December 25, 2007 by Naomi.

After convalescing for a couple of days, we looked forward to getting back on the bikes and a hilly ride took us to the ferry 20km up the road. We waited a good 3 hours to get on the ferry (bikes on last unlike any of the other 14 ferries we’ve taken) and watched crazy drivers speed around in circles and reverse all the lorry cargo onto the ferry. The ferry itself was rather swanky and very modern, in fact, the most modern of the fifteen ferries so far. The assurances on behalf of Stenaline that the loos were checked for cleanliness on a regular basis gave us a rough idea of the origin of the boat.

The ferry ride would have been a lot more enjoyable had they not featured a violent film in every single room of the ferry (restaurant, bar and salon room). The only escape was outside on the deck which was dark and cold and extremely windy. So for the best part of six hours, we settled down in the ’salon’ where we just about managed to ignore the first two (one about the US and bombs – yawn - and the other about wild African voodoo animal attacks) by firmly plugging earphones into our ears. N thought she’d give the third film a go - they couldn’t possibly choose three violent films in a row, after all it was two weeks before Christmas. She really ought to have judged the film by its title: Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, but stupidly didn’t and found herself watching some blonde girl driving around the middle of nowhere, getting lost, running over some hill-billy cum zombie, getting her face half eaten by him and then her whole body hacked cleanly in half by another one waiting behind her. So back in the earphones went and out came her book again, trying to obliterate the ghastly scene just witnessed. Meanwhile, children and families watched all of these films in peaceful bliss and N wondered why nobody else found watching such futile and gratuitous violence even vaguely distressing. Some lucky souls, however, slept right through the blood-curdling screams and thumping bombs and murders. We did not.

Another little walk around the ferry and a visit to the bar revealed lots of men with tables full of empty beercans in front of them. Considering the number of lorries that had been loaded up onto this enormous ferry, it was only fair to assume that many of these men would be driving their big lorries once the journey was over, and therefore sharing the road with us humble and possibly invisible cyclists. After some confusion of how to get back to the cardeck, and kitting ourselves and bicycles with every bright bib and bikelight we could find, with some fear for our lives we cycled off the ferry and into the dark. Luckily, we only had to share the road with the inebriated lorry drivers heading inland to Los Mochis for a few hundred metres before turning off to our hotel in the port town of Topolobampo.

The following day we cycled the short distance northeast towards Los Mochis, happily sharing the road with very few lorries and enjoying a lovely wide shoulder on a dual carriageway, almost all to ourselves (although two cars thought it appropriate to drive on the shoulder too). The only setback was a quite a headwind, taking a couple of kms/hr off our average speed.

As we entered the bustling town of Los Mochis, we saw a number of sickly dogs by the dusty roadside. Seeing dogs in Mexico instils an immediate fear in the cyclist, the adrenaline starts running and the heart pounding as the usual barking and chasing ensues at the sight of shiny wheels, and fleshy legs going round and round. In this town, however, all of the dogs seemed too sick to chase us, or take any interest in us at all for that matter, which suited us just fine.

Los Mochis is a lively commercial town with pavements thronged with Christmas shoppers, some interesting restaurants and hardly a gringo to be seen. After the tourist-oriented towns of the Baja, it felt good to be in an ordinary Mexican town. Some enquiring around town led us to Hotel Beltran, where we found accommodation at a much more reasonable price than Baja: for $30 we got a clean room, with phone, cable TV, Mexican (tepid) hot water, an added plus after the cold showers we hadn’t enjoyed the night before, and no cockroaches!

We’d heard that our train to Copper Canyon might not be running the following day, due to bad weather conditions - apparently lots of rain. However, by the end of the day we were assured that the train would be running and booked our tickets on the first class train to Creel, leaving at 6am, much to Paul’s dismay. Bikes are not allowed on the train, so we left them behind in the obliging Hotel Beltran along with lots of other unnecessary, bulky luggage.

After three hours slowly crossing the coastal flatlands, the scenery started to become very mountainous and canyonesque where the train tracks hugged the sides of the steep canyons, and looped around in all sorts of dramatic switchbacks as the altitud increased. Open windows between the carriages gave us some brilliant photo ops, some frighteningly close encounters with trees and tunnels, and even scarier glimpses of the sheer drops into the river below. At a particularly precipitous part of the journey the train slowed down to a crawl as workers stepped aside to let it go past. It was then that we looked down to see the wreck of a locomotive in the river 300 metres below. Two days earlier, the barman informed us, an unexpected rockslide had swept a freight train locomotive into the river below, along with the two railwaymen in it, destroying and killing all involved. It was this, and not the early morning showers which had halted the train service the previous day. Even more details of the horrific accident were revealed by the rescue team who boarded the train at the following stop and were happy to sate the sick curiosity of the passengers. Fortunately, accidents on this train route are very infrequent, the last one occurring some five years ago.

Our arrival in Creel, located some 2,300 metres above sea level, brought us our coldest temperatures of the trip, even colder than the -4 we experienced in the Canadian Rockies, and within hours our lips were chapped and hands were chafed with the cold. As we buried ourselves in layers of our hardly worn thermals and fleeces, we found a lovely bar where we chatted and drank beer with some fellow travellers in front of a very cosy fireplace that kept us deliciously warm.

Creel is a major base for tourists who come up to the mountains to check out the canyons. A day trip or tour is usually required to see the local delights, of which there are many. We ended up paying rather a hefty price for a private day tour in a 4×4, but it was very much worth it in the end, and our guide Julio was a wealth of, we hope, accurate information. The whole area is called the Sierra de Taramuhara, named for the native Indians who have lived there for centuries. The tribe actually calls itself Raramuri (the men who walk well, or run fast) but the Spanish missionaries saw it fit to give them the different name (they thought Raramuri too ‘fuerte’).

Not surprisingly, these people do not fare so well in modern developing Mexico as their traditional way of life – subsistence living in small insular family groups – is threatened by the benefits and temptations of the 21st century. They now earn money selling wooden trinkets, hand woven baskets and traditional blankets while trying to preserve some vestiges of their culture. Although most Raramuri live in small well-built houses, they also continue to live in caves for at least part of the year and our first visit was to a cave where one family live. It felt awkward and a little painful intruding in their home and their way of life as they sold trinkets to tourists and photos for tips.

Our next stop was also on the Raramuri communal landholding, where there are a number of different groups of curious rock formations. First we were shown the ‘mushrooms’ and the ‘frogs’, and then we were taken to the ‘Valley of the Monks’ (a rather prudish name bestowed by the Jesuit priests), but we felt the original Raramuri name of the ‘Valley of the Erect Penises’ was more apt given the size and shape of these large and very phallic curiosities.

After a quick look at another San Ignacio mission (remember the one in Baja?), we headed off down into the canyon, and while Paul ached to get on his much-missed bike and pump his way up and down the steep canyon roads, Naomi thoroughly enjoyed surveying the surroundings from the comfy seat of the 4×4. Julio really knew his way around and stopped the car at various points from which we hiked short distances for some very impressive views. On our way back, we stopped to see the Cusarare waterfall, not an easy place to reach! For the first time, we witnessed what 4×4s were really for, as we had to drive through a river and over very rocky paths and sheer stone before a further 20 minute walk to the spectacular, and much bigger than expected, falls (see photos).

Although we could have spent many more days exploring the area, lack of time once again meant we had to head back to Los Mochis. Another dramatic train journey, and our first encounter with a drunken Mexican lothario – N had a highly entertaining conversation with the rather inebriated Eliseo who spent the best part of an hour wooing her with beer and highlighting the numerous advantages of marrying a Mexican, before P was persuaded to come to the rescue. And before we knew it the 11-hour train journey was over and we were back in Los Mochis preparing once again to head South…..on the bus.

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December 23, 2007 by Naomi.

We apologise once again for the delay in bringing you the updated blog, but technical problems and lack of wi-fi services are making it very difficult for us here in Puerto Vallarta. Please watch this space for further updates over the next week.
We’d like to take this opportunity to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and thank you all for your support and interest in our trip over the past six months.
Lots of festive cheer to you all,
Paul and Naomi

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December 10, 2007 by Naomi.

Our week in Cabo San Lucas was spent doing precious little; lots of lying by the pool, walking on the beach, watching the sunset (and lots of telly!), cooking and of course eating nothing but much-missed home-made food. We also enjoyed a home-cooked and very chatty dinner with Cliff and Julie from Oregon, who we’d met in La Paz. On the way home that night, we had a look in some of the bars that Cabo has to offer. These revealed that Cabo is indeed the United States’ answer to Ibiza, Tenerife and Aiya Napa (where young people go to get wasted, and indulge in all sorts of uninhibited behaviour, usually much to locals’ bemusement). In one bar, we were thoroughly amused to watch a couple having to simulate a number of sexual positions in an allotted time before being drowned in more tequila. At another music-blaring bar we stopped for a nightcap. Naomi, having been fascinated by the American obsession with margaritas, finally decided to try one but was disgusted not only by its tongue-numbing bitterness but also the absolutely rank taste of cheap tequila. Curiously, many Americans who come to Mexico seem to drink nothing but margaritas while Mexicans seem to drink mostly beer, the same goes for sangria in Spain. Where do these stereotype tourist drinks come from? Luckily, we decided it was time for us to go home before more antics revealed themselves.

Another exciting day included a boat trip to Santa Maria (a beach up the eastern side of the cape) for a spot of snorkelling, and although being advertised as just this, turned out to be more of a booze-up than anything else. Free alcohol was offered from the off, though those snorkelling were advised not to over-indulge too early. A group of middle-aged ladies had obviously decided that they wouldn’t be doing much snorkelling and by half way through the trip were posing for photos with deck hand Cristian, quite the looker with his dark eyes and long lashes, as he poured shots of tequila down their throats. We stopped to watch a pod of whales near Cabo’s famous rock arch as we cruised slowly home but it failed to distract people from the drinks for long. We were, of course, as abstemious as usual.

The days passed by far too quickly and of course on Friday it was time to jump on a bus back to La Paz (our day of cycling into Cabo was enough to put us off cycling anywhere near that town again). Much to our delight, we were told that this time we did not have to take wheels off bikes which made the whole palarva of getting on and off the bus an awful lot easier.

Finally, (after 5 months!) a good opportunity to go kayaking presented itself as our hotel in La Paz also ran tours, so we arranged to go on a trip snorkelling and kayaking around Isla Espiritu Santo on the Saturday. Unfortunately, however, P came down with a bit of indigestion so N, after much humming and hawing, decided that the kayaking opportunity could not be missed and went off to leave Paul to nurse himself for the day. We were very lucky with the weather as the sun was shining, and although it was a bit cloudy the sea was very calm and silvery. We were whipped off around the island and stopped at the north end, where we snorkelled near an interesting rock formation covered in bird poo and a bunch of barking sea lions. Things got very exciting indeed when one of the sea lions swam right around us in a circle. Next on the itinerary was kayaking from one beach to another, following the coastline around. This was a truly wonderful experience as we got to see some of the amazing rock formations and caves close up. Stupidly I did not take the camera at this point for fear of dropping it in the water and so missed an excellent opportunity to photograph some brightly coloured crabs and starfish we spotted on the rocks. After some lunch on yet another beach, we set off for a coral reef where we indulged in more snorkelling, even more exciting this time as the water was a crystal clear turquoise blue which meant we were able to see all sorts of different tropical fishes, the names of which N can’t remember now (but one of them looked like Nemo!).

The idea was to get to the Mexican mainland on the Sunday, but that was not to be as P’s indigestion got nastier and N developed her own stomach problems after absent-mindedly gulping some tap water while brushing her teeth. As a result, the next couple of days were spent laying and feeling very low in La Paz, eating bland food, watching the unexpected downpour of rain outside and trying to build up the energy and courage to jump back on the bikes to the ferry terminal 22kms up the road.

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December 6, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Our rest actually turned out to be four days as the whopping 5km hill south of Loreto and what would have been cycling 5 days through largely nothing meant we decided to take easier option of getting the bus from Loreto to La Paz (also on the east side of the peninsula). We now had some experience taking bikes apart and putting them back together (luckily they only wanted the wheels off anyway) and we thoroughly enjoyed the big climb from the windows of the bus, unfortunately the disadvantage being that opportunities to take good photos were sacrificed. We were somewhat shocked, though, by the speed which the driver chose to go, which was far too high for the windy terrain. We thanked our lucky stars that we don’t suffer from travel sickness and were obviously very happy to be going a lot faster than we would have been on the bicycles.

In La Paz we made ourselves at home at the Baja Bed and Breakfast, which is run by a lovely Mexican couple and once again spent two days resting before our last two days of cycling to the bottom of the peninsula. It was also a refreshing change to have access to some better and bigger shops.

Our first day to Todos Santos meant crossing the peninsula to the Pacific side so we assumed that it would be a hilly ride, but were pleasantly surprised to find the terrain relatively flat, and for the first 35km enjoyed a massive shoulder at the side of the road. Not only this, at the Novillo petrol station N was overjoyed to use some of the cleanest public loos she had seen for a long time. The day continued with ease as picnic tables presented themselves at a closed restaurant just as we started feeling peckish (picnic benches never usually appear at this point). Despite a somewhat slow entrance into Todos Santos due to various roadworks and lots of mud, we arrived in good time due to our fastest speed yet at nearly 20km an hour and found accommodation at one of the cheaper establishments in town.

Todos Santos is a haven for ‘artists’ and the galleries and shops tend to attract various hordes of tourists from down the road in Cabo. There is also a Hotel California there, which is even more of an attraction, and despite The Eagles’ insistence that none of them wrote their famous song there, lots of tourists still come to have their photos taken outside it. So of course we stopped for a drink in the famous tequila bar, although we kept it simple with a couple of beers, and didn’t find it too difficult to leave!

We were aware that the road to Cabo San Lucas was a fair bit hillier, which was fine, but awoke to the sound of rain, something we had not thought of since the two soggy days we’d experienced north of San Francisco. We assumed that the rain would stay relatively light and set off after the most extortionately expensive breakfast yet ($6 for a ham and cheese croissant was a joke). The highlight of the morning was crossing the Tropic of Cancer a few kilometres outside Todos Santos although as there were no helpful signposts to indicate this important milestone, we had to take an educated guess at its approximate location. For the first 50 kilometres the rain was light or non-existent (not very tropical!) and the road was somewhat flatter than expected. Again our average speed was a good 17km/hr so when we started getting hungry we decided to skip the complications of making up sandwiches for lunch and made do with bananas and muesli bars instead, and pedal on towards Cabo. It was around this point that the road started becoming a great deal hillier and we found ourselves confronted with several challenging climbs and various complicated traffic situations due to the lack of shoulder. When we were being overtaken by a large vehicle and approaching a blind curve or summit, it was our standard practice to stop at the side of the road, or in the gutter, where possible to let it pass. However, decisions to stop generally had to be unanimous (otherwise we would crash into each other), and this was very difficult when cycling with noisy traffic overtaking, thus inevitable arguments ensued about when exactly it was appropriate to stop, and how to communicate that decision.

The rain became heavier and as we neared Cabo San Lucas (at the very end of the 1600km-long Baja peninsula), so did the traffic. When we reached the top of one challenging climb, we were mortified to see the road dip dramatically back down into a valley and then a never-ending perfectly straight road climbing back up the other side. The traffic complications intensified as we tried to cycle up this long straight never-ending road. Being the first straight bit of road in a long time, cars were queuing up behind slow-moving vehicles and at the first opportunity and were less than concerned about the presence of a couple of wet, harrassed cyclists also trying to get to Cabo. So with cars overtaking lorries and lorries overtaking bikes, someone had to give way!

We had two options during these sordid moments: to stay on the road knowing that the lorries would not have enough space to overtake us at a safe distance and try and enjoy the adrenaline rush of nearly being sucked in under a massive eighteen wheeler, or get off the road and let the traffic pass until it was safe to proceed. The former decision also had the added danger of frantic lorry drivers honking at us to warn us of their presence, and the idiot cars overtaking them (a nerve-wracking and horrendous habit which is enough to shock any poor cyclist off their bike). Obviously being the life-loving and not so dare-devil people that we are, we chose the second option of getting off the road which more or less ensured our safety but made getting up that ghastly hill in the pouring rain a never-ending chore which must have taken over an hour. Added to this madness were several idiotic drivers overtaking in the opposite direction despite the fact that we were coming in our bright orange and yellow reflective bibs and our panniers covered in bright yellow raincovers: N’s furious gesticulations made it very clear how she felt about this although they did nothing to deter these speed-crazed drivers.

When we finally arrived at the top with our nerves more or less shattered we stopped outside a new hotel development and tried to eat a left over sandwich from the day before, but the avocado had already had its day so we decided to try and keep our hunger at bay. At this point, two security guards from the development came out and shook hands with us. We asked them how many more hills there were before Cabo – two - and how many kilometres there were left - 5. Just because you can speak the same language as someone does not mean the information they give you is accurate (this we learnt from a good few years of living in Seville), and were not completely surprised to see a sign several metres further down the road that Cabo was in fact 10 kilometres away. Luckily the guys’ definition of a hill was not the same as ours as they were two very small slopes that took little time to get up, otherwise the rest of the journey was largely downhill. Despite the rain getting ever more heavier, we were not going to arrive in Cabo before another challenge, and that was the roadworks. Roadworks in Mexico usually mean lots of mud, and if it’s raining as it was that day, this means cyclists and everything on their bikes get totally splattered, bike brakes don’t work nearly as well usual and (difficult to spot) potholes fill with filthy water. Added to this was a good ten minutes behind one of the stinkiest lorries that ever traversed the earth, and in front of a car full of very puzzled-looking Americans.

We were welcomed into the town itself with a shout of ‘Gringo’ from some silly boy, at which point N scolded him in a torrent of Spanish (something she has a fair bit of experience with), pointing out that firstly, one does not speak to people that way, and secondly, we couldn’t possibly be gringos as we weren’t American. After trying to dodge all the massive lake-like puddles and speed bumps (little slippy round balls of metal that stick out of the road – very unbicycle friendly indeed), things started looking up when we found an excellent Swiss pastry shop and stuffed our faces with their delicious brownies and muffins. Even better, next door we managed to get our hands on a nice big bottle of gin and two bottles of wine which would hopefully restore our nerves to their usual state.

With panniers stocked, we arrived at our hotel caked in mud, soaking wet and hoping they would be kind enough to let us check in. But not before we had to drag our now very heavy sodden bikes and luggage up the steepest hill in town. Luckily, the hotel staff were very understanding and inquisitive about our trip, although one pair of rather inebriated American women, on seeing our packed up bikes, thought it apt to proclaim, ‘What kind of idiotic, stupid people would cycle in this kind of weather?’ in very loud voices. Not exactly what we wanted to hear at that moment, although we understand that some of our readers are probably having the same thoughts!

We were very relieved indeed to reach our destination and never has a shower, a fancy meal at the hotel restaurant, a gin and tonic and several glasses of wine been more welcome. The dramas of the day, however, were not at an end. A few drinks later, someone (not N) managed to leave the sinktap running. The sink, which we noticed earlier wasn’t draining properly, started to fill. And as we happily watched television thinking that it had started raining again outside, the trickling noise we heard was actually coming from the bathroom. Just as we were about to go to bed for some very well-deserved sleep, we realised that the bathroom and the entrance to the flat were completely flooded. Paul wanted to leave it as it was, but N was not (prime cockroach attraction!), and phoned the front desk who sent the poor maintenance man over to clean up the whole mess with a towel and a bucket because all of the mops were locked away for the night. Yet another action-packed day on the bikes thankfully came to an end and we looked forward to a week of rest, recovery and relaxation in sunny Cabo San Lucas.

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December 4, 2007 by Naomi.

Our next day of cycling was thankfully very straightforward. A very long and largely straight road was punctuated by a small hill in the morning, not to mention a very formidable prison and a lovely beach at San Bruno which broke up the usual scenery of cacti, desert and mountains.

We flew down into Mulegé after ascending a big hill at the end of the day. The town lies 3km in land from the Sea of Cortez, and is a lovely quaint little place, if a little gringofied but understandably so considering its pretty setting. It was there that we discovered how delicious fish tacos are and enjoyed a very comfortable night at Las Casitas hotel, which had a picturesque patio bursting with foliage and bougainvillea. The following day we set off at a very late hour down the coast, where the roads became increasingly hilly and steep. After passing several amazing beaches tucked away in between the dramatic hills of Bahía Concepción (unfortunately dominated by humungous RVs) we stopped for a night of camping at the beautiful Playa Requesón, supposedly one of the top 10 beaches in Mexico, according to Condenast magazine. It consisted of a short sand spit connecting Isla Requeson to the mainland, (but only when the tide’s not too high!).

We made ourselves, the tent and the bikes very cosy under a palapa (basically a little hut with two walls and a roof made of palm leaves to protect against the wind). While N went in for a refreshing dip in the water, Paul quite rightly got a 40 peso ($4) discount on the palapa rental (vehicles are charged 60 pesos). Our lovely American neighbours, Kenny and Peggy and kids, kindly introduced themselves with an offer of ice-cold beer (which tasted a lot better than the two warm cans of Tecate at the bottom of Paul’s panniers) while our Dutch neighbours offered N a very unexpected shower from the side of their hardcore German military truck (converted to an all-terrain RV). As we ate our boil in the bag Trader Joe’s rice, we watched the full moon rise over the bay lighting up the beach. The effect, however, was somewhat lost on N who couldn’t work out why everything (including the moon and the light from her headtorch) was so dark, until Paul perceptively pointed out to her that she was still wearing her prescription sunglasses. In the meantime, our dear neighbours made sure we didn’t go thirsty and poured some much-missed Rioja into our camping mugs, and later, as we finished off a most sociable evening around the fire with our various fellow campers, we enjoyed a few cheeky shots of tequila and brandy.

Naomi was surprised the next morning to find that Paul was actually capable of rising out of bed before 9, and was very pleased to have the rare opportunity to enjoy the 6am sunrise with him over a nice hot cup of tea. Much as we would have liked to stick around and enjoy the beach with our lovely neighbours, as always we had to pack up and leave in good time to cover the next 93km to Loreto before sundown at quarter to six. This was to be a more challenging day with a huge hill at the start of the day, followed by an sweeping descent to kilometres and kilometres of plains and straight, flat road running alongside La Sierra Gigante (one would never think that the mountains in Baja are so huge, but they are). Cycling in desert conditions is pretty demanding; the heat of the sun bore down quite intensely and towards the end of the day we were very pleased to find an unexpected Tecate (beer) sign indicating a scruffy little bar in the middle of nowhere, where we managed to get our hands on some very refreshing cold drinks. The guys there were pimping up their car (installing a beatbox) and we enjoyed a good discussion about European football (a luxury after being in the States for so long). Unfortunately, we were not going to reach our destination without having to climb in altitude once again, and as we were nearing the town the traffic became a little heavier too.

We arrived at our destination with a good half hour before sundown, luckily without the dogs to welcome us, and set ourselves up in the lovely Iguana Inn where we spent a very welcome two days’ rest. The town of Loreto also lies on the Sea of Cortez and has a reasonably maintained malecon (promenade) not to mention (the) Mother of all the Missions (see photos) in Baja California. Its tree-lined streets offer some welcome shade from the sun but gringo levels are high here due to the ’sustainable’ resort being built down the road in Nopoló.

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December 2, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We’d heard far too many bad stories about Mexico, and, after procrastinating for too long in San Diego, feeling apprehensive and armed with copious amounts of toilet paper, we cycled down the road and across the border. The immigration officer welcomed us to Mexico with a big smile and after amiably completing the paperwork, blessed us on our travels through his country - a pleasant change from the accusatory questions we got used to from US immigration.

From the border, we threw ourselves into the heavy, smelly traffic bedlam of Tijuana, the streets of which left little room for cyclists. However, most drivers were courteous, often making their presences known with little friendly beeps and usually left a reasonable amount of space for us to get by. A very busy three-lane road coughed us up into the bus terminal, where we were very relieved to have arrived safely, after all the bad impressions we had been given about Tijuana.

Of course, getting on the bus with our bikes was going to be no simple project. After the information we had received previously, we were not sure about our chances but, after a polite chat with the friendly ABC staff, and with everyone ignoring the big ‘No Bicicletas” sign, we were relieved that we would, after all our worrying, be allowed to put our bikes on the bus. However, it did mean taking the wheels and pedals off, finding bags to put them in, turning the handle bars, wrapping up the chains in cardboard, all the while trying to keep track of 8 panniers, two handle bar bags and two sausage bags lying around us. The attendants didn’t look very impressed when they saw our ridiculous quantity of luggage, persuaded us to take some on with us and took the rest in anyway and loaded it all up. It was a nice moment to get on the bus and take our seats, despite sacrificing most of our spacious legroom to about half of our panniers.

We were even more relieved the following morning to find that our bikes and copious amounts of luggage had arrived in San Ignacio (a small town in central Baja) with us, and entertained the local shopkeepers and kids with the whole process of putting bikes and luggage back together again. After being somewhat jaded by the constant desert and cacti in the morning fog, as we cycled the short distance into San Ignacio, we were pleasantly surprised by the palm trees and lagoon that welcomed us; it was indeed an oasis. On entering the main square, we were even more surprised to find a big festival going on, with all the schoolkids dressed in various costumes and marching around, forming a circle in the square while each group of children showed off their dancing talents. With all our futile procrastination and worrying, we had failed to notice that we were entering town on the Día de la Revolución, a national holiday.

We spent the rest of the day relaxing and doing bike maintenance at the lovely Casa Lereé, highly recommended for a first night in Mexico, where we enjoyed our comfortable room, a lovely garden and an excellent library. We also chatted and shared photos with our friendly neighbour Judy, from South Korea, who is travelling around the world.

Our first day of cycling in Mexico was full of surprises, good and bad. We were quite nervous about cycling on the roads, as we had seen from the bus that there was very little shoulder and we had also been warned several times about how awful Mexican drivers were. The traffic on the Transpeninsular Highway was very light on the day we cycled to Santa Rosalia, and the only time there was really cause for worry was when there was traffic going past us in both directions – moments that were nerve-wracking but few and far between. We needn’t have worried as, when these did occur, most of those travelling in the same direction as us slowed down and waited until opposing traffic had passed before overtaking. Of the four cars in total who overtook us in a careless manner with little regard to our safety, three had California plates. All of the lorry drivers were totally respectful and many people (as in Alaska) either waved at us, or gave us thumbs up. The scruffiest cars and their drivers were undoubtedly the friendliest and most enthusiastic about giving us encouragement. But this was only our first day…

Thus we made our way over some challenging landscape: lots and lots of gradual ups on a seemingly endless highway surrounded by desert, cacti and solidified lava, and then the ‘Cuesta del Infierno’ a hardcore 18% downgrade into whopping canyons and weird rock formations (photos a must see). After expecting to see the Sea of Cortez over at least five hills, we finally caught sight of it and were somewhat relieved to see signs of the town of Santa Rosalia. Well, the outskirts of town were marked by beach and wasteland absolutely covered in rubbish, and then we had our first run in with the local dogs, who were very excited indeed about our arrival. The dog dazer was one thing we’d forgotten to put on our list, and how we regretted it while poor Paul tried to fend off the dogs’ snapping jaws at his ankles. Luckily, their territory seemed to be marked by some invisible line and we finally escaped their attentions and happily cycled on into town.

We chose a hotel recommended as ‘adequate’ in the Lonely Planet, and although the room was very basic compared to where we’d stayed the night before, and the bathroom gave off a rather unsavoury smell, we were tired and decided to take it as we were promised hot water – our biggest priority at that moment. The shower, with its actually barely tepid water, soaked the floor, and as we were unable to find anyone or anything to help us mop it up, we used the only towel they provided and all the bits of newspaper Paul was prepared to part with, and headed out for an excellent dinner at El Muelle. After a wee walk around town, we returned to our room, not overly enthusiastic about sleeping in the basic bed and the very worn and not very clean-looking sheets. This turned out to be the least of our worries when we found the bathroom and its door crawling with cockroaches. After killing the first wave, we spoke to the owner’s wife (a very interesting and talkative character with lots of bright blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick) who came and sprayed the bathroom with insecticide…to very little effect. They still came crawling in, from the holes in the plumbing under the sink, between the sink and the wall and god knows where else. After insisting that we have the spray back, we brandished it against the babies, teenagers and whopping adults in our waging war, all scurrying around – and trying to come into the room as well. This was something we could not deal with - the creatures making their way into our panniers and our bed had to be prevented at all costs. The bathroom door was at the end of the bed, and after failing miserably to put up our new mosquito net (it came with no instructions and with very confusing attachments!), there was no way of guaranteeing that the nasty things wouldn’t come crawling all over us as well. The poor sordid towel used to wipe up the shower leakage was called into action again to block the gap between the bathroom door and the floor, and was sprayed liberally to try and deter the beasts. Unfortunately, a couple of the lither ones still managed to get through our first line of defence.

We were very very tired but sleep was not going to come easily with the dread of cockroaches in the room. We managed to fall asleep sometime after midnight for a short time, but N then reawoke with that horrible annoying pee that one has to do in the middle of the night, which is usually not an issue but when camping or having to face a bathroom full of cockroaches becomes a battle of wills. After putting it off for a very long time, knowing that those ghastly creatures were waiting for her in the bathroom, nature of course had to be satisfied: there were more of the buggers waiting (although not quite so abundant now) and one of them had to make its way onto her leg mid-pee, which just about shot her last nerve; sleep was going to be very difficult to come by once again, and tears came instead.

As a result of the night of cockroach hell, the next day we were not in any mood to cycle anywhere. So off we went for brekkie, and it didn’t take too long to decide that we’d stay another day, but move up to the swankiest hotel in town - at a cheap $60 and the state we were in, it was an easy decision. Hotel Francesa is a wonderful colonial style hotel made almost entirely of wood. Our room led onto a lovely verandah with an excellent view of the sea and the adjacent copper mines. Despite (or maybe because of) the brown colour of the wooden bathroom, not a cockroach was to be found and a very restful day was had enjoying the hotel pool and catching up on well-deserved sleep.

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