Day 49
There was a lot of activity in the night. People shuffling their boots by in the dirt, opening gates, passing trucks, and lots of dogs barking. At 5ish, the rooster we were camping by began its crowing (its name is Kikiriki, according to Roberto). We slept through it as best we could. By dawn I emerged and Lluc had already gone to find the baño in the house. I was right after him (we keep a pretty tight schedule here...). When we were about ready to pull out, Roberto came by to feed the chickens and see us off. We noticed he had a chicken foot tied to his belt. For luck? Who knows. We gave him our card so he could see the photos we post (even if he can't read the blogs) and he gave us a fond farewell saying that I translated to "May it all go well and the gods watch over you." I hope so too. Blanca called out adios as we rode out onto the highway.
It was 40km to the next town, Rosarito, the second Rosarito we've been through (repeated names seem to be pretty common down here). We rested behind a tienda sitting on the straw on the ground leaning against the cool concrete, near a horse that wandered in circled in the shade of a tree. Days like these, we exchange few words. We both know it's hot, both know the food and the water and the rest is good, both know there's a ways to go. Nothing much else to say.
There were some climbs here and there, but mostly, the road decended into valleys if kess and less cacti, until it was completely flat with only dusty ground and grey scrubs. No sign of life. There was nothing. Not even the road was really there, because it's only purpose was to get past there. The wind was steady, at out 4 o'clock, mostly a side wind. It felt odd to be standing on the side of the road there, to be sedentary where everything else was in motion or dead.
The next town qas Villa Jesús Maria, another 40km. So exactly placed at that distance, it seemed intentional. There were no other landmarks it could have been placed there because of. No arroyo, no hills. Nada. In town there was a Pemex and a few taquerias, one of them, painted to resemble the red and white of a can of Tecate beer, blasting mariachi music. I usually find it enjoyable, but after that stretch of road, it felt intentionally menacing. There were a few dusty cacti by a brick wall where we took another wordless break. Another 40km to go. The biking wasn't all that hard physically, but the endless flatness, the murmur of the wind, the periodic roar of the passing trucks... I admit it was a bit torturous. I felt it but I could see it more clearly in Lluc's eyes. Tired of it. Tired of it all.
We approached the 28th parralel without much steam left. Mostly rolling with the wind and a half pedal here and there. Rising from the road ahead was a black spire of some kind. The 28th parralel marks the border between Baja del Norte and Baja del Sur. It also marks a time zone change from Pacific to Mountain time. Seems odd to be crossing a time zone going south, but the penninsula is somewhat diagonal, so we're actually in line or farther East than much of the American Rockies.
We went around the strange spire, situated in some kind of Army recreation area, and saw the silhouette of the buildings in Guerrero Negro. I had contacted a woman on warmshowers who lived in town that said we could camp on her patio. We had drawn a map and sent it to me, so I followed the line she had drawn on straight road on the edge of town. The city was built in a near perfect rectangle. Houses all concrete and one story, huddled like penguins on an ice sheet.
The wind blew hard and the pavement ran out. We walked our bikes through the sandy road and found the street. Dogs barked from both sides of the street. It was a poor neighborhood. Many of the fences and walls of houses made with corrugated metals and tarps. The street was entirely sand. The closest thing I've ever seen is Tatooine.
A woman in a white mini van stepped out and hailed us. It was Sara from the warmshower. She showed us to her back lot, which had a lime tree and a dust floor. She elt us stay under a wooden covered area, out of the sun and wind.
After we had set up, we set about washing our clothes. It had been too long. They had a stone handwashing area which they let us use, and we hung our clothes on the line hoping the dry wind would dry them out by morning.
The feeling of 'what now' set in. Both in the immediate and long term. Beyond Guerrero Negro, there was 100 miles more of the same environment, el Desierto Vizcaíno. At least 2 full days, with one town in 50 miles and the other at the end. We'd talk it over with dinner. We asked the daughter, Sara Lopez, and her friends who were smoking outside the front door, if they knew a restaurant nearby. They told us they were all down on the main road, a half hour walk away. It was dusk and we wouldn't be back until after dark, but heck, we'r here. There was a place called Dr. Burger. Once the thought of a burger entered my head, it took hold. So we went.
At dinner we talked it over. Even if we had it in us to do the next section, it might drain the spirit from us where we couldn't go on. Even if we did it, not sure if we'd come out sane on the other end. What to do then. We decided if we got to San Ignacio, on the other side of the desert, we could continue in much better spirits, with more services more frequently. There was a bus tomorrow at 2:30. 250 pesos. Deal. A purist might call it cheating, but we're not out here to beat anyone, or ourselves. From here, we travel not on bikes but with bikes.
It was 40km to the next town, Rosarito, the second Rosarito we've been through (repeated names seem to be pretty common down here). We rested behind a tienda sitting on the straw on the ground leaning against the cool concrete, near a horse that wandered in circled in the shade of a tree. Days like these, we exchange few words. We both know it's hot, both know the food and the water and the rest is good, both know there's a ways to go. Nothing much else to say.
There were some climbs here and there, but mostly, the road decended into valleys if kess and less cacti, until it was completely flat with only dusty ground and grey scrubs. No sign of life. There was nothing. Not even the road was really there, because it's only purpose was to get past there. The wind was steady, at out 4 o'clock, mostly a side wind. It felt odd to be standing on the side of the road there, to be sedentary where everything else was in motion or dead.
The next town qas Villa Jesús Maria, another 40km. So exactly placed at that distance, it seemed intentional. There were no other landmarks it could have been placed there because of. No arroyo, no hills. Nada. In town there was a Pemex and a few taquerias, one of them, painted to resemble the red and white of a can of Tecate beer, blasting mariachi music. I usually find it enjoyable, but after that stretch of road, it felt intentionally menacing. There were a few dusty cacti by a brick wall where we took another wordless break. Another 40km to go. The biking wasn't all that hard physically, but the endless flatness, the murmur of the wind, the periodic roar of the passing trucks... I admit it was a bit torturous. I felt it but I could see it more clearly in Lluc's eyes. Tired of it. Tired of it all.
We went around the strange spire, situated in some kind of Army recreation area, and saw the silhouette of the buildings in Guerrero Negro. I had contacted a woman on warmshowers who lived in town that said we could camp on her patio. We had drawn a map and sent it to me, so I followed the line she had drawn on straight road on the edge of town. The city was built in a near perfect rectangle. Houses all concrete and one story, huddled like penguins on an ice sheet.
The wind blew hard and the pavement ran out. We walked our bikes through the sandy road and found the street. Dogs barked from both sides of the street. It was a poor neighborhood. Many of the fences and walls of houses made with corrugated metals and tarps. The street was entirely sand. The closest thing I've ever seen is Tatooine.
A woman in a white mini van stepped out and hailed us. It was Sara from the warmshower. She showed us to her back lot, which had a lime tree and a dust floor. She elt us stay under a wooden covered area, out of the sun and wind.
After we had set up, we set about washing our clothes. It had been too long. They had a stone handwashing area which they let us use, and we hung our clothes on the line hoping the dry wind would dry them out by morning.
The feeling of 'what now' set in. Both in the immediate and long term. Beyond Guerrero Negro, there was 100 miles more of the same environment, el Desierto Vizcaíno. At least 2 full days, with one town in 50 miles and the other at the end. We'd talk it over with dinner. We asked the daughter, Sara Lopez, and her friends who were smoking outside the front door, if they knew a restaurant nearby. They told us they were all down on the main road, a half hour walk away. It was dusk and we wouldn't be back until after dark, but heck, we'r here. There was a place called Dr. Burger. Once the thought of a burger entered my head, it took hold. So we went.
At dinner we talked it over. Even if we had it in us to do the next section, it might drain the spirit from us where we couldn't go on. Even if we did it, not sure if we'd come out sane on the other end. What to do then. We decided if we got to San Ignacio, on the other side of the desert, we could continue in much better spirits, with more services more frequently. There was a bus tomorrow at 2:30. 250 pesos. Deal. A purist might call it cheating, but we're not out here to beat anyone, or ourselves. From here, we travel not on bikes but with bikes.
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