75% of Mexican drivers are ignorant morons when it comes to sharing the road with cyclists, which becomes apparent on shoulderless roads with heavy traffic. My biggest pet peeve is when they zoom past me in my lane without slowing down. The other classic is passing the oncoming traffic in my lane. These people should be pulled over and shot in the head. Back in Yucatan this wasn´t much of a problem: either the traffic was light or the road had a big shoulder.
One tactic I sometimes use to make them slow down when there is oncoming traffic is ride in the middle of my lane to deny them the passing space. When the oncoming traffic ends, I move to the right to let the cars behind me pass, hopefully in the oncoming lane. But I don´t love this solution, because it can lead to even more dangerous driving.
Yet, Mexican drivers somehow seem friendlier than their U.S. counterparts. Here I get none of the American self-righteous blaring of the horns; only short polite honks to let me know they´re there.
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The day began with a little irony. I had tried since the beginning of the trip, but was unable to, leave the hotel before 6 am. I finally did so today only to find out that last night Mexico moved its clocks forward one hour!
Just as much as yesterday´s was a mindless ride, so today´s was emotionally intense. It began with another cool gray morning and a comfy 4-lane divided highway with a huge shoulder. So far, so good. But soon I noticed the hulky outline of a mountain range stand out of the mist ahead. Mountains?! Can´t be. But a fresh look at the map confirmed it. A side range of the Sierra Madre Oriental juts eastward here and comes close to the coast. The nice highway promptly ended, replaced by a narrow, winding road through the mountains. So began 2-3 hours of the white-knuckle shoulderless-road nonsense.
But the sun came out, the humidity began to subside, the mountains moved farther back and to the left, and the road got flatter. The highway joined the Gulf coast and never left it for more than several minutes. The sea is two colors here — green near the shore, blue toward the horizon — very pretty. I could feel, though not always see, its calming presense. The tail wind picked up. An electric blue-and-black butterfly appeared and fluttered next to me for 15 seconds. Wow, I didn´t know they could fly at 13 miles per hour! I could feel my venom dissolving.
A group of chatty scool kids crowded around my bike at a gas station where had I stopped for water and showered me with questions and wows. I melted further and showed them all my cool tools and Masha´s extra-light pump, and explained my fancy puncture-resistant Kevlar tires, and raised my pant leg to show off my biker tan…
Later on I stopped at a roadside restaurant for a bathroom break. Had the now typical Q-and-A with the owners, husband and wife. The woman had a look of motherly concern and asked me whether I had eaten yet, where do I sleep, etc. She made me two sandwiches and forced me to take them, despite my protestations that I had no more room in my bags.
Then my front tire began to give off a tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk sound. Turned out to be a piece of gum. Never had gum stuck to the bike, only to shoes. I rubbed the fucker with a napkin, then dug my hand into the roadside dirt and rubbed the tire with sand and gravel — to no avail. Eventually just rode on and the asphalt gradually rubbed the gum off. Never before had I craved rough pavement. But another piece of gum attached itself to my front tire at the next gas station.
I had been questioning my decision to bring a tent, pad, and sleeping bag to Mexico, since I´ve stayed only in hotels or rooms so far. But today I finally made use of that gear — came across a campground on the beach and thought why not! The place is in a small seaside village, Monte Gordo, on Costa Esmeralda, and I was concerned that I wouldn´t find a ciber to email my mom. But I did! It was a simple room with computers in somebody´s house in a sandy back street.
It was great, for a change, to wash off the sweat in the sea, instead of a shower, though I did also wash off the sea salt in a shower afterwards. The swim in the evening Gulf was delicious. Too bad the sand here is dark tan to brown. It makes the surf and beach look dirty, though they are actually clean.
The sky darkened but the noise of trucks on the highway 150 meters away never ceased. I walked over to the road, bought some beer, and sat on a bus stop taking in the endless river of headlights moving slowly by. The 18-wheelers and 34-wheelers heaved their bodies over the rows of speed bumps with guttural roars or tired but dangerous animals.
On the beach teens talked and laughed around orange bonfires. Clouds arrived from the East and covered most of the sky. I stood ankle-deep in the surf and looked intently past the many rows of wave breaks, but could not find the horizon.