Pacific Coast (North of Acapulco)

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January 21st, 2005 - 'Want to watch the turtles lay their eggs on the beach with me?' (and Breathtaking Scenery)

Jan 16 - Bus from Acapulco to Tecoman (Don't ask. Have decided to take a bus UP the coast, then work my way back down to Acapulco... but 1.5 days of Mexican buses was nauseating)
Jan 17 - Around Tecoman, 52 km (Felt guilty about not going all the way up to Manzanillo, so I rode a nearly equivalent distance outside of Tecoman)
Jan 18 - Tecoman - Playa Tikla 80km, breathtaking scenery
Jan 19 - Playa Tikla - Maruata 38 km
Jan 20 - Maruata - Nexpa 97 km (1500 meters climbing crazy HARD day)
Jan 21 - Nexpa - Playa Azul, 63km

First: a picture of me on the road outside Puerto Escondito taken by Ben (from a car):
http://www.benpatton.net/gallery/view_photo.php?set_albumName=album01&id=DSC_0212

Jan 17:

Utterly exhausted from endless hours of bus travel, I attempted to find a cheap hotel in Tecoman - preferably one that did not overlook the noisy bus station. Arrived at a motel on the outskirts of town that charged a reasonable price... thought it strange that the motel was arranged like a drive-thru, with the 'reception office' consisting of a small hole in a wall just large enough for a single hand to slip through. Since I didn't have a car, and because I wanted to bargain, I was forced to kneel down on the ground and peer up into the hole to talk to the receptionist. After she made a point of demonstrating that certain beds were elevated a couple feet above ground, we agreed on a price, and I unpacked and started doing laundry. Fifteen minutes later, the receptionist informed me that the motel was '2 Hours Maximum.' Suddenly the whole drive-thru thing became clear... apparently a 'motel' and a 'hotel' are two VERY different things in Mexico. The woman reluctantly refunded my money and told me that in the center of town I could get a room for 'more hours.'

Jan 18:

Riding out of town in the morning - slowly, over a bumpy cobblestoned road - a man started running alongside my bike shouting and gesturing wildly. I couldn't tell if he was crazy or if he just had a crazy sense of humor. Either way, I couldn't go any faster because cobblestone roads are hell on my bike.
Without a shouting crazy man, my bike and I usually create quite a scene. With a shouting crazy man, I'm sure I looked like a wild circus act. Especially since all this took place through the crowded town center. Then everyone in the town started shouting, too: I wasn't sure if they were roaring with laughter or if they were yelling at the guy because he was crazy. Anyway, when I reached paved roads I was able to get away. Strange.

The scenery today was utterly SPECTACULAR. I could not have chosen a more perfect stretch of road to end my trip. The road winds its way through mountains and drops through lush valleys and lagoons. Very difficult, steady, curvy climbs up to mountain passes... where the reward for my work is worth all the sweat: breathtaking views of mountains dropping dramatically into the Pacific Ocean, views of the sandy coastline for kilometers into the distance. Stunning. Will post pictures when I get back.
This particular stretch, along the state of Michoacan's coast, is totally deserted. Forget internet: there's barely places to buy water, and the pick-up trucks I've relied upon do not exist. Nothing. Desolate Beauty.

Each time I get excited that I've finally arrived at my destination, there's inevitably a a 5km hellish dirt, sand, or rocky road leading to the beach (begging to puncture my as-yet invincible tires) that takes me an additional half hour - usually walking my bike - to complete. Today, upon finally arriving in Playa Tikla, I got an unexpected shock: I felt like I'd just walked to into Pac-Sun (the ubiquitous surfer-apparel store. Being from the East Coast, my only surfer frame of reference comes from Pac-Sun and not firsthand experience.) This area is surfer-paradise, and a bunch of surfer camps and RVs lined the beach. Everyone wore Reef and Hurley, most were from California, and topics of conversation centered on the condition of the waves (which apparently have been flat for the past couple days). Partied with a bunch of Norwegian surfers.

Jan 19:

Started out my morning on the back of the garabage truck, the only ride I could manage to hitch to avoid that hellish rocky road out of Playa Tikla. Again, difficult climbing, but sooooooooooooo beautiful. Less surfers in quiet Maruata. To give you an idea of how sparsely populated this area is: the past couple times I've ordered food, I've received unopened containers, obviously just bought at the nearby store: (2 unopened jars of Nescafe, one of jam, one of creamer) and for my food, the owner usually tells her kid to buy ingredients, and then I watch the kid amble on over to the town shop. Basically, I'm just walking into someone's kitchen and asking them to cook me a meal.

Jan 20:

Today I was Lance Armstrong. The crowning physical achievement of my trip (maybe of my life, although certain days on the Everest trek may compete): 97 MOUNTAINOUS kilometers, climbing about 1500 METERS (about 5,000 ft)! I still can't believe I did it: left at 8 am, arrived at 5pm.
I battled the sun and heat (and my Mexican parasites, who'd decided to act up again) for much of the day, but luckily around 3pm the clouds brought some relief and the wind picked up in my favor. Again, breathtaking scenery: rivers, lagoons, winding mountain passes, rocky beaches, cliffs, coves...

Today was the first and only time I've been proud enough to share my achievement with someone - without first being asked about my bicycle. I excitedly told the Mexican woman who showed me my room. She merely nodded uncaringly and said 'Si.'
Each day, after my ride, the only thing I really want is a shower. Especially today, since I was coated in sweat. I'd drank at least eight liters of water and was still pissing yellow.
Tried the shower: no water. Tried all the other showers in the place: still, no water. Too tired to move - my body literally felt like lead - I collapsed on my bed for an hour. Tried the showers again: still nothing.
Finally, I gathered the strength to ask the owner about the water, who glared at me and said 'mas tarde.' I was too exhausted to take a dip in the rough sea. So, my solution: bottled water shower. Unfortunately for me, the largest size of unfrozen water was a half-liter, so I had to opt for the mostly frozen 5-liter bottle. Gave myself an awkward, icy sponge bath in my room. Not exactly the relaxing welcome I'd envisioned after my heroic physical efforts...

Jan 21:

I've been losing confidence in my Indian parasites, the Ganga. My stomach's been emitting intriguing noises - sounds like a combination of a gurgling baby and someone choking on a piece of food... the Indian parasites always emitted a loud, distinct rumble that on some days sounded like a motor and on others like a small animnal. So I fear that the Mexican parasites may have successfully staged a coup.
Either way, I had no fever today and a relatively short ride... so I went for it.
Won't go into the gory details, but vomit/diarrhea on the roadside are extremely unpleasant. I'll leave it at that.
I'm definitely near Guerrero State: men here slow down more frequently, and their smiles are more perverted and less friendly than in other places. I don't like it.
On the way into Playa Azul, one vehicle was slowly trailing me. I came to a dead stop, smiled politely and motioned for him to pass, as I usually do when someone starts trailing me. He motioned for me to pass. I smiled more firmly and again, motioned for him to pass. As this exchange was taking place, a car came from the other direction and came to a dead stop. I'd literally stopped traffic - two cars stopped on either side of the narrow road. Luckily, another car drove up - on my side - and the vehicle that had originally stopped was forced to move on. It took alot of control not to start cursing and screaming: especially since I was sick and definitely not in the mood for games.

As I was sitting on the beach in Playa Azul, two teenage locals approached me immediately, apparently captivated by my dreds. Both were drinking beer and frantically rolling joints as they asked me my name, and by the time they got to the second question - where I was from - one had whipped out a bag of 'coca' and had begun sniffing furiously. During our stilted Spanish conversation, I heard the best pickup line. EVER. Apparently, the sea turtles here come out at night to lay eggs on the beach, and its a big tourist attraction. But after several of the teenagers made it clear that it would be 'just the two of us' walking on the beach, I gathered that it was not a general tourist invitation.
So, to all you guys out there, make a mental note of the fabulous Playa Azul pickup line: 'Want to watch the turtles lay their eggs on the beach with me?'

Observation (as of five minutes ago): The Bob Marley poster on the wall at this internet cafe was NOT there when I walked in about an hour ago. I just pointed at it, and the lady here just smiled and pointed at my dreds. Not sure what that means.

January 25th, 2005 - Flipping the Bird

Jan 22 Playa Azul to Petalco 44km
Jan 23 Petalcalco to Zihuatanejo 45 km (then bus)
Jan 24 Rest day in Zihuatanejo
Jan 25 Morning ride with Jeff, 31km (then bus back to Acapulco)

Jan 22: A Bad Day

Is there a worse vehicle on which to experience road rage than a bicycle?
Your anger boils to a point where you just want to scream: ('Wanna mess, asshole?!') but you can't, because you don't have the muscle to put your money where your mouth is.
The stretch of road today between Playa Azul and Lazaro Cardenas, about 25km, was one of the worst in all of Mexico. It was narrow and heavily trafficked - no surprise - but if the drivers saw me, they either didn't care or misjudged the distance, practically edging me off the road into a deep ditch... and the few who did slow down, came to a near halt and trailed me ('Holy Mamacita! You go where? Me come? Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!´)
Glued to my rearview mirror, I was literally stopping several times a minute, narrowly avoiding getting tossed into a ditch or angrily motioning for the perverts to pass me. Attempting to calm my furious road rage, I tried breathing in (diesel) deeply and reminding myself that it was MY decision to make a spectacle of myself on a bicycle - so I should accept the staring and crazy drivers. Just then, a LOUD truck horn startled me out of my split-second of peace and I squeezed on the brakes just before falling into the ditch.
Fuck being calm.
I felt much better when I started cursing and flipping everyone the bird...
my logic: since there was so much traffic - and therefore loads of people - no one would come after me. Flawed, I'm sure, but I was too far gone to care.
(Nearly brought a nostalgic tear to my eye, as giving everyone the finger recalled fond memories of my road rage against cabs in new york: I practice blind discrimination against their yellow species, utterly disregarding whether or not a particular cab committed a traffic offense against me)
After one car ran a stop sign on the entrance to the highway and nearly ran me over (it was only my scream that brought him to a screeching halt, seriously) I chased like hell after him, yelling. Later, after a bus whizzed by the hairs on my elbow, I caught up to it the next town as it was picking up new passengers. I went totally apeshit on the driver.
Got lost for an hour in Lazaro trying to take what looked like a shortcut on my map... several more frustrating wrong turns, everyone pointing me in wildly oppposite directions...
Things just never, ever, work out when I don't start off in the morning.

Jan 23

My old enemy, the wind, paid me another visit today. I think the wind is the worst: invisible, intangible, unpredictable. And I absolutely hate how the wind stops me from me coasting on the downhills, which I've come to consider my 'free' kilometers in exchange for busting my ass on the uphills.
Stopped at a bus-stop in a tiny village and talked to a friendly Mexican named George for hours. At one point, his nieces ran over with their English homework and I found myself pencilling in the English names of various fruits in their notebooks. On this trip I've met many Mexicans like George who lived in the US for a couple years, had children, and then got deported, so they haven't seen their sons and daughters in years. When I ask them why they got deported, they squirm - it's always weird for me to hear grown men talk with shame and embarrassment how they've been discrimated against just for being Mexican. 'The police don't like me,' they usually say. (Yes, it has occurred to me that they committed some offense they're not telling me about. But judging from the sheer number of people I've spoken to with similar stories, and the reports I've read from America about anti-Mexican discrimination, I doubt that all of them are guilty).

When I hit the road again, it started pouring. I dont mind biking in the rain, but this was a downpour. The rain felt less like a refreshing downpour than a public stoning. Dark, winding roads made visibility poor and again speeding buses nearly ran me off the road... then I thought: in three days I'll be busting ass at MIT, this is my vacation, why I am cold and miserable when I could be at the beach? So I bussed the rest.

Jan 24 Rest day in Zihua

When my waitress this morning said 'Mas Cafe?' (more coffee?) and held out the steaming pitcher of REAL coffee for my third free refill, I uttered my first prayer of the trip: God Bless American Tourists. This particular restaurant was a cross between a diner and an old-school ice cream parlor. The female waiters even wore red and white pinstripped hairnets that matched the stripes on the tables, the barstools, and on the countertop.
In Zihua, which is quite touristy, I've yet to come across another tourist under sixty. Apparently, the retirees in Florida seem to have migrated here for the winter... and if Florida restaurants are full of the tired screechy conversations I've been overhearing in restaurants ('Sonny, why are you ordering chicken? You ate chicken yesterday! Get the fish! It's better for you! What do you mean, I always tell you what to order! No I don't! I didn't tell you to get the chicken yesterday! Fine, you don't want fish? So order the chicken! But don't you complain to me about your stomach pains again!') than I think I'd rather die before I resign myself to the pure torture of a retirement community. I pity the waiters in this town.

Found a library here with good English books! My mind has been starved for anything intellectual... so of course I picked out the largest book there, a 720 page compilation of Mark Twain's humorous sketches which, as promised, is quite humorous.

Hung out all day today with a local named Jeff, who works at the bike shop here. Very chill guy.

Jan 25:

Got up early and Jeff took me a beautiful ride - on a wide, paved bike path! -through a national reserve and ending on a beach. Jeff totally kicked my ass, barely breaking a sweat up a 5km climb, as I lagged behind gasping for breath and sweating like all hell. Cruising down a steep downhill on the way there, I inquired if we had to climb UP this steep hill on the way back. Jeff said that no, he had a better road, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
As I later found out, his idea of 'a better road' was an additional, unnecessary 1km climb AFTER we climbed the steep part which I'd been planning on avoiding. I'll admit that the views were better, but I would never voluntarily opt for a climb over a flat road... which led me to contemplate something I've thought about before: What makes a real cyclist?
I've come to two tentative conclusions that may distinguish cyclists from other riders:
1) Wearing bicycle shorts, and not being embarrassed about it, in public. (This could be expanded to include various other forms of cycling apparel.)
2) Opting for a harder route when there's an easier one.

Anyway... took a bus back to Acapulco to pick up a bag of staff. Am currently on a difficult mission to find a giant box so that I can pack up my bicycle for the plane.

Observation: Amusing sign at this internet cafe:
PORNOGRAPHY is prohibited to see because we are in a PUBLIC FAMILIAR place.

January 28th, 2005 - Shrink-Wrapped and All

As a kid, wrapping presents for birthday parties was not my strong point. I never exactly mastered the triangular folds that you're supposed to make along the corners. If you don't crease the wrapping paper the right way, the wrapped-up Polly Pocket ends up looking like a wrinkled piece of garbage. So to avoid that look (and possibly making the birthday girl cry) my mom would always wrap the presents for me.

The stakes are considerably higher now, since I'm trying to wrap a bike, not a Polly Pocket. Acquiring a bike box in Acapulco is not easy...
first I went to a couple bike and sports stores that appeared to be high-end, but was met with exclamations of "No!" and shows of what appeared to be plastic wrap: apparently they don't use bike boxes in Mexico, just plastic wrap.

Found a Fed-Ex store that sold tiny cardboad boxes and contemplated buying ten of them and taping them together. It turns out it wasn't an option anyway because they only accepted cash and I was down to my last $40.

Then went to Wal-Mart (yes, Acapulco has a Wal-Mart) and I thought I struck it rich when I saw tons of stationary-bicycles. The boxes for the stationary bicycles were stored right under the display. The catch: each box was full. After asking numerous salespeople, I found out that I could only receive a box if I bought a stationary bicycle (which I contemplated for about ten seconds).

Just as I was about to give up and go dumpster diving (in a city of a million people, I figured there had to be a giant cardboard box somewhere and the dumpsters seemed like the best place to start searching) I noticed a saleswoman bringing several small cardboad boxes behind a backdoor. Following her into the backroom, I stepped into cardboard-box heaven! No big boxes, but the people were nice enough to let me pick through the cardboad-box compressor. I took about ten orange juice/chicken/fruit boxes, all for free.

Back at the hotel I encountered some trouble trying to make a box. If the dimensions aren't exactly right the box doesn't really hold together well even wiht obscene amounts of duct tape.

Took a night bus from Acapulco to Mexico City that arrived a full two hours early because the driver was psychotic. It's rather unpleasant arriving in Mexico City at 4 am. From all I've heard about Mexico City I decided not to bike to the airport (which was only about 2 miles away) and instead take an authorized cab, which charged about seventeen times more than the highest price I've paid for a cab anywhere in Mexico, for a drive that was orders of magnitude smaller than any other cab ride I've taken in Mexico. (People throughout Mexico were always warning me about robbers, but I probably got "robbed blind" enough times to equal one mugging).

Mexico City's Airport is one of the worst in the world. No seats. How are you supposed to wait for your flight?
So I sat - with my conspicuous bicycle, two large panniers, one orange bag, and a giant grey bag full of soggy cardboad boxes - on the floor in front of a bank for an excruciating six hours, dragging all my unwieldy baggage up the elevator and into the bathroom every time I had to pee. Then I sat in front of restaurant for another hour or so. No way was I constructing a box, which involves spreading cardboad out over a large area, disassembling the bicycle, taping everything to everything, in the middle of this busy corridor.
When NorthWest finally opened all the employees (young, male) were more than willing to help me with my bike. They wanted to throw it on a gigantic shrink-wrapping machine nearby! In all the confusion I managed to disassemble the front wheel and seat and tape a soggy piece of cardboad around the frame. As they roughly threw my bike on the shrink-wrapping machine I heard all the parts smashing into each other. The front forks even poked through the shrink-wrap.

Definitely NOT the way one is suppposed to transport a bicycle. U.S. Customs nearly had a heart attack when they saw the bulging, half-shrinked wrap package.