Making haste, making plans

Feb 18th-19th

It had begun to dawn on me that if I kept up my current pace, I'd be lucky to make it through Mexico to Guatemala in my time frame, let alone any further into Central America. After spending more time than I had planned on my ambassador projects so far in Mexico, I had barely made it 10% of the way through the 3500km of road between me and Guatemala.

I knew the sweet spots for my ride were going to be places where the welfare needs were greatest, places that tourists and travellers frequented (for Angel Muling and volunteering), and places that were good to do bike touring. With this in mind, the desert lying immediately in front of me in Baja, beautiful as it may be, seemed like a reasonable part of the road to skip through. In fact, I had been told that Chiapas and Oaxaca in southern Mexico were of the neediest Mexican states, and I wondered if my time and my tires would be better spent there.

In any case, it was time to put aside the charity work for a while and make haste. I figured I would hitch through some of the desert, then ride through the rest of Baja as quickly as I could, and then make more plans from there.

Never having hitch-hiked before, I wasn't really sure how it was going to go. However I had had some pointers from people I had met on the road, and figured I could always take a bus as a last resort. As it turns out, it took almost no time at all to find someone. In the parking lot outside Mama Espinoza's that morning, I spied a vehicle that had passed me the day before. A big van with a long trailer, and seats strapped to the trailer. I asked them if I could get a ride south and they said fine. It turns out the were a support crew for a team of dirt bike riders that were going down Baja. They could take me as far as Chapala. It wasn't as far as I wanted to go, but it was such a good start, and they had room for my bike so I said yes. I threw the bike on the back and off we went into the desert.

Cacti and palm trees look strange together... pero asi es Baja

Huge piles of rocks!

A sea of cacti

Crazy looking cacti

I ended up staying with the guys - Justin, Martin, Mark, Steve, and the rest of the 17 odd riders - for the next 24hrs, as they wound their way via Bay LA that night, to San Ignacio the next morning. We cruised through the surreal desert scenery, with its Dr Suess style cacti and massive boulder fields, and watched as the red hills of the desert seemingly sunk into the blue water of the Sea of Cortez in Bay LA. It was spectacular and I hadn't seen anything like it before. Bay LA itself was small, and quiet, which is I guess partly why I found an abandoned trailer park right on the beach where I could pitch my tent for the night. The next day, heading south, the scenery was less spectacular, with long broad expanses of uniform desert scenery. A lot of freakin cactus. I wasn't too upset about not riding this bit.

The peninsula and abandoned RV park in Bay LA

Mmmm, pointy. And bad for tires.

We reached San Ignacio, and there I parted ways with the guys. It had been great hanging out with them, but I needed to keep moving. I wanted to get to the Bahia de Concepcion, which I had heard was beautiful to ride along. I was also itching to get back on the bike again after being cooped up in a van for a couple of days.

This time hitching was a little harder. I had to stand on the side of the road with my cardboard sign and my thumb out. It took a few hours, but someone eventually stopped. Some guys who worked in CREEAD, a drug and alcohol recovery centre with locations throughout Mexico, stopped and helped me get my bike into their stationwagon. It was fortuitous in that I got to talk about the welfare work that they did, and what I was doing, but as I watched the speedo climb above 130km/hr on those narrow roads, I began to wonder if getting back on a bike again was a wise idea.

The gang! In Bay LA

Justin, Martin, and Mark, in San Ignacio.

So it was not without some relief that I disembarked in Mulege, thankful to them though I was. I asked around and heard there was a free beach to camp on not too far away. As I rolled towards it, in the dark, seeing fewer and fewer people and buildings around, I began to wonder if I had taken a wrong turn. I was about to turn around and go back into town to find a hostel, when I stumbled upon the quiet beach I was looking for, and to my surprise, some fellow travellers, Benjamin, from France, and couple of his friends. After expecting another night alone, I found myself amongst new friends, sitting around a fire, cooking quesadillas with fresh local cheese, and drinking some strange liquor. It was one of those unexpected and idyllic travelling moments, that only seem to happen when you put yourself out there, that wait for you impossibly at the end of the limb you went out on.

Don Eddie and Mama Espinoza

Feb 16th-17th


I rolled in to Don Eddie's RV park in the afternoon of the 16th. Don Eddie's is next to an old mill, in a picturesque little bay dotted with the remains of 5 small volcanoes. It's a beautiful place and a frequent stop for RVers, fisherman, and photographers. It even has a small airstrip. My budget only allows for paid accommodation like this roughly once a week, when I need to get cleaned up, or rest up, or whatever. After the whole 'dog ate my tent' business, this seemed fit into the 'whatever' category.

The bay and a volcanito

I found some good wifi at the Viejo Molino restaurant next door. I bought my 'ticket of entry' coffee, and got in some quality internet time. I was served by the super happy and chatty Ponciano, or 'Chano', as he liked to be called. He was proud to tell me all about the region and how friendly everyone was. As if to prove this, he kept bringing me free coffee refills, and then the chef, Jose, turned up to offer me a free tasting plate. I didn't understand at first, but he said that being from Australia, he figured I would have a different palate and perspective from the rest of the riff raff. It was a degustation style plate of amazing local pimienta, with balsamic, coriander, and fried garlic slices, jamaica cooled with ginger ice and soy, and a couple of other things. It was incredible, It had been ages since I'd tasted anything that good, and I'd had nothing like it in Mexico. And it was all free, and just for being an Aussie! I rounded out the night with a couple of beers while watching the live 'classic rock' night, and then crashed out.

The tape tent lives to fight another day!

Like some of the revellers from the pub the night before, the tent stayed up until the next morning. Although there had been no wind or rain, I was still encouraged. I started cycling and was immediately joined by the chatty Fily, on his was to work. He laughingly told me no Mexicans ride on the highway like I was doing, and pointed me to a decent side road that he used to get to work. I waved him off and continued on the highway, gringo style. I was still a little bummed by the incident of the dog in the night-time, and still not sure what was going to happen. I couldn't really afford to replace my tent, and I didn't know if it would hold up. I was also running low on time and money. I was going to have to start hitching my way south. However, before I put my project work aside for a while to make haste, I had one more name on my list: Mama Espinoza. I was told she lived in El Rosario (de arriba), some 60 odd clicks down the highway from where I spent the night in San Quintin, and that she would be interesting for me to talk to.

What's that Derek? We're a long way from home? I know Derek, I know...

After about 15km on the road out of San Quintin, traffic thinned out noticeably. Cars only came along every couple of minutes, and I didn't have to jump off the road when there were two cars together quite as often. The highway also got quite close to the pacific again, after being further inland for the last few days. I wanted to say hello to the pacific again before heading inland to El Rosario, so I pulled off the highway for lunch at a random dirt road that lead west to the water, and found it brought me to a beautiful spot on some small cliffs above the ocean. I could almost ride right off the edge, it was amazing!

Not a bad spot for lunch.

I had a pretty easy afternoon cycling, even when the road turned inland again, and climbed up a long valley towards El Rosario, thanks to a nice little tailwind. I arrived in El Rosario, and found Mama Espinozas restaurant. I had a coffee and asked if I could talk to Mama, and they introduced me to her not long after.

Mesas on the road to El Rosario

Mama Espinoza kicked off some of the first medical charity work here in baja many years ago, through her work in setting up the Flying Samaritans. I had heard these guys' names all down the peninsular, and that they flew in specialists from the US to run clinics in remote parts of baja. Mama is 107 years old, speaks fantastic English, and is as cheeky a centurian as you're likely to find. My chat with her was brief, so as not to tire her out, but it was clear she had many a story she could tell about baja and the inspiring characters she had met doing her work. After our chat, I resolved to contact the Samaritans to see if I could help in any way.

Mama!

Having put a nice bookend on my project work for a while, I asked the staff if I could camp near the restaurant and they were kind enough to let me do that for free. I pitched, ate, and planned how I was going to make up some time going down baja.

Goodnight, bad morning

Feb 15th-16th

After pitching my tent at the Red Cross ambulance station, and hearing that the director of the clinic was working that evening, I decided to cycle the couple of kms into town to talk to him, find something to eat, and get some cash. Dr Ricardo Bonilla was very helpful and told me about what they do there in San Quintin, and the minimal resources they run on. It seemed their greatest need was in buying medicines, so I suggested they could list that on Angel Mule, and fingers crossed some travellers could help.

La clinica Cruz Roja San Quintin

After our chat I went in search of an ATM, some tacos, and some wifi. The only ATM nearby was busted, and I didn't want to ride the 5km to the next one, so money and tacos were off the agenda. There was no wifi to be found outside of hotels, even if I had cash. I glumly started cycling back in the dark towards my tent a few clicks away, when I saw a restaurant, and thought they might have wifi. They did. They even let me get a little cash out there, and I was set. The owner, Oscar, came and chatted to me about what I was doing and was really friendly. It turns out he knows the doctor I met not an hour before, because el doctor had tended to his mother in law. Oscar also helped out the Red Cross by letting them use his function rooms cheaply. Things were looking up again.

Oscar went away, then came back after a while and said I could use a spare room they had out the back if I wanted. I said I'd love to, but my tent was already set up at the Red Cross, and I thought they might worry, and that I shouldn't leave my tent alone for the night. So I had to say no, and he said no worries. After thinking about it a bit, I figured my tent should be safe enough at the Red Cross, and besides it was well-hidden out of sight. I also didn't like the idea of cycling back the few kms in the dark. Plus, I had made it a rule to never refuse hospitality, kindly offered such as this. So I found Oscar and said I had changed my mind. He gave me a discount from the bill from my meal (!) and showed me to the room. Things had quickly gone from disappointment to unexpected good fortune. I was grateful for the bed and slept well. It was a good night.

Oscar's restaurant

I got up and found Oscar for breakfast. He insisted on buying me breakfast and we had a good chat. He's a stand up guy. I said I should probably go and check on my things, and thanked him for his generosity. I cycled back to the Red Cross, thankful that I didn't have to do that in the dark the night before. I think I may have actually gasped in horror, and in shock, at the sight of my tent torn open and my things scattered on the ground in front of it. So many things rushed through my mind at that moment - what the hell happened, is all my stuff gone, how could I be so stupid, I can't afford a new tent, is this the end of the trip, etc. That was not a happy moment.

It was a bad morning. Goodnight, bad morning. The Kills had been singing that to me recently, but rarely had it seemed more appropriate.

The horror...

After inspecting the damage, it became obvious that an animal had done it. I had had everything of value with me the night before - passport, camera, phone, etc - but there were still things that would have been stolen, if it were thieves. It was only my food bags that were messed with. Also there pawprints literally on top of the tent. A bit of a giveaway. I had had my panniers with food in them rolled up tight and in the tent, and have had no problems with animals before. However, a dog must have smelled the food, and then it literally tore the front of my tent to pieces to get in and at the food.

Chew toys

So my initial horror was alleviated slightly, knowing that nothing was actually stolen. But the tent was shredded and a pannier was missing. I needed that pannier to ride. Luckily I found the pannier some distance away, a little chewed, and missing all the food, but still serviceable. I was also relieved to find that all my other gear was essentially untouched - clothes, sleeping bag, etc. My foam mat was a little chewed, but fine. The tent was a different matter. Large parts of the fly were shredded, and there were holes in the inner tent. I wasn't even sure it would stand up anymore, let alone be of any use. However, once I showed the guys in the ambulance station what had happened, they went to work with some rolls of tape, and to my delight they managed to patch it up to looking almost like a tent again. The image of the ambos ministering to my tent like a patient was rather amusing.

A now more storied tent.

The team. Legends!

I thanked them profusely, but had to pack up quickly and head off, because it had taken time to fix the tent and find my things, and I still needed to get into town again, get some cash, buy some food to replace the dog's breakfast, and get on the road to El Rosario. By the time I got those things done, and was on my way out of town, I realised, with a sinking heart, that continuing would be foolish. It was already 2pm and at least 60km to the next town with nothing in-between. Normally, I would be confident camping out in the desert, but with a tent held together with tape, if the weather turned bad, I'd be pretty boned. I also realised that I was still a bit shaken up by what had happened. I was pissed off at myself for leaving the tent unguarded for the night, stressed about the possibility of not getting to El Rosario, and still reeling from the feeling, if only fleeting, that my trip might have been over that day.

Mid-brooding, I remembered that the place I had had lunch with Karly the day before was nearby, and that there was an RV park there, where I could camp. At least if I camped there, I could test the tape tent out, and if things went wrong, help would be close. I turned right at the sign for Don Eddie's RV park, and skidded and slid down the dusty dirt road to the west.

Un dia del amor y la amistad

Feb 14th-15th

Once again I had forgotten that the sun had risen on one of those days that is marked on many calendars - Valentine's Day, or here, el dia del amor y la amistad. I was reminded of this when I arrived at the Nueva Comienza (new beginning) women's shelter in the afternoon. They were getting ready for a Valentine's Day dinner, and Dorothy, who started the place, invited me to stay for dinner. Como no? I thought, and stay I did. It was a delicious dinner, people sang and laughed and talked, and were very friendly to this stranger who showed up on a bike.

V-day feast!

Feeling the love

It wasn't all cookies and ice cream though. Some of the stories of the women there were hard to hear. I was told about how there was a lack of rehabilitation services for women, and no shortage of terrible circumstances for women, particularly young women, in Mexico. I really didn't want to believe that some girls, as young as 11 or even younger, are sold into prostitution, often by their familes, as 'possessions' for men with money for as long as they are 'of use'. I met some of these women, and saw how well they were doing, and I was truly impressed. I talked to Dorothy and some others who worked with her, and was moved by their passion and dedication. Dorothy was kind enough to let me stay in her vacant trailer that night, and to feed me the next morning too, as I prepared to visit IDT, the last organisation on my list in VG.

The night before, at the Valentine's Day dinner, I had been introduced to Karly, who has also recently started her own organisation in town. Rarely have I been as inspired or impressed as much as I was by Karly's dreams and her will. After a number of mission trips, Karly packed up her car and drove to Mexico with the idea of doing something good. Her plan was to look at what the most pressing needs were, and do something about them. She chose to open Oasis, an after-school care centre for children who go to school, and a school for those who can't. Firstly, single mums, of which there are many, have to work, and usually can't look after their children while they do so. They are forced to literally strap children to them while they work, or get their 7yr old child to look after their 2yr old child. It also turns out that if you don't have birth certificates, as many indigenous children here don't, you can't go to school. On top of that, when you do go to school, uniforms are very expensive by Mexican standards, and if you're not dressed exactly right they won't let you attend school. You even have to pay to take tests. The barriers to education are actually ridiculous.

Karly

I like Karly's story about the graffiti on the walls of her Oasis the most. When she started, the grey concrete walls were covered in graffiti. She painted over it in bright colours. The chulos (street thugs or kids) put more graffiti over that, but Karly was not going to let them win. Every time the chulos did their graffiti, she covered it until she could paint over it, so it was there for less than 24hrs. Eventually, neighbours started noticing and liking her colours, and started notifying the police, which they had never done before. Later, when this happened, and the chulos realised that their tags never lasted, they stopped doing it as frequently. Now there is hardly ever any graffiti, and the neighbours take more pride in the locality. From the seed of an act that seemed small, if not futile, something good spread out and took root. For me there is a zen, an indomitability, and beauty in her actions that I find captivating.

Other walls nearby...

The instruments of zen

The coloured walls of the oasis

Karly was kind enough to take me to IDT, who describe themselves as facilitators for charity work. As such they do many things, but foremost amongst them seemed to be building houses for the poor. After shouting me lunch, and showing me a beautiful spot further down the road near San Quintin, Karly dropped me off at the Red Cross San Quintin. After chatting to the staff at the clinic and the ambulance station, they agreed to let me camp the night at the latter.

An atheist missionary?

Feb 13th-14th

Everything starts with a fish taco. Or so I was beginning to learn. As such, my first port of call in Vicente Guerrero, VG, was a good taco stand. I happened upon one more by chance than anything else, the brothers Melendres, and happened to start talking to some other gueros there. It turned out Becky and Josh volunteered at the orphanage I was looking for and it was right around the corner. Not only that, they told me, but VG was also a hub for organisations that I was interested in. As if that wasn't good enough, Becky also paid for my fish tacos - wow! fortune indeed.

The fish taco stand of fortune.

I rolled down the road to the orphanage, and before I could even open the door I was greeted by someone from the Hogar Para Ninos (children's home). For the next 24hrs my memory is a blur of kind faces, even kinder people, and stories of such generosity and charity that I will not soon forget. The hogar, run by the Christian organisation Foundation for His Ministry, has been around for almost 50 years. Originally a simple orphanage, the complex now includes a well-equipped medical clinic, childcare facilities, gardens and land for cultivating macadamia nuts, kitchens, laudries, and an extensive visitor centre. The visitor centre is to accommodate the large groups of volunteers that arrive weekly to help the hogar. Volunteers do almost everything, from general duties around the complex, to teaching, childcare, health care, and helping with outreach. Outreach services go out to various places including camps of poor migrant workers, and even to people living in garbage dumps, and usually involve simply feeding the people.

One of the clinic rooms

The strange and beautiful old theatre

Robert

Becky and Barry, or Bazza as he insisted.

I was blown away by what the people at the hogar did for the community. It was also striking that they had a fantastic medical facility, but no full-time doctor to staff it. I gave some serious thought to the idea of being that full-time doctor, but it just wasn't an option for me unfortunately. Also, it was a very christian organisation, and as a staunch atheist, I think it would be difficult for me. An atheist missionary in Mexico?Ha. I think that if I was to take on a role of that description, I would be doing something rather different indeed.

My atheism didn't stop the people at the hogar inviting me to stay at the visitor centre, giving me a tour of the place, and letting me eat with them. So instead of moving on to San Quintin like I had planned, there I stayed for the night in VG. The next day, I used my extra time in VG to seek out other organisations that I had been told about. I found the Erma Fennel Foundation, the Welcome Home childcare centre, and another old folks home. Many people who work in those organisations came from the hogar, such is the influence of the oldest and biggest charitable organisation in town. I particularly want to thank Paul and Judy from Erma Fennel, who generously gave me some much-needed cycling gloves, thanks guys!

Judy, Paul, gloves!

It wasn't far to San Quintin, so I figured I had time to check out two other orgs that were on the way out of town - IDT and a women's shelter. I rolled out of town, as Hallmarky as it sounds, feeling really moved by the things people were doing there.

The body electric

Feb 13th

Another cold, but slightly less frosty morning awaited me. I made breakfast in the park, feeling the perennial balance of homeless person/bike tourist shifting towards the left. At least I wasn't drinking from a brown paper bag.

Homeless in a park. But a nice park.

Back on wheels again I pointed Magnum towards Vicente Guerrero, and enjoyed a ride through a morning and a countryside vivid in every way. The way was generally flat with a small shoulder, and with Mogwai's sun smells too loud echoing through my mind, I think I may have actually been flying up and down the occasional hills. It was electric and it looked like this:

After a couple of hours of blissful riding, I rolled over an unusually nice bridge, over an unusually wide dry riverbed, and found myself in Vicente Guerrero, or VG to some.

I get it, I'm in Baja California.

In the cold cold night

Feb 12th

I awoke to a rather frosty morning. My bike computer showed -1 degrees. Well I guessed I was camped in the desert. To avoid being seeing with the rising light of dawn, I took my tent down quickly and had to actually shake small smeets of ice from it. My breath had condensed on the tent and then frozen, repeatedly throughout the night. While I fooded, I noticed the temperature drop to -3 degrees, which I thought was a mistake, but somebody later told me it does that just before sunrise. Weird.

Frosty.

I got on the road again and rode through a beautiful day. Hills and valleys appeared and then peeled away continuously until the countryside opened up and I rolled down into a wide valley and San Vicente. A few tasty fish tacos later, I was picking up some supplies when a guy called Dan came up to ask what I was doing. Once I had explained, he suggested I visit an orphanage in a place called Vicente Guerrero, a little further down the road, and I thanked him saying it was just what I was looking for. I got going again, loaded up with 6L of water, which I had to buy in plastic bottles unfortunately, because nobody drinks the tap water here apparently.

I cycled. There were occasional headwinds, occasional drivers who seemed bent on running me off the road, but I could hardly remember them for the scenery...

I found myself at Punta Colonet at 4pm, and to get to Vicente Guerrero would put me a little too close to darkness again, so to avoid a repeat of the night before, I stopped and asked a random guy where I could camp. He pointed me to the town park, which was in front of a police station. I asked the police, and they were down with it, saying they would keep an eye out for me. Strange as it felt to pitch my tent while children played on the swings nearby, and people walked home from work staring, it was all in all a nice camp spot, and I slept well.