March 28th, 2004

We left Vallarta early this morning with a hug and goodbye for Gustavo and Brenda. I’d been looking forward to riding again after nearly 2 weeks and I got all excited in the crack of dawn preparations. As excited as I could be that is, with my eyes half shut. We rode the now familiar chemin towards downtown Puerto and got caught up in what would soon be the Terry fox run. Good for us, two empty lanes. At one point we got a bit stuck beetween about 100 kids on bikes who were raring to go at the starting line and the arriving Canadian Ambassador who deserves at least a pie in the face for saying that NAFTA is saving Mexico.

It’s off through the beachfront tour of Vallarta and down a jungle-like green rolling coast. We see great big rocks sticking out of the ocean. We have lunch and siesta at the small beach town of Boca de Tomatlan where the peops treated us with particular coldness. We head away from the beach and up a fortunately more temperate hill climbing for the rest of the day. We be riding above a beautiful mountain river with big round rocks and rushing cascades. We camp behind a roadside restaurant to the smell of wood shavings and the sound of a water pump.

The water pump shut off in the middle of the night and a light rain fell, accompanied by the sound of a nearby coo coo clock. We set off. The jungle-green landscape often puts forth men and kids riding a horse or donkeys as well as all sorts of livestock grazing unattached on the verge. We climb hills up into a pine forest for most of the morning before beginning our descent. We see a local milk collector when we stop to repair a flatty. The white stuff was destined for a nearby creamery to make cheese and other creamy googas. The rancher who delivered the two frothy pails told us ‘yeah I’ve been there’ when we said we were from Montreal. and then proceeded to enumerate ‘Washington, Oregon, California’. It’s not unusual for people down here to think that Canada is somewhere around southern California.

At siesta time I broke the hammock in an abandoned house and fell a full foot and a half onto my surprised behind. Some locals on horses guided us to a nearby river for a swim but we couldn’t stay long before hitting the tarmac again. We proceeded to head downhill through rolling valleys and passed El Tuito. Near Tomatlan we passed a big banana plantation with hundreds and hundreds of banana bunches in bags hanging from the trees like white beer kegs. We crossed a wide and serene river at sunset with many tiny lilies. I have been thinking of Casey, who is somewhere south of us (Chiapas?) and might join us for a couple of weeks on the road. I can’t wait to see him. We pull off near eight and camp on a dirt track near a field full of far of grayish cattle. Some wonderful dehydrated spaghetti sauce à la Marie Paul is served up with gusto.

March 30th, 2004

We’re dragged out of bed early by the idea of a big day. The idea is to get to Melaque, a good hundred klicks away. The sun is already hot by nine as we sweat it through some hillyness. We spend the noon hours at a roadside restaurant playing cards and reading. We manage some good time in the afternoon with a series of long descents. The elusive sea is around the corner we’re sure. At one point Jo gets a flat and we realize that a tiny metal thread is all that attaches her front derailleur shifter cable. The ocean’s not happening and we sneak into a deserted barnyard for the night. Cows and horses accompany us through the night after we attempt to smear off the day’s grit with two baby wipes each and flop into humid slumber.

Our riding is hot’n gritty, the mountains have us tired out. After ten we decide to stop in the beach town of Manzanilla and spend the day doing some much needed maintenance and repairs. I replace my first broken spoke and we install 8 new brake pads. Where’s Casey? His email says we might see him in a couple of days.