February 16, 2009
To start I will answer two question with the same word. Yes, Mexico is different, and yes, there is insanity in what we are doing. That mess aside lets go back to December.
Christmas morning the members of the camel hippo tour made a difficult decision. The decision to start new lines. Kat had left months ago. Lilly shortly after. New members had come, but also had left. Nico had his real life waiting in limbo. Mark and Luey both went back up the coast to their families. Jessi accompanied me back to central Florida to see my family.
It looked like the end of an amazing story about a group of tight friends on a trip of exploration, both physical, geographical, and emotional. But like many times before when I thought I was done, when I was ready to quit, all of my lines, my paths, my directions and flows, led me back to my bike.
A month after flying away I found myself back in San Diego, looking at my bike, looking at my life, once again. Jackie another bike tourer we met in North California was on his way to meet Jessi and I for a ride through Mexico to Guatemala. All of my diverging paths had led right back here, to a strangers porch. In the balmy, hot San Diego winter, hearing jet planes over head and squinting into the sun, i felt my path renew. This trip was not yet over. Guatemala it is, another four month, I thought.
Getting in Mexico was a bit of effort. The boarder is confusing at best. An imaginary line separating two countries should be simple. America here, Mexico there, but so much time and money has been spent keeping people in or out, over here, not over there. Large country fair style turn styles blocked our "stick figure on a bike" designated lane. No way my extra cycle would fit through. The car road was plaster with anti-bike propaganda signs, so we opted not that path. After an hour of asking pedestrians and boarder guards we had gotten no where. We took our chances with the car road.
Down the ramp, past a no bike sign and onto I-5. Into traffic, no shoulder. A green light and we pedaled our asses off, then slam on our breaks as a group of Bari wearing Mexican militia slowly cross the highway, automatic rifles in hand. We pedal our asses off again and now all of a sudden find ourselves in Tijuana. We were expecting customs to be more forward. We either missed them or they didn't exist. We need our tourist visas, but have no idea how to where to get them. We decide to take care of it in Ensenada. To many warnings and nasty stories to hang around T.J for too long.
We roll in circles looking through T.J for Mexico 1 Libre, our road south. We pass vendors selling sunglasses, Viagra, tacos, phones, cucumbers. We pass pedestrians pushing carts, cars, buggies. There are taxis everywhere. We find highway 1 and get on, not wanting to get caught in the T.J suburbs at night.
The road here was bumpy with many cracks and pot holes. Almost immediately we started a steep climb. No shoulder, unrealistic traffic and rough roads for about an hour. Then we get sweet relief, our first downhill in Mexico. Jackie takes the lead, then Jessi and myself in the rear. Thirty seconds into the hill and I realize my front brake insnt working. I must have bumped it earlier in the day. I disconnected my rear break days ago because my bags were rubbing it. 45 seconds into the hill and construction starts again. The shoulder narrows. I see Jessi swerve ahead of me and slow. I cant stop but manage around her trying to keep in control of my heavy bike. I see a pained look as she tries to slow, hits a pot hole and topples over, rolling a few times.
I keep down the hill dodging traffic and construction degree. The shoulder ends ahead and Jackie is blocking my way back onto the road. I un-clip, straddle my top tube and drag my shoe. I want to imagine my cleat creating sparks as I fly down the hill. Jackie hears this and slows down. Just before a ten foot drop I swerve back into traffic. My left foot floundering for the pedal, for control. 120 seconds into the hill I hear Jackie swore as he hits a pot hole and rips a spoke from his rim. 140 seconds into the hill I'm still picking up speed. 25, 30, 35m.p.h now and finally a new patch of shoulder. It is still sticky and again I un-clip and straddle my top tube. I push my heels hard into the new pavement. 150 seconds into the hill and I've worn almost through my shoes, but I've come to a stop. I take a deep breath and a look back up the hill, surprisingly I've fared better than my two friends. Welcome to Mexico I think to myself.
Two days later in Ensanada Jackie writes in an email, "we have four working wheels and three breaks between the lot of us. You do the math." Luckily our odds increased later. We found a new-used rim for Jackie and after four beers and a few hours he rebuilt his wheel. Somehow with a group effort the three of us managed to true Jessi's wheel out of a taco and back into a round shape. A piece of 1x2 board lashed onto my rack made sure my bags and breaks never touched. We were six for six again.
That night we climbed a hill over the city and watched the coast and the traffic. A large cruise ship was anchored at harbor, under an even larger Mexican flag. We watched the flag blow, letting the dry ocean breeze blow through us. We soaked in the high energy, yet mellow vibe of the city.
Over the next couple days the towns started spreading out. At first ten miles then twenty, thirty, and upwards of forty. The dry desert heat with a night camping in between translates into four to eight liters of water, per person. A lot of weight, but absolutely necessary.
Our first night returning to gorilla camping we settle in a large bowl, sheltered from the road. The moon was half full, very bright, but eventually it sank behind a near by ridge. Once the moon light darkened the stars really began to show. I laid awake and a familiar feeling crawled over me as the sky and I rolled with each other. Again we spoke the same language, feeling what it is to feel god, or what ever you will call it.
Two days later we saw the coast again and rolled down a decrepit, washboard, and rutted dirt road to the water. This would be our last chance to visit the ocean before touring inland for several days. As many rural places in Mexico this beach was completely isolated. We were alone. Jessi and Jackie went for a swim and I climbed a rocky hill. At the top I looked over the water, then shifted inland at a large sand dune. Memories swept over me. Eight months ago I was in Colorado building trails with Morgan. Five months ago I was running down dunes with Nico and Lilly in Oregon. This trip has taken so long. I have connected with so many people, so many places.
I looked down at my feet. To the ground, to my support. Near my toes was a stone the size of a pear. It was cracked in several places, but whole, stuck in the clay. I kicked at it to dislodge it and as I picked it up, it broke in seven pieces. I spent the next several minutes trying to piece it back together while remembering my my touring family. Remembering how we formed a whole, how we felt like we came from the same place. How we could fall apart into individual pieces when we needed. I contemplated sending my friends a piece of this rock puzzle but a sudden urge over took me and I tossed the pieces into the ocean bellow.
The seven pieces started as one rock, but over time the weather broke it into many, and eventually each piece was thrown into the wind, forever separating as they splashed into the water. Each one on its own path now, but taking with it the memory and energy of being part of the whole.
I squatted in the clay with the other rocks. I closed my eyes. I became the soil, the stones. I wanted to start as a new giant piece of earth. I wanted to sit and watch the world cool and weather. To feel animals form and walk over me. To feel plants take root in me, prying me apart. To feel the seismic plates rip me in two. To form separate continents. To feel the ocean beat against me for thousands of years. To have pieces fall off. Some staying close, others getting carried out to sea, until finally all that was left were millions of particles of sand, of dust, of nothing. Each piece dispersed by the wind and waves all over the world. Each piece remembering its whole, its community, its family. Each piece taking that memory on its new line.
Then a breeze, and I was human again. Cold, shaking, alive. As I climbed down the hill I watched Jackie and Jessi dance in the waves. Each one was oblivious to the other. They were each in their own world. Each one meditating in their own way, just as I had. I watched my new family, my new "now", my new teachers, students, peers.
An hour later the sun had set and we had eaten dinner. It was February 4th 2009. Exactly one year from when I left Tallahassee. One year ago I rode down the Stain Marks trail, turned onto Highway 98 west on my way to Mexico. One year ago tonight I had slipped on the Florida trail and set up camp with Morgan. I purified water from a sink hole and cooked cabbage and rice. One year later I had finally made it into Mexico. Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Arizona, Colorado, Alaska, Canada, Washington, Oregon, California.
One year later, 8,300 miles later I opened my journal and wrote, "Welcome to a new year of your bike tour. Reflect..." And soon a list formed.
"Thank you Morgan for taking me as far as you did. Thank you for being understanding.
Thank you shitty CCC job for making me want to keep biking.
Thank you boulder for warming my hear with Caroline, for showing me summer and awesome people. For letting me know I can throw caution to the wind and be just fine.
Thank you Alaska for giving me a home again. For giving me a cause I was excited about. for giving me an amazing network of friends. Thank you big momma, Kayla, Fish, Rose. Thank you for meeting new, awesome, motivating, and adventurous friends. Thank you for community.
Thank you Canada for forcing my friends to stay behind. for making me go on by myself. I was able to learn so much that I would have otherwise over looked or ignored. Thank you for the rain, the cold, the wind. Thank you for the clouds and thank you for the occasional breaks of sun. Thank you for breaking me down, for pushing me to my end. For making me question my motives.
Thank you Trey. Thank you for coming into my life again, for reminding me how lucky I am to be here. How lucky I am to have the worlds love. How lucky I am to see the sun set, the moon rise. To see the stars sway. to feel the wind on my hairs, the ocean on my skin. To mush sand in my hand, to pack a snowball. Thank you for showing me I have friends. That my friends are all over the Continent. Thank you for selflessly releasing your energy and letting me harness some of it.
Thank you Bellingham. Thank you Kyle, Martha, Dominick. Thank you for a glimpse of a good future.
Thank you Portland and Mark and Phil. Thank you for giving me a home when I needed one. Thank you for allowing me time and energy to sort my head out. To figure Treys Messege, to stop running from Florida.
Thank you Nico for coming back into my life. Thank you for bringing the "now" with you. Thank you for lettimg me know what is worth my energy and what is pointless to worry over.
Thank you Lilly for pushing my boundaries. For making me think and accept. Thank you for the lauphs, the ocean swims, for being the best couch surfers ever.
Thank you Oregon coast, Redwoods, California beaches. Thank you sleeping in the sand, bond fires in the marshes, old history, and slow growing giants. Thank you for sharing your space, your engergy.
Thank you San Fransisco for building me a family. Thank you for needed a four quart cook pot. Thank you farmer markets. Thank you pancake parties. Thank you for bringing my energy way out front. Thank you for letting me channel it.
Thank you Kat for showing me my path is were and when I want. Thank you for your energy and love. Thank you for that conversation in the tree. For reality and time pulling away. Becoming an abstract of the mind. Thank you for truely sharing. Thank you for bringing more beauty into my life.
Thank you Mojabe desert rain. Thank you fat dripping clouds for coming over the pass. Thank you for soaking me and breaking me down again. Thank you for making me question my situation, for making me question my motives. Thank you for making me ask why nothing can be simple and thank you for answering it is a simple as you want it. Thank you for squashing my ego.
Thank you family emergencies for moving people where they need to go. Thank you for showing me my path again.
Thank you San Diego for showing everyone where they needed to go and thank you for letting them leave one line and start a new one.
Thank you airplane for allowing my physical location to change drastically, but leaving my mental one intact.
Thank you mom for unexpected hugs and tears.
Thank you Carie, Juan, Jimmy, Mike, Eathal, Danny, Joes, and All Saints for bringing me back into your lifes after id been gone so long.
Thank you Justin, Troy, Krank It Up, and Tallahassee for reminding me where my home was not.
Thank you Heather and Jared for the ride. Thank you for letting me relive those memories of my first bike tour. Thank you for being there for new memories. Thank you Jessi and Jackie. You are my new "now"
Thank you Mexico for all you are about to teach me."
That was one year. That was 8,300 miles. That was twelve months summed into a few hundred words. Those memmories give me fuel, give me hope. Those people, places, energies. They are why I have not quit.