approach him. Nicaraguan, she had a Uruguayan boyfriend and had to call him to tell him of the Uruguayan she had just met. She declined the chance to buy a book but I'm willing to bet others didn't.
After she left, he pointed to a chapter in his book about her home town - and not a complimentary one! What a teeny, tiny world we inhabit sometimes!

It's difficult to describe what a spirit lifting experience it was. Another guy on a bike! Not just living his dream, but immersing himself in it, bathing in it.

His book details how his planning has changed since he set off with little in the way of experience but a lot in the way of enthusiasm.
To paraphrase:
I'll cycle 80 km every day, Monday to Friday and relax on Saturdays and Sundays. I'll dance every weekend, I love to dance.
He's danced three times in 4 years!

He's not fazed or bothered by time. When his visitor permit was close to expiry he left his bike with friends and hopped on a train to the Southern Border. On the roof! Roasting days, freezing nights. And he wasn't alone up there.
Invited by people to stay with them at a hotel on the beach, by the time he arrived they had long, long gone.

One of the greatest joys of travelling on a bike is the ability to live in the moment, to savour the present, the here and now. I reckon Tabaré has become the master of that!

This is his website. http://tabarealonso.com
It's in Spanish, but I'm sure most browsers can translate now.
If inclined, you can buy a copy of his book. I believe it's in PDF format so that means non Spanish speakers will need to translate "by hand"? There are a lot worse things to spend a few quid on.
Here's a newspaper article. https://www.zenger.news/2021/04/02/tabare-alonso-de-uruguay-a-alaska-en-bicicleta/

In his book, he talks about his youth, a bad, disruptive student, a poor, frustrating son until a teacher hung up a map of the world - an amazing sight to a boy in a small village in Uruguay. Captivated, he engaged positively with his teacher, for possibly the first time, who reciprocated in kind. (What a switched on teacher!) Gentle exhortations of what study could do for a boy and specifically, where it could bring him made an impression and a change in attitude. Now he visits schools as often as he can to try to reach those like his younger self..

I still didn't know what to do, but I had a whole different perspective explained in inspirational detail.

Doggy Swimming ​

I met Javier (name changed because he may read this) at a restaurant. It's one of those in Coyocán that has been on my hit list since I arrived.
I'd had a "blind" breakfast - I had no idea what I was getting (fabulous, if spicy!) - had paid up and was getting ready to leave when we started to chat.
Where was I from, what was I doing here. The usual.
But the reaction wasn't usual. It was like I'd spliced open an electric cable and wired him up! His eyes blazed!
He listened, he asked questions all the time his eyes becoming wider and brighter.
Hooked!
He worried about the cost. I told him Roccado was a basic MTB, the wrong side of 20 and these types of bikes were everywhere. A lot of money wasn't needed.
He worried about being physically able to do it. I patted my ample belly, reminded him of my request for an ashtray and said "If I can do it…..".
He worried about safety. Again, I told him where I had travelled, sin Español, knowing not a soul in the land and had no problems.
Later, I sent him links to CGOAB en español.
Sometimes, someone else's enthusiasm can rub off on us.

Since I arrived, that tall tower has been my landmark to get home- when I can see it! ​

Another evening, at Alex's place, a man in a suit was helping out. (I'm glad to say that business is picking up a bit for him). I've no idea who he was, but he knew of me and was all chat. Until I started mentioning the places I've been.
He was appalled! Michoacán is too dangerous! I agreed that the roads were dire. No! No! The crime!
It so happens, that one of my favourite photos is of a backroad in Michoacán. I showed him.
The poor man nearly had a heart attack! No! No! Too dangerous!
He meant well, had no bad intentions, and I wasn't bothered in the least. It was just a timely reminder that from here, over there can seem a pretty dangerous place.

Backroad Michoacán. The travel advisories don't relate to the surface😊​

After meeting a man with no sense of time, a young fella with all the time in the world in front of him and someone who showed me that what's sinister over there often isn't when you're actually there my clock stopped ticking.
The Gothic grandfather clock beating out a malevolent rhythm shrank and slowly faded away…….

México! It's feckin' great (and Uruguay must be worth a visit too!)

Stretching some wings.....​

I'm hitting the road again! It may not be the smartest thing I'll ever do, but I won't know unless I try.

The next update will actually be about riding the bike to a new place!😍

Checking out the tent in a park. I've done this a few times in NL - twice had the Police pay me a visit and once some gobs**** stopped to tell me I was doing it all wrong. Not in CDMX! ​

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Covid Interlude, Monday, May 3, 2021, The Greatest City in the World (CDMX) to Tepoztlán 76km, Total KM 76
Min meters 1736, Max Meters 3042
Total Climb 924 Total Descent 1420
Min Temp 17 Max Temp 36
Ave Temp 24

** I'm not bothering to count the days because this will be a different type of "touring". I've reset the Total km to 0. And I've included temperatures!


You know the way this little adventure is titled? The clear implication is that some external force regularly interferes and fecks up my plans.
I spent a good portion of today contemplating that sometimes, maybe, just maybe, it might not all be the man/woman upstairs. Is it possible I sometimes have a rôle to play? Moi?

In fairness, whoever looks after the weather did it right. An early thunderstorm on Sunday evening dumped a load of water, but cooled the city and freshened it, just in time for one last wander.

Waking up at 3:30 was too early. Back to sleep. Waking up again at 5:30 was more like it. I was 98% packed, had a few chores to do and hit the road with the sun - these days about 7am.
It's been a long time since I was so nervous!

Something was bugging me in the manner of something rolling over and back just outside my vision.
Things were rolling over and back in my vision, I just wasn't processing! Traffic!
This Monday departure fell into place a few weeks ago. According to the Web it's a holiday in México - the perfect day to cycle a bike out of an urban area of 20 odd million people. (A Sunday would work too, but there was a rugby match yesterday! The less said about that the better!)
Now, if anything, it seemed busier than normal!

What is it with me and plans?

I watched with growing horror as the traffic increased, even before the sun was up. This was not ideal. Much more than "not ideal"! CDMX is a pretty big place. Getting in and out on a bike is not the easiest.

Oh well!

I was leaving about 8 am. I knew my route - I had been trying different options the last few weeks - but there was only one "unknown" - would they let me on the Cuota (toll road?)

It took less than 2km for my first "Cycling in México is not like cycling in other places" experience - at traffic lights, an older couple were all chat! Welcoming me, wishing me well. I set off again with a big, bright smile.

I needed it! The roads were pretty big, busy and with water on the sides. Lots of patience required.

Crossing lanes was tricky, but doable. Soon I found myself on the motorway, the start of a long climb and thinking that it hadn't been such a bad exit.

It was about 10:30 when I got to the Toll Plaza, about 17km so far. I stayed to the edge, hopped up on the path when it became available and adopted a confident "I do this all the time" shuffle. My heart fell when a guy stared at me from one of the booths, headed for the path and strode purposefully towards me. He turned into the office building and I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd been so focused on him that I missed the National Police officer in his paramilitary uniform. I noticed him when he pointed out the best place to dismount from the path (they are all very high!).

Thunderbirds were go!

I rolled out of the huge post toll area and joined the road. Downhill!! That was a surprise! No traffic worth talking about, I took the lane and flew down. Loaded, on the bike, an empty road, adventure ahead of me - I may have whooped a few times!

When the descent levelled off I pulled in. I was in the countryside for the first time in almost a year! Above me the Libre sounded busy. It has no shoulder and sounded like lots of traffic - I was glad to be on the Cuota.
CDMX was behind that hill. I whispered a goodbye to a city that has been just so unbelievably wonderful to me.

Back on the road! A moment to be grateful and appreciative of where I was leaving, and now that my nervousness was gone, a moment to appreciate the adventure about to start!​

I had planned to plug in my (unused for months) speaker and dull the pain of the climb with some tunes, but as it turned out, the sounds of engines, big and small, new and ancient and the sound of tyres rolling on the road are the soundtrack of touring. I'd missed them!

The rest of the day was straightforward. Climb about 20km to an Oxxo, then descend all the way to Cuernavaca. Tim Tower had done this route and he always leaves pretty good details.

Just as I was about to set off again I spotted a dog trotting along the shoulder. He was a long way from home! I waited for him to catch up to me, but his only response was a curious look and he was off into the bushes.

Jeez! I'm out of shape!! The climb was tough! The sun was hot but a wind dulled its worst.

The issue was the shoulder. Sometimes it was there, sometimes not. Sometimes it was crap and sometimes the same surface as the road. This would be an issue all day.
It's weird the comfort a white line on the road can give. There's a lot of work going on on this road and for large parts of the day a whole new surface hadn't been marked. That meant that I was "in the lane". Without the white line it was difficult to judge how close upcoming traffic was going to pass.

Sometimes there was a shoulder - I just couldn't use it!​

At one stage it was down to one lane with no shoulder at all. One driver pulled up beside me, told me I was doing great, that he'd hold the traffic for me! Buoyed, I took the lane for 500 meters or so until I ran out of puff. It was a constant climb! I pulled off again and got a big cheer from my new friend. I weaved along slowly until the road opened up again.

I stopped regularly. All I needed was shade and a barrier. I was finding it tough going. I was surprised at the temperature - Gizmo was reading cooler than I expected, but I could feel the sun burning me. A hefty wind was playing its part.
The landscape rarely opened up but that's not to say it was unpleasant. I was back on the road!

The landscape opening up. Valleys looked fertile, if dry, waiting for the rainy season perhaps? Any day now! ​

Once, when stopped, looking back where I came from, I got an awful fright when someone spoke to me! A cyclist, cycling the wrong way on the Cuota pulled in to ask if I was ok! México! And there was me worried if they'd let me on! At least I was on the right side of the road!

I made it to the Motorway Services by 13:30 and they were, to my way of thinking, very unMexican. Very modern, bright, shiny, organised they missed a quintessential piece of México - a place to sit in the shade.
There was a little cafe/restaurant, but it only had seats in the full blast of the sun. I went to the Oxxo, got a sandwich and a cold drink and sat on the ground outside it.
When the sun moved and my ass couldn't take any more I got up and found another spot.
I'd been looking forward to this stop. According to Tim, this was pretty much the top of the climb - all down hill afterwards. All the way to Cuernavaca! The wind picked up and that lead to a mini dust storm so I was in no rush to move on.
Seeing an air pump, I took the bike over. I reckoned the rear wheel could do with a smidgin more. The pump was very Mexican though, held together with tape. An unseen leak meant that within seconds my back wheel was airless! I took a walk, found another one, wheeled the bike around and pumped it up to an unknown pressure!

Setting off again, I wasn't even off the slip road when I had a problem. My right leg seized up with cramp. Getting off the bike was not fun. Stretching didn't help, only walking it off did. There I was, walking up and down the slip road gradually getting some flexibility back into my leg. This has never happened before on the bike. The last while I've noticed my legs tending to cramp more, especially at night.

I must have walked a few kms up and down that slip road until I was happy it wasn't going to happen again. Setting off, I was concentrating on getting to the top. It took longer than expected, there were a few more ups and downs and then I was freewheeling.

This was my first chance to test my Cycle2Charge unit after the drain and new dynamo so I plugged in a powerbank. It works!

There was ballpark 40km downhill and it packed a lot in! More roadworks, more variable shoulder quality and sometimes signs placed right in the shoulder. There was a run off for runaway trucks (the truck right behind me used it!).
It was weird. I caught myself thinking back to the wild and crazy descent on the Devil's Backbone - one of the more dangerous roads in the world - that I enjoyed so much and this one that I was finding so stressful. I'm guessing I'm just out of practice.

Higher up, I was descending through trees. Beautiful and cool. However, fallen pine cones, branches and other hazards filled the shoulder.​

When it was good though, it was feckin' great! Whizzing along the wind kept me cool even though Gizmo's temperature was rising steadily. I've never before had to make the decision whether to undertake traffic on a motorway!😀

All day the traffic had been steadily building, and the steeper the descent the more it bunched together, especially in the "slow" lane.

Now the landscape was opening up, a scorched brown land with mountains and volcanoes. A heat haze made everything blurry.

Open landscape at lower elevations. The wind kept me cool but I could feel the heat of the sun on my back. I was so glad not yo be cycling into it. Oh wait! Look down there! That's my road - right into the sun!​

*Photo edited to reduce heat haze

At a junction I decided on a whim to change my plans. Instead of Cuernavaca, I'd head for Tepoztlán. I'd probably end up heading there the next day anyway, and the road seemed quieter than mine.

Although only a two laner, it was quieter, although this one had lots of road works too - they're building an extra carriageway. Again, care was the order of the day.

Getting close!​

I arrived on the edge of town, tried to find an open campsite and failed so went off in search of cheap accommodation.
With Covid, this is trickier so I wanted to see what the process was.
I found the cheapest Hospadeje I could find and paid for two nights.
My temperature was taken, I was "assessed" to have no symptoms, I signed a form and I was in!

(Covid rules vary by State and within States by municipality. In some places "Touristic" travel is not allowed. I'm in a new State (Morelos) and due to geography could be in another couple by week's end).

I had a wonderfully powerful hot shower, got a bite to eat and slept the sleep of an exhausted bike tourist!

My newest home! ​

I'm back on the road and there's no going back!! (There's a feckin' big mountain in the way!)

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Covid Interlude, Tuesday, May 4, 2021, 0 km, Total KM 76

Tepoztlán is Un Pueblo Magico (Magical Town) an official designation.

It's not for me.
It is in a beautiful location, sandwiched between mountains - the town itself is a mountain - the streets are almost vertical!
The town oozes character with narrow cobbled streets and a famous market.
There's oodles of history here too. Legend has it as the birthplace of Quetzalcóatl, a powerful serpent God of Aztec mythology.
There's old architecture, in some cases very old and neglected.

The beautiful old church, caught in the last rays of the sun with a mountain behind. It is a beautiful place.​

However, it's a tourist trap and even on a Tuesday (lots of places only open at weekends) it's chaotically busy - so busy it's hard to pause and get a handle on what I'm seeing.
Walking is difficult. The main street, at least, is level but cobbled. Footpaths are very narrow. Walking means mixing with the traffic - lots of traffic.
It's frustrating in many ways. For one, there is some wonderful street art that is next nigh to impossible to photograph. It's probably the first place I've come across where there are so few places to stop and savour.

Even the Plaza is a bit off. Located beside the market it has a few scattered trees and no grass at all. There are seats, but very little shade. That adds to the chaotic vibe - there is no place to take a moment and relax. This evening, some young lads had formed into two teams and were throwing stones at each other. No malevolence, just kids being kids, but I've seen nothing like that until now. They weren't too careful with their aim either.

I liked this scene; Interesting artwork, a bright, colourful bush right next door to an ugly gate. On closer inspection the gate may be covering a wall!​

Because of its links with Quetzalcóatl, there's a bit of a hippy vibe. Even now, in Covid times, there's more than a few (foreign) backpackers around. Not a one wearing a mask, despite all the locals doing so.

That's something that has given me pause for thought recently.
Around Thanksgiving in CDMX there were a lot of young (presumably) Americans not wearing masks. The big resorts are full of Americans not wearing masks - escaping to somewhere to enjoy their freedom. I remember at Christmas reading a report of foreign backpackers ignoring strict Covid regulations to party on Bondi Beach in Sydney. Locals saw that as a major slap in the face as they sacrificed time with friends and family to be safe, while visitors, it seemed, mocked the rules and by extension, the locals themselves.
What is it about people when they go abroad that they think local rules don't apply to them?
I had an encounter on a hike today. Sitting down, taking a breather a man, woman and child struggled up behind me and sat themselves down too. We passed a few words in Spanish commiserating with each other.
An older English lady coming down, stopped to tell the man to take off his mask. She worked in "Health" and he was depriving his body of oxygen. All this was in English and delivered as a lecture. I can't tell if the man understood or not, but I think not all the detail. She continued on saying that the Pyramid at the top of our hike was closed at which point I piped in, with my Irish accent. I'm not always successful with the ladies, but I've never had one exit so quickly before! I couldn't help but wonder if her sudden departure had to do with her anti-mask stance and the possibility of having to engage with a linguistic equal (I had my mask on).
I wonder, also, if age has a part to play in it?
If I had done this trip after college (the idea of riding a bike then would have been bizarre!) I imagine it would have been very different. My perspective of a place like this selling booze in the morning would probably have been quite different, my behaviour too.

Mountains everywhere!​

My reaction to Tepoztlán confirms this. Here, I am eyed up as a walking dollar sign. There's a commercialism that is tangible. Prices are far higher than the city and I've just been turned away from two restaurants that are closing well ahead of their advertised hours. That's not the hospitable México I have seen on my travels.
I've been swayed to eat in places by a gentle smile. Earlier today hawkers were yelling at me to buy something. There was no shortage of places selling cocktails in plastic cups at 10 am this morning, despite the fact that there don't seem to be too many tourists around. I bought some water and paid far, far more than I have anywhere else. There's no way locals pay those prices.

I must be getting old and grumpier! I'm starting to think that the touristy spots are not for me.

Some wonderful roots!​

Oh! I nearly forgot! The main thing to do here is to hike up a mountain to see a Pyramid and a wonderful view. It's about 2.5 km up! Stone steps and rubble are the path. Early in the morning there is some shade through the trees as I ascend, but it's tough going. I pause regularly.
My fears are confirmed half way up - access to the Pyramid is Covid denied, but what else could I be doing? Hopefully, I'll at least be able to enjoy the view.

Taking a breather on the way up​

Ha! Dumbass!
The Pyramid (and view) are on the far side of a wall of rock! Nothing for it but to turn around, wander down to some shade and read my Kindle.
(Of course, there's no information at the bottom that it is closed, nor any mention of the charge for admission if it was open! Nor is there any inkling that your dog will be denied access at the top!)

A big gate barring entry, big rock faces denying a view!​

I just finished Theroux's "Old Patagonia Express" an interesting if not inspirational read. He had some interesting things to say about people that we would now refer to as backpackers and none of it complimentary!

From the hike....​

I swung a completely different way now and am glued to a horrific account of a couple who moved to Spain to start a new life. If it was a real book I'd burn it, but since it's on my Kindle…..
I find it horrifyingly addictive as they muddle through local custom and practice all the while comparing it unfavourably to home. Their long term aim is to rent out accommodation to tourists like they used to be, but when a sister arrives for a weekend visit they have no idea what to do with her! I think the intention is to write a humourous "clash of cultures" story, but it comes across as a bit superior and sneery.

The hike was interesting and would give European Health & Safety folks a bad fit of conniptions!​

On my way down I met the Feliz family. Father, Mother, son, two daughters and a dog. They were taking photos and I offered to take a family shot. (It's my go to technique for starting a conversation!) Delighted they were and regrouped for a few snaps. Given the young ages of the kids I asked Dad if he knew the Pyramid was closed. He knew, but the son piped up telling me that wasn't important. They were enjoying themselves, that's what was important. Feliz. The Happy Family. That kid was just about the only redeeming feature of Tepoztlán.

The old Cathedral. There were signs of restoration work at the sides, but the roof is temporary. It's all fenced off, the bells are on the ground and behind me is a marquee for masses.​

Tomorrow I'll be hitting the road again, destination unknown. My leg muscles have given me terrible trouble today and no matter what direction I take I've got some climbing to do.

Steep! The main street seemed level in comparison to the side streets! Coming down on a loaded bike? Now that's adventure cycling! Going back up the next morning? Ain't no words for that!​

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Covid Interlude, Wednesday, May 5, 2021,Tepoztlán to Tepetlixpa 55km, Total KM 131
Min meters 1291, Max Meters 2331
Total Climb 1384 Total Descent 565
Min Temp 23 Max Temp 42
Ave Temp 30


Oh dear Lord!! I must have been very bad in a previous life!! My legs ache like never before! The backs of my legs above and below the knee feel like someone went in with a cheese grater at my muscles!

And to make matters better I've a hike-a-bike to get me out of this town.

I was awake early, hot, hot shower doing all kinds of contortions to get hot, powerful water on the backs of my legs. Everything was slow - just as well - the narrow streets on the town are choked with traffic.

I pushed, heaved and swore my way up to the entrance to the town and sat in some shade. Less than 2km gone and already sweating like a very sweaty thing. Sitting there I met a young chap with plans to cycle to Argentina. So much for feeling special! We chatted, he looked over the bike, my sweaty situation and I'm pretty sure he'll be travelling lighter!

So, onto the Cuota (115D) heading southish.. Two lanes, no shoulder, but thankfully minimal traffic. At least the start was a gentle descent and I rolled until I encountered roadworks. They're building new lanes!
In fairness, it wasn't a bad way to start the day. Traffic was respectful and used to slow moving vehicles. The further I went the more I looked enviously at the new road being laid. At times just foundation, at others, unpainted tarmac. A lot of long distance bike travellers get to ride a new road all to themselves. I'd love to too! But it wasn't looking good.

Looking hot!!​

I could feel the heat building up and knew that today would be an interesting day's riding. Hop down this cuota for a while, then turn off (Mex 115) and travel through suburban México for the rest of the day. I'm in Morelos, the most densely populated state in México (CDMX doesn't count as a state!). All going well, I'll be finishing in a different State again! How's that for travelling?!

Then I saw it! Two black lanes, painted, signed, cat's-eyed sitting empty beside me. At the next bend there was a gap to let me on and some guys working on a sign. "Could I?" I asked with eager anticipation.
Dumbass!
This is México! Of course I can!!
Another little dream checked off and it not even 10 am!

My road!! All for me! Mine! I still rode in the shoulder, though - this is México - anything can happen!​

Later I merged with the original Cuota again but most of the traffic disappeared. Just as well, as the shoulder was hardly fit for purpose. Occasionaly I pulled up and in for safety's sake, but it was ok cycling.

Even along a boring motorway there's beauty and colour.​

Ironically, as I approached my turnoff all the traffic on the minor road joined the Cuota. I didn't need much persuading to take their place on the side road!

So, I've made my turn and it's chaos. Sitting in the shade outside an Oxxo, my first coffee of the day beside me and the traffic has to be seen (and heard and felt!) to believe
It's crazy, but not in the least intimidating. There's a fun few hours ahead!

Chaos! Mayhem! Noise! Craziness! Not an ounce of malice! What does it say that I feel a bit home in this scene?​

I don't know if "fun" would be the most accurate description, but it certainly wasn't dull and I got a lot of reminders of what México is like.

Chaos!

When I first joined Mex115 it was chaos. Turns out there was a lane closed further down for roadworks. I actually walked the bike for a while, not out of necessity, out of a desire to soak it all up.
I walked past shops and stalls selling everything from swimming pools to car parts and everything in between! One guy had a big sheet of used tools for sale. Axes, machetes and some very big spanners.
And music! Speakers in random stores playing all kinds of music. I was back on the road! Actually, my first music of the day was leaving Tepoztlán. An old man selling chairs had put out his stock, sat himself down in the shade of a big tree and had a big speaker set up right beside him. He looked blissfully happy as I struggled past him.
Lots of stores had sheets of corrugated metal, painted, acting as advertisements. It struck me that this must be quite a skill to paint an add on such a surface so that from a distance it appeared "flat", yet was perfectly legible up close. In any case, more colour, more life!

What's the point in getting wound up about this? I'm a guest here and am enjoying the mayhem!​

Getting on the bike again, I had a bit of a shoulder, but that was often filled with stalls. There was some amount of food stalls but I wasn't really hungry. I was consuming a lot of water.

With the exception of the initial downhill, I had been climbing gently all day. About noon I pulled off for a bite to eat. Road food! Yaaaay!
There was very little shade today and I wanted to be careful of the sun so I took my time.

Road Food! Simple, hearty and fresh. Note the plastic bag over the plate and the repurposed tub. ​

When I took off again, Gizmo rose from 32 to 41 Celcius! I was out in the country now. Dry but quite green. The climbing became steeper, so much so that there was another run off for runaway trucks - this time on the wrong side of the road! Nothing like a runoff to let me know I was in for some climbing!
Once I crossed into México State we received a climbing lane so that took some of the pressure off me.

I'm doing an experiment - travelling without the trailer. And I got a new flag!​

I stopped frequently. At one stage a breeze teased me. It was almost sensous. To paraphrase the immense Leonard Cohen you'd have to be a sweaty touring cyclist to know how good it feels.

One stop was outside a Country Club. The guards were friendly and I asked them about camping options. Maybe in a park up the road. A woman pulled up to enter and had to retrieve ID from the boot of her car. She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder in my direction where I was sitting on a low wall. Whatever she was saying, the guard just shrugged his shoulder. Perhaps I was lowering the tone of the place! While relaxing, I was watching a broken down car across the road. Later they passed me and I was relieved for them until I realised that the pick-up behind them was actually pushing them along! Bumper to bumper!

I had a rough destination for today, but nothing concrete. There are a few places that I may be able to camp, but information is vague. It'll be a case of play it by ear. I'm itching to get in the tent again!

For anyone wanting to tour Google Maps is not reliable and here's why: Sitting in the shade I took out my phone and looked at the road ahead. Mainly flat Google said! Reality? A 5% grade minimum. There was a climbing lane for crying out loud!

A dried out river bed. Any day now that will start filling​

My choice of destination was made for me in the end. Rainy season is arriving and I watched as my blue sky became cloudy, grey and then very foreboding. It all happens quite quickly. Arriving into a town I cycled through looking for a hotel. I found one right on the far edge with a load of armed Police outside! Just as it started to rain! Thankfully it was a checkpoint and not the hotel!
It's one of those places that charges for 6, 12, or 18 hours! By now it was 6pm so 12 hours had me out at 6am - no thanks. I paid for my 18 hours and was shown to my room. Large, airy and cool, it's not bad at all. A smarter bike tourist would have gone for food and then checked in and saved a few bob. A wetter bike tourist!

Motels in México are for one thing - discreet sex! A basic principle of the design of any of these buildings is to hide cars from the street. That may be in the form of a curved and walled entrance so once you drive in you're hidden, or in last night's case a parking space directly below the room that can be closed with a heavy tarp. In any case in and hide!
Another quirk is that no key was provided last night! I reckon that with people paying by the six hour block, not many leave the room to go for food!
Getting organised the next morning a man left the neighbouring unit and studiously avoided me as he walked right past!

The motel. Not as grotty as some I've seen. The lady who checked me in seemed amused by me. I guess I'm not their usual guest! She made it clear that the room rate covered any visitors! Chance would be a fine thing!​

Now, let's talk about food!
I passed what seemed like miles of stores and stalls, many of them serving food on my way in to town. After a fairly decent shower, I headed towards town and was scanning the first "restaurant" I passed. On the path are tables where food is being prepared and cooked, a few tables for customers, behind, the building is open, originally two rooms, filled with tables and in the back rows of fridges with cold drinks.
A young switched on waiter inveigled me to sit, so I did. There was a menu - not always the case - and I made my order, a combination of meats, onion and cheese with which to make my own tacos. I chose the "Grande" option and asked for a sample of their agua frescas (homemade water with various flavourings).
The place was busy with all kinds of people. A young couple here, a solo man there. A large family from great grandmother to toddler squeezed in behind me. The solo man was joined by his wife, two sons and baby daughter. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a solid, wooden baby seat appeared. I noticed that he hadn't waited to eat for his family to arrive!
At the opposite end, on the street beside the sizzling meat, was a long queue of people (in the rain) for take away food.
From an efficiency point of view it seemed like a disaster, but the place was hopping, service was good, efficient and friendly.
I really enjoyed the whole experience. A basic food place in an unknown town.

When my food arrived I had another of those laugh out loud moments! It was huge!! While I'd been waiting a big bowl of fresh salsa - tomato, onion, coriander/cilantro, chilli and a large dish of limes, radish and cucumber slices had been delivered. Warning signs I'd missed!

When I couldn't eat any more, my waiter offered to wrap it all up for me.

The couple, when leaving, made a point of wishing me "buen provecho" (Bon apetit). She had been highly amused to my reaction to the portion size!
Finally, in yet another dog story, there was a dog foraging for food on the street. Slim pickings outside, but she would sometimes venture in and snaffle food from the floor. At one stage she made a beeline for a tasty morsel but that meant crossing a waiter's route to the fridge. Once she realised a waiter was coming she aborted her plan and retreated outside. Obviously the dog knew her boundaries. Not a person was fazed by this random dog.

This town won't feature on any tourist guides and with the rain I didn't see it at its best, but it was a lovely evening. Truthfully, I was very tired and exploring more wasn't really an option, anyway. I waited out the worst of the rain, weaved my way hither and tither to get home trying to avoid the worst of the floods.
On my way home, I had, what I now think of as a typical Méxican scene: Bumping down the main street, a small old John Deere tractor, two chaps half on half off the seat, not a rollbar in sight, behind a plough, wider than the tractor, raised up and on the plough, bouncing along two dogs of indeterminate breed. Of course there was no slowing for a tope - speed bump - and the dogs took flight, landing safely back on the plough.
I read my book and slept the sleep of a contented traveller.

Even the town name was along the road!​

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Covid Interlude, Thursday, May 6, 2021,Tepetlixpa to Amecameca 13km, Total KM 144
Min meters 2341, Max Meters 2488
Total Climb 164 Total Descent 24
Min Temp 19 Max Temp 31
Ave Temp 26

Well, one thing got settled today! Having a little Spanish definitely enhances the experience! I had two very pleasant encounters on my journey today, and if you're the kind to skip over the stats today was a massive 13km!!
That was probably a part of it too - having the time to squeeze the most out of the experiences.

These are "small" headstones by local standards. They do give an idea of the variety and styles available. I still have to try to find a mausoleum style photo. Monday was Mother's Day here and graveyards are decorated for that too. I saw an old lady interviewed for tv after visiting her long departed mother. ​

I was awake on the stroke of 7, a greyish sky not exactly encouraging me out of bed. I had decided last night on a couple of options, neither one long or difficult. I had the luxury of time. It was about 8 when I got out of bed, showered and set about packing and loading. I took my time. It was about 10 when I was heading away - 2 hours ahead of when my time expired.
It took a little while, but the climbing lane reappeared which meant a reasonably comfortable ride despite the constant traffic.
Seeing an Oxxo ahead I pulled in for a coffee.

Sleeping dogs! Away from the city and there are far more strays to be seen, harmless in the main. I have had a few chases on the bike, though. The first was the worst - I was so shocked I almost crashed! Barkers, mainly, not biters.​

That's where I met Mariano. He looked at the bike and came over for a chat. An old man he was dressed typically for here in jeans and a shirt. He spoke rapidly to me. I caught Gringo, Baja, Tijuana and not much more. Asking him to repeat didn't help. It's difficult when you can't understand the gist and I was picking up an aggressive undertone. So, when I spoke, I introduced myself, told him I was from Ireland and because I couldn't cycle my bike to Argentina because of the Pandemic I was exploring his country as much as I could. I also advised him that I was learning his language and I have a whole lot to learn.
Well, everything changed! I may be imagining it, but he seemed to slow down, his wide grin dispelled any fear of aggression and we talked about lots of varying different subjects from my bike and its tyres to my impressions of various countries. We talked of the similarities between Ireland and México (no, it's not rain!), music, the US. I think I passed an hour with him chatting pleasantly in the shade, sipping my coffee.

Tope! Speed Bump! I have to get used to these buggers again! At least these are painted! Some are the same colour as the road! ​

Setting off again I negotiated another longish town, breathed a sigh of relief when the climbing lane returned (they disappear in towns) cycled through some country and got flagged down by David in the next town. I saw him waving but at first ignored him thinking it was for someone else. He became more insistent. I pointed to me and got vigorous nodding. Another pleasant chat with a cyclist, some photos taken in front of the arch for his town and I was back on the road again. It was nice to be able to just kick back and not be worried about a deadline.

The places that I thought may have been suitable for camping were either not or closed. It can be very difficult to get an idea of what some places do. Google Maps will show something with promise. Reviews can be ….. confusing! Often no "official" information, rarely a link to an official website, and when there is often a deadlink.
Based on some of the things I've seen, I'm convinced some people list their friend's places as a place to stay as a joke!

So I rolled into Amecameca and reverted to plan B. R&R day. There's big feckin' mountains in every direction! After here there is some serious climbing. A little rest, a few chores, a new town.

Mexicans do love their cakes!! It's not uncommon to see queues outside these types of shops as people pick up celebratory sweet things on their way home from work. ​

Job one was to get some alcohol for my stove. At the moment I have 70% alcohol for it, not ideal, especially where I'm hoping to go. I also need some cash. Oh! And a place to stay. I passed a motel/hotel on the way in that looked OK, but kept going to get a feel for the town. Busy! And long! Cycling through a town like this, unhurried and relaxed, is actually quite enjoyable. There's a life in these places that is vibrant and vivid.

Street art in these places can be wonderful! Yes, there is "tagging" graffiti, but wasteground can be brightened up, businesses advertise, or people just decorate their walls. Schools, especially, do wonderful, bright, cheery paintjobs. ​

I saw lots of stores for my alcohol and noted the location of the banks. On the far side of town I spied another hotel/motel that looked nicer. I enquired, seems fine, Internet (unlike last night. I reckon people have other things to do with their 6/12/18 hours!). In fact, this is a combination Hotel/Motel. Hotel rooms along the front, motel rooms with adjacent parking spaces (and heavy tarp curtains!) at the rear.

My room is luxurious - I have hot water in the sink (unusual here) so I can shave later. At first I couldn't find a towel - then I saw the two "swans" on the bed! I did some quick laundry, changed and hit town on a mission. The first hardware store was a bust, the first painting store was a hit.
Then the banks. Uh oh. Bank after bank declined, first one than the other card. The fourth bank gave me a reason - wrong pin. Uh oh! I tried another pin
….Wait…...wait….success!!
Now, that card has had the wrong pin entered 4 times! I'll have to wait and see what happens! I am really not good at this International Banking thing!

Some shops can be a riot of colour. I have no idea how a balloon shop can stay in business, but these types of shops are everywhere. ​

Chores out of the way I could relax having walked a good part of the town already. Spying an old world coffee house I had a coffee and some rice and egg. It's a lovely old building with doors that are thick and battered enough to be originals. Tall window frames are similar. Very thin tiles cover the walls to chest height, chipped and missing at the edges. Old pictures of the town are dotted around. The ceiling is from lovely old beams of various thicknesses and spacing. A pleasing disorder. There's a low, bar style counter that appears to be a mix of old and new. A well battered, curved counter top boasts an ancient coffee machine (that makes decent coffee) but the front appears to be a horrible, modern style veneer.
A man has just fired up his phone to belt out a backing track to a portable speaker, a microphone plugged in lets him sing along. A strange mixture of technology and tradition, the technology emphasised when his bluetooth rings out its connection over the speaker.

It may not look like much on the outside, but inside is a trip in a time machine. ​

Anyone who has looked at a map is probably asking themselves what I'm doing here. If I continued on the road I'm on I'd end up back in CDMX! The answer is looming over me as I type this - Popocatépetl, México's second highest peak and an active Volcano. Looking at different ways to get to Puebla, I chose the unusual route that passes between Popo and it's dormant, smaller sibling Itza-Popo.
If I make it up (and it's a big if!), I'll descend on tracks until I meet a road that will bring me to Puebla, a town particularly rich in Colonial architecture.

I know when I took this picture Popo was in the background. Popo's a bit like me - an occasional smoker, difficult to photograph and liable to explode at any moment! Seriously, access to it has been limited since 2017. If he blows he will affect 30 million people! Yet, yesterday and today, there were signs everywhere advertising land for sale!​

There's camping options up there where I hope to relax for a couple of days. It'll be a chance to camp, experience some weather in the tent, test out my stove at a reasonably high altitude and get out of the heat!😀 That's the plan. I've a sneaking suspicion the reality of the ascent is going to be interesting! About 1200 meters over 30km.

The local church. Structurally unsound, the wall behind the altar, normally a centrepiece of any church has been removed to reveal a bare wall and umpteen, irregularly paced reinforcing poles driven through the wall. As always, when I visited there were people praying and in a side chapel a man playing a guitar. We'd have called him Father Trendy in Ireland in the 80's. Another black Jesus too!​

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Covid Interlude, Friday, May 7, 2021, Amecameca to La Venta Ecovillage 33km, Total KM 177
Min meters 2465, Max Meters 3757
Total Climb 1389 Total Descent 361
Min Temp 12 Max Temp 33
Ave Temp 18

There's a beauty in a lot of things if we take the time to stop and look. I was heading into a place of magnificent beauty yet it took a long time to supercede the CrazyBeautifulChaos I witnessed over my morning coffee. But that's later!

Actual climb of 1389 meters (that's like a bazillion feet in about 28km.​

I was nervous about today. Very nervous. This was my figary. I'm on the way to Puebla and my original route took me on main roads. On Sunday evening, during the downpour, I fired up cycle.travel and looked for a bit of adventure. This was it!
A route not around two volcanoes but right between them! If things worked out, I'd get to camp! But first, there was a monster climb (to me) to get out of the way. I reckoned about 1200 meters in less than 30km. The thought of getting a cab even got caught in the weeds of my subconscious. I had packed away my usual cycling footwear of sandals and donned my walking shoes. Something told me I was going to need them.
So quite apprehensive, I set off.

All day mist, clouds and sunlight conspired to create a tantalising view. At the start, "up there" was mysterious, when I finally made it "up there" then "down here" was hazy.​

The distracting beauty was at a junction, just on the edge of town where I was due to make my turnoff for the Volcanoes.
No traffic lights, no apparent right of way it was an early morning explosion of noise and frantic movement. Collectivo buses pulling in, pulling out blasting their horns to alert potential passengers, people hopping from one to another. All kinds of things brought with them. I helped one old Señor with 4 big sacks of salt. He alighted at one corner, removed his four sacks and progressed over to the other corner. Eventually a different Collectivo pulled up and he got on.

Two little food stalls, one on each corner, right on the road! Next door a man was cleaning a (closed) restaurant making good use of the sound system. Mixed in with all the chaos thumping Mexican ballads!

And, of course, dogs! A couple of bunches of strays, harmless, studiously avoiding the food stalls. Wrestling with each other in the cool morning air. Later, no doubt, they'll sleep off the heat of the day.
And for all the craziness of that scene when I need to cross two roads to get to my road, traffic slows for me. A distraction from my apprehension.

13C Gizmo settled on when I set off about 8am. It had been a deceptive morning. The early morning light was strange. It was there, but without brightness, without a focus. The reason for that became clearer to me - it was rising behind a big, feckin' volcano!!

I started off well, thinking to myself if it stayed like this I'd be up in no time!
Ha Dumbass!

I was going fine until I hit a town about 7km in. A steep little town! I was dismayed to realise that I was already in my lowest gear. Conscious of eyes on me I powered through ……. for about three quarters of the length of the main street. Then I stopped.

I was neither hungry nor thirsty so I pushed on. A farmacia that seemed closed had a fuzzy speaker that was playing music. When one song ended there was, from what I understood, the announcement of a death, a pause and more music. Life (and death) in a small Mexican town.

Wall art is also used for Politics! Some very interesting stuff! ​

The sun, mist and clouds were weaving magic in front of Popo, the largest of the two volcanoes. At times I could see it, stretching into the sky, silver crags morphing into snow coated jags. At other times a mist shrouded it, or even low clouds.
It was like an Arabian belly dance, all shimmer and lace.

At one stage I passed two men working in a field, their pick up parked on the road blasting music. I pulled in a little later to sit, enjoy the view and their music.

@netman provided an appropriate quote over in the chat thread about serendipity only stepping in once we commit to doing something. Well, here's a little serendipity story…

About 9km in I came to my first little food stall. There's a few of these along this road, but unknown how many are open. I pulled in, not so much hungry as thirsty and was warmly welcomed. Yes they were open, still in prep mode but coffee was ready and maybe some chicken?
I had chicken with melted cheese served in a blue tortilla, washed down with cafe de ola, a Méxican coffee, literally, coffee from a cooking pot. Relatively weak coffee, seasoned with spices and "stewed" in a pot on the stove. Lovely and smooth.
But of far, far more value was the chat, the interaction, the observation.
Three women and two kids running the show. Open every day. Rough wooden tables covered with bright, plastic tablecloths for guests, a combination of brick walls and planks for a working area.
No running water, no drains, all food, water, pots and pans carted up every day and carted back down every evening.
The ground was compacted clay. Not a tile in sight! And of course, one of the women was sweeping it!
A roof made of a hodgepodge of corrugated sheeting finished it off.
The stove! I've been invited to see a few kitchens, wine and beer cellars in my time but I don't think I have ever asked to see one before, it's important to respect another's territory, but there's something in the air here that draws me out of my shell.
When I asked the boss lady if I could have a peep at her stove it was like I'd asked for another coffee! But of course!
Proud as punch she showed me, explained it and pointed out the chimney - surprisingly uncommon in these types of spots! Then the pots got opened!
A rectangular construction of brick, a flat rectangular area of metal on the right for cooking meat, a deeper circular area on the left to hold various pots.
Underneath the two areas is a fire shelf that stretches the length of the stove. Currently, a wood fire is burning directly under the circular area, later, more wood pushed over and the plate will sizzle. Simple. Effective.
We talked about where I came from, where I was going, about the volcano, the weather, the pine trees, why I was doing this alone. (The absence of a wife and children is always an interesting topic of conversation). A lovely, lovely time.

When I asked to take a photo, two of the ladies skipped away - the third is sweeping the dried earth floor! To the left of Mazi is the stove. European Health Inspectors would have seizures but I love these places, all the more that we can have a little chat. Usually there's no such thing as a menu so I can just ask for what I fancy. I still get shown in advance "to be sure to be sure". ​

Later, higher up, there was a slight descent! I hopped on and freewheeled down and pulled into another little stall. Two old women, one of whom immediately impressed me by calling me young man! Sitting down was a Dutchman and an American! My first face to face English conversation in months! I was delighted to have arrived on the bike as opposed to pushing it!

When the trees start to appear they do so in some style! ​

Twice I had looked at Gizmo for height info. I reckoned I needed to climb over 1200 meters. The first time I checked I had achieved 240, the second 620. I was not feeling good! After meeting the two lads I checked again - I had broken the 1000 meters barrier! That was better!

Looking back to where I started before the trees closed in​

The countryside started opening up, less trees meant more sunshine, but added altitude meant cooler temperatures. For a while I had been thinking that I may not make my destination and any possible bail out spots were either closed or not suitable. Now, with only 200 meters or so more climbing I was starting to feel more optimistic!

At times, I could catch a glimpse down towards where I had started. Yesterday, Popo was often hidden in a haze of heat, today, lower down was behind that same haze.

Out of absolutely nowhere I got walloped.
To understand, we have to go back in time, to just before El Día de Muertos. Looking for flowers to pay my own tribute, I had a conversation with a woman selling flowers, a conversation in which no stranger could have been expected to have such insight and in a language I should have had no expectation to understand. On her stall of flowers she had some typical Día de Muertos knicknacks. My eyes fell on the figure of a dog and I just froze. My eyes were glued to it. It totally blindsided me. She saw that and had a chat with me. It started about a dog, but she was smart enough to know there was more. I explained that I wanted to build a little altar in memory of my father, dead 40 years this year, but that I wasn't Mexican and this was all wonderfully new to me. She assured me that both my father and my dog could make their way back, that they were remembered and, in fact, would always be by my side.
To cut a long, long story short, I had placed a pair of figures, one representing my long departed father, the other (no laughing at the back!) my dog, in a special place on CDMX.
I figure, if they ever come back, CDMX would be the perfect place for both. I left the figures and went home. Next morning I hit the road.
I didn't think about them until today. At a height of 3600m, having climbed 1200 meters in 20km, exhausted, but excited, under a canopy of trees, Popo looming in front of me, birdsong in my ears, my head flew back to that spot in CDMX and in seconds I was walloped!
Snot and tears everywhere! Not sadness. Absolutely not! In a very strange way, joy.
Of course, that was the time that a practical convoy of cars, trucks and minivans passed me! What they made of the smiling, bawling, snotty cyclist walking his bike up a bloody big hill I have no idea.
I knew what that lady had said to me was true, in some way, but up until that moment I hadn't felt it.
Yet another concept meets reality moment.

*I've cut those paragraphs out and put them back in many times. I've left them in because they're a part of the tale of a journey on a bike.
To me, a bike ride, especially to somewhere that is not home, can be physical as well as mental. On a bike we can see beautiful places and stop and savour them the way other travellers can not. Those beautiful things can be rivers or forests or seas, but they can also be the beautiful things in our own lives, our memories, our dreams seen from a whole new vantage point and with the time and space to savour them too.
Early in my touring experience I met a man who had cycled from Russia. He spoke to me of travelling with dead people, a concept at the time that freaked me out. He offered me dinner and a place to stay, but to my regret I hotfooted it away. It took me a while, but I started to see what he was getting at - the freedom of the road, the simple necessities, the physical effort all combine to give us space to just "be". Such space offers a natural, gentle method of organising priorities and emotions, whatever they may be.
I wish I had spoken more to that man. These paragraphs are included so that if you ever meet him, hopefully you won't run away like a little chicken as I did.

A very special stretch of road​

I pulled in for a coffee at the next little stand and took a little me time. The wrinkled, shrunken lady who gave me my coffee never uttered a word about my red eyes, but she offered up a refreshing mug of cool water.

Back on the road again nothing was going to stop me. I took off on the bike with a vengeance, got about one km and had to hop off and walk again! Oh well. I had lots of time.

I reached the National Park (closed) and got really confused! One road was closed, there were several minor roads and not a feckin' sign anywhere. La Venta EcoVillage where I'm heading has had regular advertising signs along the road. Now, that there's a choice of roads they're nowhere to be seen! Ah, México!
Thankfully there was a mobile Police Station (probably to keep people out of the park) and I interrupted their lunch to ask directions. 5 km to go! And since I'm past the pass, it's all downhill! Yaaaaaay!

Oooops! I spoke to soon! Sand! I hate sand! And rocks and roots! Total concentration required! I slid a few times but kept away from the drop to one side. The worst was hitting the occasional patch of deep sand. I couldn't see diddlysquat as I was too busy looking at the road. So I stopped a lot! Mountain country. A few cars and pick-ups passed me, mostly heading the other way.
One car passing me stopped and a cold beer came out the window! I thanked the couple for their generosity, but I couldn't take it. I had 4km to go, I was exhausted and it was quite technical riding. Immediately the offer became a bottle of water.
At the start, I received little attention. The lower land was agricultural and people were out working in the fields. I passed one field with what I took to be three generations - the grandfather saw me and laughed, the grandson looked sullenly at me and a little further on the father stopped me for a chat. Higher up in more foresty areas I regularly heard the sounds of people working behind the trees. What I was doing was physically tough, but these people do it every day - a guy on an overloaded bike is nothing to them.
The higher I got, the more waves and beeps I got, although mostly from shiny new cars - not locals, most likely. Now, near the end I was getting beer!

I finally came to the entrance to meet a young fella looking for 10 pesos for entry. I'd tipped all my small money and he couldn't make change. I told him I was going to camp and I'd tell the people in the office & pay there. He seemed happy enough.

It's not what I was expecting. I'd had Whatsapp contact earlier in the week. The "tent" area is little more than waste ground and there's a natural obstacle course to get to it. I'm the only tenter, the rest are either day visitors or staying in cabins. The bathrooms are ….. interesting! Not a shower in sight, icy mountain water from the one working tap!
My planned view of the giant Popo is obscured by trees!
Check in was ok, but there was no welcome in it. Since the restaurant was getting ready to close I hiked bike and gear to my spot and returned for food. Tent is up now, rain is threatening and I'm ready for my first night under canvas in far too long.

What a feckin' great day!

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Tying up the loose ends.....

Frisbee dog got a haircut for the warmer weather. He actually started to look handsome!

The joyful Doberman actually lived across the road from me. His morning routine with his boss consisted of exiting the building, jumping for joy (and a Doberman can really jump!), then embarking on a walk. Every three or four human paces and he did a 360 degree spin on his lead. Pure joy! This he did for half a block and then settled in to a "get ahead of the boss, stop and sniff, catch up with the boss". And repeat. The boss never once had to break stride.

I love the attitude to death and the dead here. This happy skull is outside a kid's school!​

Loper dog I saw less and less of, partly (I think) because his boss started using a bike more. Still the same behaviour though, a stop to shnuffle then a hot pursuit of the boss. That is one incredible relationship and one special dog.

Never a fan of "Modern" buildings, this city really changed my mind. I was captivated by reflections​

The bull terrier pup that I met at Alex's place? I got to see him grow up! I'd see him most weeks, he played more with me when his Mistress walked him than his Master. As he filled up and out he started leaving his playfulness behind too, but did not compensate with anything close to intimidation.
The world compensated though, with Laya, a short haired shepherd pup with a delightfully playful personality!

Alejandro (Alex) at work on his grill. My barbag is hiding the new wheel! My home from home in the big, big city​

The Squirrel Hunter? I had to wait until my very last Saturday to catch up with him again. Same tree, same behaviour! Except this time his Bloodhound pal was a bit more active and actually barked at the tree!

The Crazy English Sheepdog with the female boss who terrorised her boyfriend? We met! His name is Lorenzo, he's mad as a hatter, great fun and a challenge for any man looking to woo his Mistress!

I never did see again the mystery woman with the dog who spotted me through a heaving mass of people. I had so much Spanish to practise with her!
What a great start to a story…."Our eyes met across a great throng of people….." Ooops! That was the dog!

There is a wonderful collection of old cars in the city. Some are restored, some are awaiting restoration(!) and some are used as just "normal" cars.​

The Grumpy Dogs who got shown up by the King of the Park? Now, there lies a tale! I didn't see them for ages, and then late one afternoon I saw them, quiet as the proverbial mice. That day they were in female company, a woman and two young girls, the eldest no older than 9. Not a peep out of them! I'm sure it was them - their coats are remarkable and memorable - but it was a very different sight. No intimidation, no growling or snarling at other dogs. Just a family out for a walk.

Not the greatest photo in the world, but on a dry, warm night this city could be the most romantic place I've ever seen​

I must have little notes on over a hundred doggy encounters and even more observations. I haven't written them all up because y'all will think I'm mad.

You're never far from a tree here!​

I'll finish off the dogs of CDMX with this little tale which, to me, speaks volumes about this place, its dogs and its people.
One Sunday afternoon in the Parque México a couple are slowly walking with two handbag dogs on leads. A man with a fighting dog on a lead walks past them heading in the same direction. At the right moment, his dog lunges at one of the handbag dogs but the other boss is expecting this and swiftly yanks his pet out of harms way.
Now, if that happened in NL I could expect harsh words, threats, a call to the Police. Here? Not a bit of it! Fighting Dog's boss apologises, a look of honest shock and embarrassment on his face, handbag dogs' boss laughs it off. And the handbag dogs? They're raring to get at their much bigger relative! Everyone laughs!

If you follow that trail of light for just shy of 10km you'll be in my old stomping ground​

The Man in the park that I bought so much crap from and had little chats with disappeared. He'd been out of work due to Covid, had a family to support. I take it as a positive sign that he finally found some steady work. The young lad who slowly counted out the money, confused when I overpaid him was just as suspicious the last time I saw him just before I left.

You never know when you're going to round a corner and be slapped full in the face with a colourful scene! ​

Finally, that grave that drew me back again and again? I last visited it at Easter. Bunny rabbits were the additional decorations. It is difficult to describe the feelings that spot inspires in me. There's a celebration, a joy that dominates the sadness that, to my mind, is normally associated with cemeteries.
I reread the plaque and realised I'd missed one important detail the first time I discovered this special corner of this special place. Yes, the grave contained a young woman, yes, her brother was celebrating her life. What I missed was her young son.
Somewhere in my mind a lot of things suddenly fell into place.
There's a little boy who gets to visit his mother (and now, I believe, his grandmother) and thanks to his uncle it's a happy, child friendly place, a place to celebrate more than to grieve.

México - it's feckin' great!

 

[HobbesOnTour]

Camping in the mountains, Saturday, May 08, 0km.

My camping system needs a bit of work! It took several packing attempts to get organised before I hit the road. And then, first evening in the tent after a long, long absence meant a bit of rooting for this and that.

I got in just as a few random raindrops turned to a more constant rain. It was cool. I lay down and threw my sleeping bag over me and listened to the pitter patter of rain. It was still bright. Very relaxing! There's a little stream a couple of meters from me so I can hear that babbling away, and further away there is a steady flow of water pushing through a series of pipes.

On the way up!​

It didn't take too long to discover my first problem. My Thermarest sleeping pad appears to have a slow leak. That's going to need some investigation and is not going to be easy.

All in all it wasn't the greatest first night in the tent. The hard and bumpy ground woke me several times during the night. As did the cold! As dawn was breaking I fired up Gizmo to check the temperature; 3C! That's a bit of a shock!

That row of trees along the ridgeline captivated me! Brave, hardy souls!​

I had been looking forward to firing up the Trangia for ages! I was also curious to see how it would handle the altitude. It's been in mountains before, but I've never paid much attention to altitude before.

I knew next to nothing about camping when I bought my first tent as an adult. Once I started camping, I realised that I'd want a stove. But what stove? There were lots.
Lots of online discussions and lots of online "boil rate" comparisons. Races to boil water! I'd never heard of such things!
Gas ones seemed the most obvious. But I always thought there were two issues, both to do with cannisters. I could easily see availability being an issue, especially internationally and at some stages I'd need to carry two. Bulky, and with my clumsiness, potentially explosive!
From CGOAB, multifuel stoves seemed the choice of long haul bike travellers, able to use lots of different fuels by virtue of various fittings. However, I read many accounts of failures due to blocked lines/fittings and thinking through different scenarios and my ineptitude with those types of things it just struck me as a finnicky system. My fuel bottle travels on my down tube. That gets mucky!
Finally, there was the Trangia. Ancient technology in terms of stoves, but simple, practically indestructible and alcohol is available pretty much everywhere. (Covid has changed that! The rush to alcohol sprays and gels has diverted alcohol usage in some places).
The slowest "boil rate" of all but I failed to see how that was important.
There are issues in cold temperatures (can be worked around) and possibly at great altitudes. But that affects all systems.

So, I got the full Stormcooker Trangia for stability. It's fantastic! I've pulled into campsites, set it up for coffee and set up the tent while waiting. Tent ready, coffee ready! It doesn't need constant supervision.
With the simple lid/flap I can control the flame to simmer and actually cook things.

Eight minutes this morning to boil water for my coffee. No problem igniting. 3500 meters high. I have no idea if that's good or not - I've never timed it before! And quiet! Oh so quiet! Little birds hopping happily around me! I did see one bird, entirely blue! I have no idea if this is the famed Bluebird, beloved of many a Texan singer, but it hopped around my tent having a good look before flying off.

From baking, dry, dusty land, into trees and mystery over there!​

I had coffee. I had porridge and then more coffee. Sitting, well wrapped up in my little camp chair, reading my book. I have no intention of going anywhere today! A little time to enjoy some Nature. And try to find a very small hole in a very large mattress!

I felt a bit deflated (!) by my location. It was certainly beautiful, but the one thing, Popo, that I wanted to see was hidden by bloody trees! Lovely trees, in fairness. There was a waterfall, but on closer inspection it was totally fake. Given that most of the people visiting were "day visitors", and the complete lack of any interaction beyond the formalities of check in, I didn't have a good vibe about leaving my gear and going for a hike for a better view.

Beautiful trees and very, very tall!​

So, I took a reading day. I don't know if John McGahern ever thought someone would be reading one of his books beside a big, Mexican volcano, but I can highly recommend the experience! His slow, detailed prose fitted in nicely with the pace of my day.
I took occasional little walks to see what was going on. The centrepiece of the park is a little trout lake, there are trampolines, archery and a zip wire. I saw some horses and got a bit excited, but then I saw the poor horses and thought better of it.
Where I was, over in the wasteground, no-one disturbed me.

My view! Popo is there somewhere, but I can't see on my phone!​

When the sun shone it was hot, but it was often behind clouds or trees. A few times it threatened to rain. It held off until about 5 and then it was intermittent for the rest of the evening.

I was in the tent well before the sun finally sank but it was an uncomfortable night with a flat sleeping pad. I'd tried in vain to find the leak but I'm going to need a bath or a swimming pool!

Heading off, the day before​

* All photos from my camera.

Chat? Yes Please!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098/

Edited to fix the date