The end of the road came suddenly, and unexpectedly. It was in Guadalajara. I think I can even remember the exact moment. I had been recovering on the good vibes, but hard floors, of the Casa Ciclista (Cyclist House) in Guadalajara. I had arrived with the plan of spending a few days there, before charting the next part of my course south towards my goal in Guatemala. It was my third or fourth night there, and I was trying to get comfortable on my excellent, but thin sleeping mat. All of a sudden a curious awareness broke over me, and I sat bolt upright in bed. That was it. I had ridden far enough. I had reached the end of the ride.
A moment of clarity it may have been, but it still took me a few days to understand how I had arrived at this point. I already knew that my time was becoming limited by the approaching rainy season. By June it would be very wet, and by July the rain really would set in, making cycling somewhere between unpleasant and impossible. The road ahead was also a bit tricky. The states of Michoacan and Guerrero had reputations for crime, to the point where even premium and tourist buses were being held up and highway road blocks. Cycling those roads seemed not quite worth the while to me, even if the risks were still lowish. And then there were the distances. I had a long way to ride. Thousands of kilometres still. I was going to have to ride much, much faster than I had been doing, and have many long days in the saddle.
So I was going to have to put my bike on a number of buses, to make up time and distance, and to avoid shadier parts of the road ahead. The parts I did ride were going to have to be quick, and potentially wet. Once I did get to Guatemala, I was then going to have to turn around and bus all the way back up to Mexico city to fly out. I would be spending more time taking buses than riding my bike! And then I understood. The thing I loved about bike touring was taking my time, and enjoying the ride. Being able to go where I wanted, stop where I wanted, for however long I wanted, and do whatever I wanted. Freedom, in a word. And to reach Guatemala, I would have to give that up.
Of course, I had run out of money by that stage, so that was an issue too, but I figure that if the desire is there, you can make almost anything happen. But my desire, more precious a resource than gold (mostly), was exhausted. I had reached the end of the road, and I realised I was already in the last days of Blue Steel.
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| My 3290th kilometre turned out to be my last |
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