Don Castro de San Telmo Abajo (Mexico)

Day 169
Km 11007


On the 2nd of january the sky was clear and the day was hot. In fact, since I crossed the Mexican border 4 weeks ago, I had only 1 rainy morning. On the morning we camped at "rancho de la vaca perdida" (ranch of the lost cow), name given by us after watching the cowboys on a frustrated but funny attempt to catch a cow that got "lost" in the arid hills that surrounded the ranch. That morning from a grey silk sky, had fallen a soft and subtle rain. A winter rain in the desert. what the Navajo Indians call female rain. I loaded the "burra" (the name of my bike), and already after midday we left the camp of Bahia de los angeles, and hit the road south. Another day on the road like so many others but with a small big difference: I left beyond my cycling partners of the last 2500 km, Sheila and Bernardo. Together we went through good moments and it was hard to say goodbye. That night camped again in the desert, by a camp fire, I wrote this on my journal:


"(...) We climbed that twisted road once again, this time just me and Adolfo. Sheila and Bernardo stayed beyond in the company of the new gang member: the-crazy-guy-on-a-bike, called Jeff, another world cycling nomad on his way "south". The mountains on my right side gave me shelter from the wind, increasing the temperatures of the hot sun. a few drops of salty water run down my face. Was it sweat? Or tears? Couldn´t figure it out, but as I left the Bahia de Los Angeles beyond me, the nostalgic thoughts took over my mind and the desert didn´t look as beautiful as before.
It was drier, emptier.


and a few times I felt the urge to turn around and go back. But isn´t this trip all about meeting, knowing, and leaving? and isn´t beautiful enough that the panniers of my memory get more and more loaded with moments and faces that enriches the all experience of adventure bike travel?
I will miss those guys!
How often do I meet someone [Sheila] that likes penne but not spaghetti?
Or someone [Bernardo] that enjoys using the spices of the desert (read sand) in his food as he twists his body around the stove lifting a cloud of dust, that is stirred into his fire blackened pot with his 20 cm wooden spoon?... It´s 8.30 time to go to bed, tomorrow will be another day on the road south, and hopefully a happier one(...)"

With Adolfo, and without those lazy mornings and long breakfast, our daily average increased to around 90 km\day. One of the advantages of traveling from north to south at this time of the year, here in Baja California, is that the Strong wind is always in favor, unless of course, the road changes direction. Thats what happened after we passed the beautiful oasis of San Ignacio ( an excellent break from the dry and arid desert, with palm trees and lake), during 25 km (3 hours) we fight a devil possessed side wind, that put me out of the road many times ( at least 20!). And out of the road in the trans peninsular Mex1, is literally out of the road! Because the definition of shoulder in the Mexican dictionary refers to an imaginary space between the white line and lower gravel, and where everyone expects a cyclist to ride, excluded bus drives, that simply ignore the white line the space and the cyclist too!
With Adolfo I also learnt the definitions of other 2 words of the Mexican dictionary important to cyclists. "planito", that is referred to a road with little climb, as it was the case in our first day in Mexico, that the "planito" guaranteed by Adolfo turned out ot be 1226 meters of accumulated climb. But my favorite is "cerquita" (very close or very near). "cerquita" is one of those words that everyone uses but few give importance to its meaning Imagine that you want to go from point A to point B, in a Mexican road, and ask along the way to 10 different people how far are you now from point B. All 10 will tell you that you are already "cerquita", but only the last one tells you the true.

We arrived at Mulegué by the sea of Cortes after midday, another oasis of green in this dry peninsula, place of yet another Spanish mission. The peninsula of Baja California, was in pass times, colonized by the missionaries and not by "los conquistadores" of the Spanish armada. One of the first and finest examples is the mission of Loreto, a touristic town a bit further south.. After mulegué comes the "Bahia de la comception" where one can found some of Baja´s finest beaches. A succession of fine sandy beaches and small bays, with palm trees and "palapas" (palm tree huts), that despite been touristic, are very far from the cement-resort type of "los cabos" further south. And is still possible to found a piece of deserted white sandy beach to claim your own the time you camp there. We spent 3 days in one of them, "playa escondida", with 6 or 7 palapas and a hand full of tourists. We decided that the tent was not needed, and I slept in my hammock under a palapa a bit damaged by last September hurricane, and Adolfo slept counting the stars. I woke up every morning with the first lights of sun on my face and the red-orange colors of the sunrise reflecting in the lagoon like waters of the Cortes. Followed by the loud sound of Sr. Ramón´s horn on his old pick up, fighting his way downhill on the bumping road. Sr Ramón would came to the beach at very indecent times every morning, selling a bit of everything, eggs, milk, wood, ice, fresh shrimps, etc. Apart from Sr Ramón, the next place to buy anything would be Muleguá 30 km north.
When the rumble of señor Ramón´s horn disappeared beyond the hills, my only worry was how to kill time between the hammock in the palapa some swims on the lagoon like waters or watch the lazy pelicans dive-bomb the fish.


I would have stayed there a week without notice the time pass by, if Adolfo didn´t have the days counted to go back to university, and me too, with a set date to arrive in Cancun, by the end of February when someone very special arrives in Mexico: the Thames mermaid.
We arrived in La Paz 27 days after we left Tijuana. It was 1751 km on this first leg in Mexico, and the end of the road for Adolfo. From La Paz, he is going to take a bus on a 24 hour journey back to Tijuana. I said goodbye to Adolfo, and to Hermann and Flavio (2 Mexican cyclists that we met earlier in the oasis of San Ignacio, and that offered us their house in La Paz), and pushed the Kona into the Solona Star. The ferry that will take me to Mexico mainland and the city of Mazatlan on the other side of the sea of Cortes. The "burra" (mule), stayed in the cargo area, and I went to the bar drink some coronas and watch, first the city of La Paz, then its bay, and then the entire peninsula disappear in front of my eyes until it was nothing more then a blue line in the horizon.

Beyond the line I stayed the smile of Adolfo, the cactus of the desert, the playa escondida, the campfires, Bernardo and Sheila(probably cycling) and the sun aged face of Don Castro, a señor that right on our first few days in Baja, offered us the shade of his pine tree to set up our tents. and that told us many stories night away, about Baja Mexico and the Mexicans in general. Taken by the enthusiasm of his speech, his favorite was agriculture, that he started by talking about the tomatoes and Nopales (a type of cactus that one can eat), diverting then to the cultivation of marijuana and the Mexican narco-traffic. A subject he seemed to be well informed, with prices, types of seeds and ways of cultivation. On the next morning he waved goodbye and said, you know, if you came back again one day, the shade of the pine tree will still be here!
After spending the last 3608 km (or 65 days), in the company of other cyclists, I´m travelling alone once again.
Alone? not really!!
After all the Mexican roads are full of traffic and me and my "burra" and part of it!!

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, on board the Solona Star, sea of Cortes, Mexico

Rodando en Baja (Mexico)

Dia 155
km 9945

"Aprieta el boton!"
Which button, I asked.
Aquele de aya (that one over there) said the border official, pointing to a button in a post to my left on the walkway. When I pushed the button a light went on, on something that resembled a mini-traffic light.
-park the bike aside, I need to check your bags, he said.
where are you going, the man asked in a casual and indifferent tone.
-La Paz.
La Paz? En bicicleta? really?
I decided to omit that La Paz, a city to the south of Baja California (1500 km south of Tijuana) was only a small percentage of this journey, because I thought he wouldn´t believe me if I said that, my final destination was Ushuaia in Argentina, the southernmost town on the planet.

While I was answering his many questions about my trip, a few people where passing without "aprietar el botton" and I was closing my panniers again, as he show no interest in seen its contents. Bienvenido a Mexico, the man said with a friendly smile. I followed the walkway parallel to the customs road, and after a short walk, I found myself in the middle of a square full of yellow taxis. Only then I realised that we where already in Mexican territory and no one asked us for our passports. In one of the corners of the square of yellow taxis there was a small stall selling newspaper, magazines, cigarettes, fruit, souvenirs, and everything else the owner could fit inside and that could be transformed into dollars with the gringos that where passing by. I asked where I could stamp my passport. From inside the small cubicle, a man pointed me to the other side of a pedestrian bridge. Sheila stayed with the bikes (yes, after some debate with herself, she decided to cross the border with me and Bernardo) I went over the bridge and asked again, a señor indicated me that what I was looking for was on the other side of the bridge I just came from. I crossed the bridge once again, and when I asked once more where I could stamp my passport and someone else indicated me the other side of the bridge, I stated to desperate, and had almost decided to continue my journey without any stamp, when the señor that from the other side indicated me this side of the bridge, walked over, and said he would take me to the "oficina de aduana", that was after all, UNDER the bridge. I guess I would have to revise my Spanish skills I learnt with my ex Colombian girl friend.
I filled up a form and with 20 dollars I bought an authorisation to remain in the country for 180 days, more then I needed, to a man that spent all his time I was in the office talking to someone on his mobile phone, and that stamped the form and not the passport!!

concluded the formalities, we called Adolfo, that agreed to met us in an hour in the arc of "la revolution" in the center of the chaotic city of Tijuana. On the surrounding hills to the north one could see the imposing barbered wire fence that extended into the horizon and disappeared beyond the mountains, and that separated the 2 Californias, like if it was a gigantic dam stopping the flow of untreated water (millions of illegal immigrants) into the United States. The few who can make it ( an estimated 36 million) are a very important source or income to their families and to the Mexican economy indeed ( emigration is the 3rd biggest source of income of the nation) On the other side the illegal emigrants are viewed as a cheap source of labour keeping the American economy healthy and competitive, with the American government turning a blind eye, or at least not doing enough.
On the American side the landscape is naked, undressed of any vegetation or buildings, and id constantly supervised by American helicopters, on the south side, the houses of the massive city of Tijuana, climb the hills, stopping just a few meters away from the fence.
2 and half hours later Adolfo arrives.

Adolfo was our contact in Tijuana, we meet him over the Internet and his site of cyclist www.rodandoenbaja.com . 23 years old, student of medicine and aficionado to cycling, Adolfo, against his parents worries, decided to make use of his university holidays, and the ride from the "gringos" to fulfill his most recent ambitious: to cycle the 1500 km of the trans peninsular highway Mex1, from Tijuana to the far way town of La Paz,at the end of the peninsula, doing what must be one of the great desert rides of the American continent.

Next day, early morning, after an introduction to Mexican gastronomy, with a breakfast made of "frijoles refritos" (beans puree), tortillas and stew made of meat and potatoes, full bellied we said good bye to Adolfo´s parents, Roberto and Analilia, and hit the dusty road south. It was our first day of cycling in Mexico, and we had all our senses on alert, entertained with the great contrasts with its neighbour to the north. The most alert of all seemed to be Sheila that used with smooth asphalts, wide shoulders and a relatively organized traffic, could not hide her stress when faced with the reality of the Mexican roads. Bernardo was the first to have a taste of the Latin roads, when, in a moment of lack of concentration, his front wheel hit a unmarked hole on the road, and flew over into the hot asphalt, spreading all the contents of his hand bar bag all over the place.Lucky him that the truck driver that approached the scene, break with the necessary efficiency to avoid an accident. We have been one an hour on the Mexican roads, time enough to found out that the ride, from now on, would be a different one. It was only after Ensenada, a city 100 km to the south that receives "only" 4 million "gringos" (Americans) every year, that the trans peninsular Mex 1 took us to a Mexico a bit more authentic.

We stop on the 24th of December in the small Town of San Quittin, to buy food for Christmas Eve. We all had agreed that I would cook something Portuguese "Bacalhau com todos", in fact a fish called Bonita, and even found "real" olive oil at 10 euros for a Small bottle (a steal!).
In a country full of sun, where the rigors of the winter are unknown, Christmas is celebrated in a different fashion from Portugal or Europe. As the is no chimneys, Santa Claus is deprived of her legitimated and ash covered entrance through the roofs of the Mexican houses and the immemorial costume of hanging the up stocking is unknown to the Mexican children. However, on their own way, they also have fun.

On Christmas day we left the Pacific coast beyond, and started the climb to the arid and dry mountains of the interior.. My bike computer showed 36 degrees under the midday sun, and drops of sweat run down my face and into the hot asphalt. The green and humid landscapes of northern California, just over a month ago, seemed to make part of another trip. not only thousands of miles away but also of a distant past. The desert landscape was fascinating, changing with everyday cycled, with every valley crossed, with every hour on the saddle. Unlike the cold flat and monotonous high desert of Oregon (USA), here the desert landscape is filled with cactus, trees of the desert, birds like vultures, Cara-Cara and road runners, or rattle snakes, scorpions and coyotes. The sunset and sunrise are almost magical, with the enigmatic cactus of the Mexican desert in the horizon: The Cardón, that can reach up to 20 meters high. Cirios, is another type of cactus, in fact, a tree, that looks more like a giant green carrot, planted up side down.

The distances between villages can be over 100 km, and water is always a concern. We travel with 3/4 liters of water each, refiling as we go along. On the 3rd day of our desert crossing from the Pacific ocean to the sea of Cortes, we had planed to refill the bottles in "El Progresso", signaled in my map as a small village, and the last place for water that day. El progresso, was only a single family ranch, and had no water. We had only 6 liters of water for the 4 of us, that would have to last the rest of that day, cook dinner, breakfast next morning, and for the 40 km to the next village. We decided that that evening we would not use water to wash not even the face. After dinner I was criticized by Sheila, when I decided to make a coffee!
Bahia de los Angeles was our chosen place for the new year. We where thinking of it already for a few days and where looking forward to see the sea again. When we arrived at the village, we had a surprise waiting for us: Adolfo's parents. Worried by the lack of news from their son, they decided to make by car the 500 that separate Tijuana from Bahia de Los Angele's, alerting along the away police, ranch owners, military and even posting notes of appeal on the Internet. The days that followed in the bahia and on our way south, we where stop bu several people showing their concerns. But that didn´t stop Adolfo from continuing.

After the great success of Christmas Eve dinner, we decided to repeat the dose, this time with a 2 kilo shark , that cost less then 3 euros, in our "palapa" (a hut made of dry palm leaves) by the sea of Cortes, and joining the party we had a young American couple and Jeff, another world nomad cyclist also on his way "south". After the "tubaron a portuguesa) served with a bottle of rum anejo (tequila and cyclist don´t go together as I experienced in the past), and finished the night in the village party, where all the locals where (with some gringos thrown in) and inhibitions lost, gave my first introductory steeps to the Mexican dance.
The village of los angeles is situated 66 km east of the trans peninsular Mex1, the main road in Baja crossing the peninsula from top to bottom. the peaceful bay is protected by rocky and naked mountains and like many other bahias in Baja can´t avoid the "gringo" tourism on their RV´s(recreational vehicle),

and the nights spent in the desert around a camp fire have been the best way to alienate ourselves from that neo-tourism colonization, and fell a bit better the beauty of this arid but awesome peninsula.

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, in Bahia de los Angeles, Baja, Mexico