Pedal Coast to Coast 2010

Nothing to say except that I´m in a cyclist´s paradise!  The country road is so perfectly smooth, with the traffic so light and the shoulder so wide, that I forget that I´m in Mexico.  I´m magically teleported to Connecticut´s route 10 between New Haven and West Hartford.  Everything is precisely the same:  the scenery, the weather, everything.

Yep, I know, I´ve been drawing comparisons between Mexican and U.S. roads.  Such comparisons are inescapable whenever I see a memorable road or place.

By the way, I´ve noticed a daily weather pattern.  The day usually begins fully overcast, cool, and humid, sometimes with tangible droplets of moisture suspended in the air.  Around 10 a.m. the first ray of sun carefully tests the waters and hides again.  Two or three more rays over the next couple hours.  Then the sun comes out in full strength and never leaves until sunset.  The humidity subsides noticeably as the sun picks up and though the heat is not as comfortable as it would be in a desert, it´s bearable.  At 2 p.m. I feel a noticeable shift in the direction and intensity of the sun´s heat and the last 2-3 hours of riding are relaxing and enjoyable.

Contrary to what Jose from Carmen told Masha and me, the winds on this side of Mexico have been predominantly from the south, i.e. favorable to our riding.

I´ve been struggling through vivid disturbing dreams lately.  The Mexican government must be secretly mixing something into all salsa, bottled water, beer, and masa as part of a conspiracy to control the citizens.

Five miles north or Monte Gordo, Route 180 leaves the riviera that is Costa Esmeralda and turns inland for a while.

I was eating a quick morning sandwich at a gas station when a wave of reluctance to ride overcame me.  What had I gotten myself into?  What was the point of all this cycling?  But I got myself back on track by reminding myself to take the trip one day at a time and just relax.  The rewards in the form of memorable experiences and people would continue to accumulate.

Everything around is very verdant.  First pastures, then a steep-walled, meandering canyon covered in dense jungle.  The road snakes along the wall, and luckily does not rise and fall too much.

One last curve, and the canyon openes up and spills into a wide (2-3 km) valley of a major river that carries its waters to the Gulf.

I cross the valley and the highway begins to rise into the next maze of narrow green canyons, except this time it doesn not follow their contours.  It is an engineering marvel, built via the “cut and fill” method.  The builders have blasted deep trenches straight through the hils and used the excavated rock and soil to fill valleys between them.  As a result, the road is straight and flat, never exceeding a 3-4% grade.   The U.S. Route 50 between Parkersburg and Clarksburg in West Virginia is another example of this type of road.

The magic number 1,000 (miles) on my trip odometer would have passed unnoticed today, except I noticed it and took a photo.

My map is a little outdated, but the signs have been decent and I have been asking directions a lot, so I haven´t gotten lost yet.  But today I find myself at an unexpected t-junction in a remote highway.  I stop to stare at the map for clues that are not there, and two seconds later an angel on a moped pulls up and points me in the right direction.

Eventuall I cross three big valles and countless smal ones.  The fertile floors of the big valleys are covered with corn fields and geometrically neat orange plantations.

The town of Tihuatlan boasts what looks like a replica of Rio de Janeiro´s Christ the Redeemer.  It stands in the high saddle betwen two hills overloking the town.  I find a hotel, go through my routine, and go for a tasty bite in the otherwise ordinary working Mexican small town.

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.

Forgot to mention in yesterday´s post.  Heavy Easter holiday traffic all day yesterday, and these folks take carpooling to a new level.  Everywhere are cars with 3-4 generations of family members stuffed in and stoically enduring the heat and sweat.  Grandpa behind the wheel;  the matriarch of the family in the passenger seat;  a couple of kids in between or on lap;  in the rear, babies in the laps of kids in the laps of parents;  teenagers sleeping spooned in the trunk (I´m not kidding!);  coolers, beach umbrellas, luggage everywhere in-between — that kind of arrangement…

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Very steamy morning.  The sea is just over the low hills on the right, but hidden from view, except when I cross a river.  The hills are grassy and yellow, with some prickly pear and yucca, the first cactuses of the trip.  (Is yucca a cactus, though?)  I find their presense unexpected, given the humidity around here.

The road has improved further and the traffic is much lighter, and the scenery is boring.  So I settle into a comfortable and uneventful, even mind-numbing, ride.  In fact, only three thoughts cross my mind all day long.  First, “Damn, if it´s so steamy already; how unbearable the heat will be when the sun is in full strength!”  Then, “Oh, the sun is up and the air is getting drier; I can live with that!”  And finally, “What!  I´m already in Cardel?!”

On another note, my Spanish is getting better, even through the short interactions I have.  Plus I learn a few new words every day using the dictionary, but no longer bother writing them down.  If I forget one, I look it up again and try to not forget.  And I´m getting downright chatty with people and inside I chuckle at myself for it.  It reminds me of my uncle Vova.  His English is pretty bad, but he butchers it with such confidence it´s adorable.

If you´re reading this blog, please don´t be shy and let me know what you think.  Or I have no idea if anyone´s even reading it.   Take a second to register and leave a comment.  Or at least shoot me an email.  I really appreciate any feedback.

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A hard roller coaster the first half of the day.  The road wound through the north-western slopes of Volcano San Martin and around its numerous and very pretty baby volcanoes (the technical term is “cinder cones”).  Just as the relief finally began to flatten, the humidity and strong crosswind kicked in.  So, another tiring day.  The countryside looked just like the Mount Diablo State Park in California.

I have a pretty well developed daily routine now.  Probably a good time to describe it.  I get up early (5-6 am), eat a quick breakfast of stuff I bought the night before, get my things together, check the bike, and get underway.  I ride 30-40 miles and then grab a bite (usually a pretty significant meal) at one of the plentiful mom-and-pop eateries along the road.  A typical lunch consists of grilled chicken, rice, tortillas, salsas, and chiles.  Delicious and cheap (think around 3 bucks)!

I love the Mexican salsas.  You usually get served several and slowly sample them all and settle on your favorite.  The cycle repeats at every meal.

Then I ride another 30-40 miles, periodically stopping for snacks or water.

Usually I try to call it a day at a small-to-medium town around 6 pm, shortly before nightfall, and find a place to spend the night.  Smaller towns tend to have cheaper accommodations than larger, more touristy towns/cities.  After all, all I need is a shower and a bed.  Hotels are generally more expensive than private guest houses.

The rest is clockwork:  wash all my stinky clothes (shorts, socks, t-shirt) for tomorrow; hang them to dry; shower; record day´s mileage and conditions in notebook; plug phone (actually used only as alarm); get dressed and get out; find a grocery store and buy water and simple food for breakfast (e.g. tortillas, canned corn, tuna); find a “ciber” and let my people back home know where I am — by email or Skype; then blog.  Finally, check out the town and relax with some food and beer.  Stores close before the internet and the internet closes before the food+beer, hence the sequence. When I get back to the room, I charge the camera overnight (since there´s often only one plug), set the alarm, and fly away to Morpheus´s abodes.

The nightly ritual once we reach the U.S. will be very different, but about that later.

Back on the 2007 ride I didn´t have such ready access to the web, so I quickly fell behind on my blogging and still have many travel notes that I never found time to write up.  That´s why I made a nightly visit to a “ciber” such a priority during this trip.

¡Adiós!

Just had two micheladas at a street fair, so I´ll try to be frief (it´s hard).

Thank god, the pavement has improved.  Plus the road lay through bucolic hilly rural country all day, a welcome change from the flat farmland of Tabasco.

Today I finally reached the southernmost point of the trip (at Acayucan) and it showed:  it was the hottest day so far, 101 degrees F.  Then I headed north into the mountains of Sierra de los Tuxtlas.  Predictably, that led to some climbing, which culminated with a relentless 13-mile-long uphill.  I have only ridden such monsters twise before in my life:  when crossing the Appalachians in West Virginia and when slogging up to the Markagut Plateau in Utah.   On the other side I got rewarded by a heart-stopping downhill and equally heart-stopping views of Volcano San Martin Tuxtla and Lake Catemaco (photos here in due time).

I was spent and decided to call it a day in the lively town of Catemaco on the shore of Lake Catemaco.  All the streets in the 5-block-radius of the central plaza are one big street fair slash covered market slash open-air concert slash auction slash rides for kids (I cannot find the slash because someone has messed with the keyboard).  Not sure why the huge fair.  Perhaps it has some connection to the Easter week or to the fact that it is Friday.  In any case, I have never seen such an eruption of music, noise, and light except at Burning Man.  The craziest part was a loud, rapid-fire auction for …pots and pans!

Ok, time for another festive michelada.  Continuation of the mountain road tomorrow.  Could have taken the flatter alternative highway to Veracruz, but it is the grand Mexico City-bound superhighway, so no thanks, I have seen the damned gravel shoulder before.  Better suck it up in the mountains.

Ah, just remembered.  Masha and I had wondered why there are so few dead dogs on the roads.  Yesterday I saw why.  I was riding a four lane expressway.  A dog wanted to cross it.  It looked left and waited for a lull in traffic.  Then ran across to the median and stopped there.  Then looked right, let the inbound traffic pass and crossed to the other side!

Ciao!

Ouch, what a day!  The monotony of the past two weeks has been shattered by a day of unimaginable contrasts in road quality.  Everything began with 30 miles of space-age superhighway made of concrete, not asphalt.  It was the best surface so far — so perfectly smooth and flat that I couldn´t believe it had been built by human hand.  And the shoulder!  Mmmm!  So wide and smooth you forget you´re riding a bicycle next to heavy truck traffic.

Not for long!  The road conditions soon took a nosedive, hit the low end of the spectrum, and stayed there for the rest of the day.  This monstrosity can be described by rough classification:

(1) Modern paid expressway with four smooth, wide traffic lanes and a spacious shoulder made of …gravel!  You´re basically forced to continuously make the unpleasant tradeoff between ruining your tires in the shoulder and getting hit by a semi truck in the vehicle lane.

(2) Miles upon miles of concrete slabs that mesh together so badly it feels like you´re riding across sidewalk curbs.  Up, down, up, down…

(3) Old beat up roads of dust, sand, gravel, and an occasional patch of asphalt.  Up, down, swerve, skid…

(4) And my favorite:  a beautiful modern divided highway where the line separating vehicle lanes from the shoulder sports 1-inch pieces of rebar sticking out at regular intervals.  Hit one and “poof!” goes your fancy high-tech tire.  Or worse.

Tomorow the route heads for the remote hills around Catemaco and I really hope to not have a repeat of today.

Still, a thing to love about Mexico — and I hope the U.S. will one day reach this level of progress — is that cycling is allowed on absolutely all highways.

Ah, almost forgot:  I hit the 1,000-km mark today!  Yeah! 9,500 km more to go.

The day began with the crossing of another major waterway, the Rio Grijalva.  Though Frontera´s main square and church sit directly next to the river, unexplicably the downtown has no access to the waterfront.  And that´s a shame, because the river is grand and peaceful and would have made a perfect place for cool evening promenades.  The Grijalva brought back fond memories of the Dniester, the river of my childhood.

The vegetation is even lusher and more luxurious than yesterday.  I can see a lot of water everywhere in the form of  marshes and small lakes.  At one point most trees abruptly disappear and I find myself riding in the infinite ocean of golden reeds stretching in all directions.  That´s when the humidity in the air becomes apparent — I can now see the blue mist covering the horizon.  Though the day is increasintly humid and hot, this is not even close to the dreadful steam room that is New York City in June.

Back in 2007 after my NYC to SF bike ride, a black girl in SF told me that I was the darkest white man she had ever seen.  A goal of the current tour is to meet or exceed that high standard.  And I feel like I´m well on the way there.  By the way, check out that trip´s homepage (it too has a detailed blog, lots of photos, and a fully interactive map).

Later in the afternoon, when the sun was no longer so fierce, I took off my shirt.  Decided to do that from now on to get some tan on my torso.  Had been debating it for a few days.  On one hand, the tan lines on my arms from wearing a t-shirt are pretty cool and could be shown off to people.  On the other, my torso was staying shamefully white.  Finally decided to forgo the arm tan lines, since I will still be able to show off the tan lines on my legs!

Mexicans are friendly and curious.  My loaded bike gets a conversation started in a flash.  The conversation is always the same:  Where are you coming from?  From Cancun?  Wow!  And where to?  Alaska?!  WOW!!  You´re joking, right?  Where are you from?  Riding alone?  Etc…  It has been very easy to build rapport with everyone, but especially with the señoras.  The señoritas are usually a little more guarded, unless they are in a group.

Finishing the day in a shabby hotel on the main square of the bustling, dusty town of Cardenas.  Abundant roadside stalls had framed the last several miles of today´s ride, enticing me with ripe local bananas, plantanes, pineapples, mangos, and papayas…

Today I returned from a break in NYC.  Masha´s flying in in a few days and will catch up on a bus.  I was pleased to discover that the bikes were fine where we had left them.  Got to know the lady (the owner of the parking lot) a little more, she´s very nice and moved Masha´s bike inside the house for extra safety.  She sent me off with an escort of two boys on a bicycle to show me the best way to the bridge out of town.

After the Carmen bridge the road turns inland and we won´t see the Gulf  again until right before Veracruz.  The pastel marine landscapes have given way to pastures and ranch land.   The land here is absolutely flat but still very pretty.  Lots of grassy open spaces; lots of man-made ponds; coco palms and big-canopy trees (primarily mangos) stand healthy and tall; dark and mysterious mangrove marshes fringe all this in the distance.  Groups of horses, goats, cows dot the landscape throughout.  Everything is very tidy and, save for all the farm animals, I can´t help comparing this to a golf course.

The roadkill has changed, too.  Raccoons, birds, and frogs have replaced dogs and snakes.

A few stretches of subpar asphalt — coarse, bumpy, or both — have slightly marred today´s ride, but I´m not really complaining… The riding continues to be very enjoyable.

A couple of noteworthy milestones today:  I hit the trip´s 500-mile mark, and hit it almost precisely when crossing into our fourth Mexican state, Tabasco.  The first three were Quintana Roo, Yucatan, and Campeche.  The boundary between Tabasco and Campeche lies partly along the San Perdo River and I got a welcome last glimpse of the Gulf when crossing the bridge into Tabasco.

We finished our Yucatan Peninsula traverse (Cancun to Ciudad del Carmen).  Here are the photos:  http://vokinhsalak.fotki.com/coast-to-coast-2010/cycling-across-yuca/

We’ve been asked why we do this.  We do long-distance cycling for a combination of reasons:

• We love the outdoors (and cycling is just one of the many outdoor activities that we do);
• We meet many interesting people and see a ton of interesting places;
• It’s an excellent workout and we arrive at each daily destination feeling really good!  Plus we get really tanned.
• It lets us tackle many interesting challenges:  organizational, physical, language.  In a word, it’s an adventure!
• It promotes awareness of environmentally-friendly travel as well as our chosen charity (in this case, Lance Armstrong Foundation).

The first five days of riding (Cancun to Campeche), the scenery had been plain and at times unpleasant.  All around stretched a flat, endless dry jungle of crooked short trees and tangled bushes, an occasional palm tree sticking out, and dilapidated farmland here and there.  Many patches of land charred by forest fires.  Lots of garbage on the side of the road. Flattened dogs and snakes on the pavement.  Only the villages and towns provided a degree of variety for the hungry eye.  In Campeche for the first time we saw the Gulf of Mexico; it was of an unsightly green-black hue.

After Campeche our route hugs the shore.  The scenery has improved dramatically.  First, the Gulf has changed its color to a magical deep green!  I’ve never seen a green sea, only shades of gray, silver, and blue, so I can’t take my eyes off the Gulf as I’m riding, awe struck.  Most of the trash has disappeared.  The road stretches wide, smooth, and sunlit.  It’s hot.  We stop and swim in the Gulf.  The beach is made not of sand, but of millions of sea shells.  It’s an advantage, since they don’t stick to the skin.

Met Jose, a local businessman and cyclist.  He teaches English to corporate clients (managers at oil companies).  He treated us to dinner of spicy chicken mole in one of the villages and cycles with us to Carmen.

Masha and I need to fly back to NYC for a week to take care of some family business.  Spent a full day exploring Carmen and buying birthday gifts for my mom and a couple of friends.  One of our headaches was where to store the bikes while we’re gone.  Jose offered to help, but we found a parking lot in the city center whose owner agreed to store our bikes — this solution is more convenient location-wise.  We hope the guy is trustworthy.

Day 6 was Masha’s first day of riding, so we took things easy.  Started relatively late, rode in a leisurely fashion, spent a whole hour at a cell phone store trying to resolve our phone issue (more about that below), had a nice dinner at a ranch, followed by a swim in an underground cave (cenote), and ended up doing just 39 miles.

So, the cell phone story…  Masha wanted to get a cell phone so that we could find each other if we got separated.  This seemingly simple task turned into a multi-day adventure.  Bought a used GSM phone (100 pesos) back at our hostel in Merida, then separately a prepaid CelTel chip (150 pesos) at a convenience store.  We thought hooking things up was a simple matter of inserting the chip into the phone.  Nope.  Turns out, in Mexico a new cell phone user must register the phone with the authorities (I guess so they can track your whereabouts).  The chip came with instructions for doing this via a series of text messages where you provide your name, date of birth, and other info using a strictly defined format.  Our phone did not have a period symbol (!), so we couldn’t send these messages.  A guy at the hostel tried to help by inserting our chip into his phone and texting those SMSs using his phone.  Nope, the protocol asked for our “country code”, which we didn’t know.  Masha went to a few phone stores to try to get help, but they didn’t know anything.  We tried to call customer service.  First they were closed; then we got through but our Spanish wasn’t sufficient to achieve anything. But these calls did almost deplete our prepaid minutes.  In one of the towns on the road from Merida we tried our luck in another cell store.  Luckily the owner was very patient and willing to help, so he spent an hour on the phone with customer service and helped us copy and fax my passport to them in lieu of texting the info.  Of course, they couldn’t do the registration on the spot and told us to check the phone in a few hours.   It was not until Campeche that we finally made our first successful call using this phone.

Masha rode a bus from Maxcanu to Campeche so she could get there ahead of me and do some work.  She got us a room at Monkey Hostel, another pleasant, main-square hostel, where young travelers drink beer, watch soccer, prepare meals together, etc.  A guy from Tijuana taught us how to make quesadillas.

My pocket Spanish/English-English/Spanish dictionary is my new best friend.  Better friend than road maps.

Though I can already construct basic Spanish phrases, my vocabulary after just two months of studying is still pretty meager.  So I look up and write down a lot of words as we encounter new people and situations.  Perhaps the list collected so far can provide an additional descriptive angle to these travel notes:

servilleta (napkin), cuchara (spoon), tenedor (fork), cuchillo (knife), ducha (shower), jabon (soap), bolsa (bag), jugar (to play), proximo (next), supe/supo/supimos/supieron (the four most useful conjugations of simple past tense of verb “saber” (to know)), acotamiento estrecho (narrow shoulder), cachorro (puppy), dolor (pain), robar (to steal), llave (key), carril (lane), entre/en medio (between), por ejemplo (for example), mismo (same), alrededor de (around), pavo (turkey), culebra (snake), hielo (ice), espejo (mirror), oscuro (dark), claro (light [beer]), se me olvido (I forgot), sentar (sit), pluma (pen), caja (box, case, cash register), cansado (tired), semejante a (similar to), seguro (safe, sure), almacenar (to store), guardar (to keep), tejado (roof), impedir (to prevent), herrumbre (rust), proteger (to protect), en frente de (in front of).

And as I wrote earlier, I’ve ditched the phrase book — hadn’t opened it once.

Spent two relaxing days exploring Merida´s museums and other sites. Hung out with the hostel crowd at the Zocalo. Everyone´s very laid back. We drink wine and prepare meals together in the spacious open kitchen/terrace of this 18th century colonial mansion.  I have an open invitation from a guy named Jeff to stay at his house in Eugene, Oregon when I pass through there.

Picked up Masha at the airport today. She went through quite an adventure to get here and was delayed by 24 hours.  She´ll fill you in on the story.

Assembled her bike and rode it around — it rides very well, and that´s another weight off my shoulders.  Hurray!  We´re off to Campeche tomorrow early in the morning.

Meanwhile, we drink beer and chill.

Two more days of intense heat (high nineties) though I´m surprisingly comfortable, probably because of low humidity.  Or maybe I´m just tough.

A few observations:

• Dogs.  Masha and I had been warned about dog attacks on cyclists and even bought special dog repellent spray.  What I´m finding on the ground is that indeed there are dogs everywhere, but they seem harmless.  I´ve seen two types so far:  (1) Most dogs are homeless.  They live in/around villages.  They run around minding their business, looking for food, and don´t even notice you.  Most are emaciated, dirty, and seem tame or cautious of humans.  (2) the other kind are bigger, better-fed dogs that live on roadside farms.  These seem to have nothing to do and to be looking to entertain themselves.  I had two or three suddenly jump up and run toward me with loud barking.  What I do is immediately brake and face them; they lose interest and back away.  But in any case, I love all dogs and love interacting with them.
• Roads.  Took a big stretch of paid superhighway.  First, it turns out that despite ample ¨no bicycles¨ signs, cycling is ok (and free or charge).  Second, ironically, the paid road had worse pavement than free ones.  In general, so far the quality of the roads has been very, very impressive.  On par with, or better than, roads in the U.S.
• Talked with some Maya road workers.  The Maya seem to be much shorter than whites and mestizos.
• Weight.  I´m realizing that I don´t need all of the stuff I´m carrying, which currently weighs in at 35 lbs.  Ditched my water bottles and phrasebook and some maps in the room I had rented in Piste near Chichen Itza.  Will get rid of some clothes and other stuff (will mail it home) and probably should not have brought the tent.
• Passing through a lot of poblados (villages).  Strangely, they remind me of Burning Man.  Same climate, same bicycles and tricicles everywhere, and same flat, white, sunbathed afternoon streets and intersections.
• Merida.  I took to an immediate liking of this colonial city.  Like the villages, it too gives me a weird sensation that I´ve seen it before.  Upon introspection, I realize that feels like a mix of Florence (Italy) and some of NYC´s neighborhoods.  Very cozy!
• Slightly worried about my front wheel:  the hub makes a swooshing noise and the tire has developed a small bulge on one side.  But these symptoms have not worsened in a couple days, so I hope it´s nothing major.

Rented a room in Hostal Zocalo.  It´s very charming and has the best location:  next to the Casa de Montejo  in Plaza Central.  The Montejos were 16th century conquistadors and founders of the city.  Also, according to Lonely Planet, Merida´s central square is one of the ¨finest colonial central plazas in all of Mexico¨.  It´s very lively here, music is playing in the plaza, museums all around.  Will stay here an extra day to explore the town and vicinity and wait for Masha.

I had promised myself to take it easy the first few days (i.e. ride no more than 30-40 mi/day), but the ride felt so good that I ended up doing 82 miles.  Wanted to do another 15 to Valladolid, but my wrists were hurting so I decided to give them a rest.

Very impressed by the quality of the road.  Though no shoulder most of the day, the asphalt surface is smooth as a mirror and drivers give you a full lane when passing, so the ride feels smooth, safe, and comfortable.

Rented a room in a local dueño´s house for US$13, took a long-awaited cold shower (there is no hot water), washed my sweat-drenched clothes, and went exploring the town — refreshed and full or new energy.

When the owner and I were discussing the price of the room, his big selling point was that the room actually had a bed!  I later learned that rooms in Mexico often simply have a hammock that´s hung onto hooks in the walls.

A note on language:  I´m REALLY glad I have been studying a little Spanish (I did the Pimsleur audio course for about 2 months, 30 minutes daily).  It makes things SO much easier around here!  And the locals get much friendlier when you [try to] communicate in their language.  Everyone´s very impressed by my Spanish and I love it!  Actually, my very first surprising revelation in Mexico was that people actually understood what I was saying!  (When you´re learning in front of the computer, you don´t fully believe you´re learning a new language until you actually speak to someone.)

A day of errands in Cancun.  Assembled the bike and rode it around the busy (and a little scary at first) downtown streets.  The bike rides well, phew!

Ran around trying to figure our the phone situation.  Have my old phone unlocked and buy a prepaid chip?  Or buy a local phone and a chip and lug around two phones?  Nobody could unlock my phone and the extra weight of a new phone + charger didn´t appeal to me.  Decided for now to forego a cell phone.  Luckily internet places here are plentiful and have Skype.

Checked out the Zona Hotelera.  It´s the other part of Cancun, where the spring breakers go.  Got to the actual beach when it was dark.  Huge waves.  Red warning flags.  Nobody in sight.  Skinnydipped in the blissful warm water of the Carribean.  After a few beers took a bus back to downtown and went to bed early in preparation for tomorrow´s 6-am wakeup.  Got to leave early to try to beat the heat.  Temperature forecast:  97F.

A pretty seamless day:  off to JFK early; did not get charged the bicycle fee (typically $100!) or even the normal checked baggage fee.  Empty flight with plenty of seats.  Got to Cancun early and passed customs quickly.  Immediately found a cheap airconditioned bus to city center, then a big taxi to get the boxed bike to the hotel.  Spent the rest of the night walking around el Centro drinking beer, eating delicious tacos, and enjoying the quiet nighttime streets (and some loud ones).  Lost two games of pool to a local in a bar on Calle Yaxchilan.  Determined by degustation that my favorite Mexican beer is Bohemia.

As I had secretly hoped, the night air is filled with the same incense of aromatic burning wood (or leaves or something…) that I so loved when I was in Tanzania.

Oh yeah, looked into the box, and the bike seems OK, though there are a couple of dents/holes on the box and one of my handmade cardboard protectors for the read derailleur is slightly squished.  Will find out for sure tomorrow when I fully assemble the bike and test it.

Where: “China 1″, 50 Ave B (at E 4th St), NYC.
When: Wed., 3/3, 8 pm.
More info on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=327743740932