I am now more than two months into my trip from Oregon to Patagonia, a full month into Mexico. We made it down the Baja peninsula but not without pain. The stretches of desert without towns or villages or visible life were emotionally exhausting. The heat and stress for water and food were not the worst of it. The physical bleakness called out a loneliness I didn’t know I had. My touring partner Phillip was strong and able as we camped in riverbeds and made pot after pot of beans and rice and stressed over how many pesos we had left. It became apparent to me that the ancient practice of sending prophets and young men into the desert to deal with God and themselves was an effective tool to strip the human spirit. It lets you know what’s underneath, holding up the life you’ve grown used to.
Old Puerto Vallarta. Every street is cobblestone. My bike hates it, my eyes love it.
It is important to remember that I am a wimp. The biking wasn’t that vicious, the hills were not Olympic, and every soul we met was an angel. I was just lonely. On narrow highways I cannot ride next to Phillip, so we ride single file and cannot speak. I spent hours upon hours of the day in my head. Every cactus and canyon and hill was a silent trophy of another hour spent alone. The romance of the rugged bike tour became my regular routine. And the real poison was the thought of how many more miles and months lay ahead.
I have spent twelve years building a beautiful community of friends and loved ones in Southern California. The thought of leaving that behind for a transient life, where every person I met would be gone from me in a matter of hours or days, began to whisper panic in my ears.
But this is why I am doing it. I love to talk about ‘shaking myself awake’ and pushing myself, but when the pushing starts, I throw my hands up and fox my way out of it.
“Up the main road, past the green swamp, follow the dirt road past a little village, through the cattle corral, up the creek, you can swim there.”
Not this time. When Baja was over we took the ferry over to Mazatlan, and then made our way down the coast to meet some old friends in a tiny remote beach town called Playa Nexpa. On some windy stretches we had to throw our bikes on Mexican buses to make it to the next town. Sometimes it feels like the Amazing Race. But we are in the tropics now, with lush trees and life abounding. It feels better, less alone, and hard-earned. It’s a new chapter. We made it through the desert, and it feels good. In certain stretches of Baja, I wanted to toss my bike and give up and curse the dirt. Now with it behind me, I feel the warm baptism that achievement brings any hard stretch, and am thankful for it. I might even miss it. But I am glad we are here and ready for the next month of Mexican beaches, iguanas, big cities, high plateaus, and new lessons. The warm ocean can cure almost any ache, from your legs or from your heart.
Goodbye Baja.
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