We rise from our slumber and place our feet in dirt dozed loose in construction of a new gas station. The sun is already shining quickly drying our tents wet with the nights dew. Sitting in my nylon porch, I strike a spark to my stove boiling water that will soon energize my mind and body after dripping through course grounds fresh from the mountains of Chiapas.
The days ride proves easier than anticipated and we plummet down a mountain into the crater of long ago erupted volcano. We are on schedule to arrive well before dark when disaster strikes. Ricardo, riding in front of me, comes to a sudden skidding halt. “What the hell was that?” he says. “Dude, your rack just about fell off and jammed your fender into your wheel. It’s pretty crumpled.” Out comes the video camera filming the successful repair. Lesson: Check bolts frequently. We never did check the rest of our bolts.
It is now dark as we search for the not-too-steep hill on which a green-grey car is parked next to a path that leads down to the house of Ricardo’s girlfriends friend. Adresses are non-existent. We think we find the hill when I hear a ping and feel resistance against my wheel. The cobblestone roads just broke my spoke; the first I have ever broken. In a way I am proud but regret the loss of the next day. Continue reading