Bicycle Banditos

After 4 days of self imposed bedrest in Mazatlan, we were fit enough to get back on the bike. As is often the case, hindsight (and a return to health) was necessary for us to appreciate how ill we had been, and how this had affected our morale. In the days that followed we began to warm to Mexico as a country, feeling more comfortable in our surroundings and enjoying the experiences of this huge and diverse country.

One unique cultural event was the celebration of el Dia de los Muertes (Day of the Dead) on November 2nd. Mexicans remember loved ones who have passed away not by dressing in black, not in hushed tones, but with a celebration engulfing the whole town. The graveyard is transformed with the invigorating colour of flowers, elaborate wreaths testament to the care of each family. Outside the walls, stalls sell cold beers, corn and tacos. I had to fight the British urge to whisper reverently as I walked through the memorials. Although the attitude to death was difficult to adjust to, it was fantastic to see whole families united in remembrance and celebration.

Sunday 9th November - Our legs were heavy as we rode south from Manzanillo. Despite covering few miles that morning, we welcomed the sight of a lakeside restaurant and the excuse for a cold Coke in the shade. We locked the bikes together and descended the steep stone steps to the lake, where tiny fishing boats sauntered across the surface, entire families on the shore awaiting the catch. The half hour break inevitably turned into 2 hours, but we eventually mustered the energy to leave. Reaching the top of the steps, our brains were slow to react to what our eyes could clearly see - both bikes, complete with all our worldly possessions, being hauled onto the back of a pickup truck by 4 Mexican men! We ran to the truck, surging with adrenaline, and physically hauled our bikes from the pickup, dumping them unceremoniously but safely away from the vehicle, whose driver attempted in vain to reverse away. The bikes were still locked together - this combined load proved cumbersome enough to delay the would-be thiefs. We stood guarding our precious bikes, exchanging bi-lingual insults, caught between anger and shock. One of the men, clearly the scummiest of the scumbags, a walking offense to humanity, persisted to shout abuse at us and our 'madres'. Thankfully this disgrace was driven away, though not before drawing the blade of his knife, threatening us, and aggressively ripping open his white vest. Looking back, we thought he probably regretted this, as he would have to buy a new vest, and noted that he should probably do some pectoral and ab work before repeating such a gesture. Pumped with rage, tempered with relief, and barely able to comprehend how close we had come to being '2 guys walking to Costa Rica' we suddenly saw 2 cyclists roll up, the first we had seen in Mexico! We gradually relaxed as we related our encounter to Mike and Jen (Canadians on an epic bike trip to South America). Mike's suggestion seemed the best plan - 'ride 20km with us and let's get a beer inside you!'

As it happened, we managed to get many beers inside us, courtesy of a biker (of the motorised kind) named Roberto. Roberto had ridden past our new Canadian friends the day before and made no hesitation in flamboyantly inviting us to his 'Gaudi' style beach front villa. In his eyes we were all part of a 2-wheeled brotherhood, grandly coining the motto '2 wheels, 1 world', later adding '1 heart to this sentiment after several more Coronas. Despite initial concerns that we may have gatecrashed a Mexican Hell's Angels meeting, the surreal gathering of English, Canadian and Mexican resulted in a hearty drinking session. As we sat in the villa's rooftop jacuzzi, Roberto emerged with a giant Union Jack flag! Greg and I were inspired to scale the walls to deliver a merry version of God Save The Queen, proudly patriotic in our dripping wet cycling shorts.

Roberto's hospitality (and our hangovers) gave us the excuse we needed to avoid riding, spending a day wallowing in lazy relaxation. He confirmed his standing as an incredible host by treating us to fresh, home made guacamole for dinner, and a parting breakfast of huevos (eggs) the following morning. We were sad to leave, but the immortal cry of '1 world, 2 wheels' echoed in our ears...

We rode with Mike and Jen, enjoying the company of a larger group as we pedalled along one of the most beautiful stretches of Pacific coastline in Mexico. We discovered beaches that I was sure only existed on movie screens, camping under palapas (thatched palm roofs) just feet away from where powerful surf pounded the golden sands. One night in Maruata, one such paradise, we walked along the beach in the hope of seeing sea turtles arriving to lay eggs, as Greg had spotted tracks and a freshly hatched egg earlier that day. The full moon illuminated the sands like a giant torch, and we soon saw a dark shape emerge from the ocean. A seal? A turtle! We watched in silence as she dragged her huge shell onto the sand, seemingly exhausted, but summoning the energy to dig a whole in which to lay eggs. This was more than we could have hoped for, but further up the beach we stumbled across a small fenced area, where 2 Mexican girls monitored eggs for research. Some of the eggs were hatching, baby turtles ready to embark on their pilgrimage to the ocean, and we were invited to hold them first! With a turtle in the palm of my hand, I knew we had been fortunate enough to discover something special, a lifelong memory.

After 4 nights of immaculate camping on the beach, it was a shock to find ourselves in the scruffy town of La Mira as darkness crept in. We were informed that the only hotel in town was in fact a motel, which Mike informed us meant that here in Mexico, clients pay by the hour. This was confirmed when we saw that each room had a garage next to it, fitted with a curtain to ensure total anonymity for vehicle and driver! Greg and I were happy to sleep on the garage floor, so we bartered a cheap deal for 9 hours sleep for the 4 of us. After a few beers and baskets of steaming, fresh handmade tortillas at the 24 hour cafe next door, we returned to our anonymous garage for a cracking kip - though I had to wonder what the lady who owned the motel though of us...

I will close the blog today with a message of thanks. Throughout the trip, during moments of exhaustion, weakness and frustration, I think of the huge number of people who have supported us and wished us well. An incredible example of this was the Clapp Trapp Cabaret night organised by my Aunty Jen last Friday - a brillant evening, and a very tidy sum towards Candelaria Yalicar school! Thankyou to all those who performed, attended, especially Jen and all of our familes who have been so supportive throughout! It really keeps us going when bums are sore!

We should be in Guatemala in a week, so check in for pictures of the school to see where the money is going.