June 21 to 24, 2004

June 21st
I take my bike in to check if my chain is worn out. Bad luck bites and I need to replace the chain and my freewheel (rear cogs). I head home sort of mad after spending lots of money like that and also sick to my stomach from something I ate. I diarrhea myself better and head back downhill to the shop. Prognosis is bad, my new chain jumps on my crankset (front chainrings) and it turns out to be sick. It also needs to be replaced, the whole operation busts us for 500pesos (50 US 70CA) In the Canadian scale of things it’s not so harsh, but we are budgeting to get all the way to Argentina on poco cash. We work it out by paying for hotels as little as possible and cooking our own food almost all the time on our one-burner. At this point we get scared that we may have to work along the way and clamp down on our wallets. One very important thing happens in the bastard mechanic’s shop, he bends my rear rim outwards where a rock has dented it telling me that the strength of the metal will not be compromised. As he is a professional mechanic who works with racers I believe him. Those who want to know what happened hold on to July fifth for the big surprise (and why I call him names).

Tuesday June 22nd, 2004
We head out in the afternoon to bike through serious hectic traffic and up a long hill for an hour to the ruins of Monte Alban. The prize is twofold, we tour the ruins assimilating as much information as we can, to our surprise the natives who built these temples were Zapotecos just like our friends in Santa Maria de Yaviche. Prize #2 is the long descent, I love to go fast and this hill satisfies my need.

June 23rd
Early in the morning we jump on faithfull Nelly and Burt and whip them into action, galloping through the Wednesmorn traffic, out through the outskirts, and down the Oaxaca central valley. Just before hitting the bountiful countryside we pass a monument to stupidity. The road forks, left Mitla and right El Tule. We go left and cross under the road that goes to El Tule that passes three stories above our heads. In short, instead of pulling a simple fork in the road somebody decided to build a five-story monument to stupidity, fork the road the wrong way and then make things right with a bridge. We shake our heads at humankind and notice that I have a headache. The symptoms of fatigue and shock that struck me the day we left Acapulco are recognized. We stop at a roadside Mezcal factory. This is strictly homemade, we see a horse pulling a large round stone in circles to grind up pieces of smoked cactus that are then fermented to produce a smoky tasting alcohol. The smoked cactus is soft and sweet, we chew on it as a little lady gives a tour of the works and defends us deftly from her drunk husband. We buy a liter for a song and move on. My fatigue makes itself known by taking away any capability I might have once had to make decisions. Johanne becomes frustrated with my handicap and takes matters into her own hands guiding me into a big park in the early afternoon and cooking lunch while I sleep on a bench plagued with chills in my sleeping bag. The slightest amount of “work” such as chewing my food is unbearably hard and causes me to pant in quick shallow breaths as my body shivers and I rock back and forth for comfort. The park keeper says that it’s not safe to stay here, as they don’t lock up at night, but we’re not going anywhere. I’m already asleep in the tent. He let’s us leave the bikes in a locked up tool shed for the night (with our money).

June 24th
I’m a little better after having slept a food fifteen hours. I still have a headache, but I can make breakfast to take over from Johanne who has been serving me hand and foot. We head out in the late morning. To fill our water bottles and bags we buy a 20L bottle and give half of it back. We are enter the mountains with a long descent. We scream and yell our way down the slope that is cut into pastel turquoise green rock outcroppings, the colors are startlingly clear and crisp and the mountain air is revitalizing. We pass a small town and begin to climb. We stop beside a field of tiny corn plants and have lunch under a tree. The road goes up from here. We lie down and sleep for a bit on our blanket as ants march by carrying leaves. They come running for two of our discarded banana peels and wave goodbye to four giant wheels that roll on up the mountain followed by big gray clouds. Thirty seconds are given us, in which to stow anything that might be damaged by the rainwater and we do, just before being attacked by a full on onslaught of sideways rain. We huddle on the side of the road as enormous tractor-trailers wiz up the hill and wait for the madness to stop. It lightens up somewhat and we make our way up the road being careful not to die. Our camp-spot is in view of the road, but we can also see a vast valley stretched out below us as we prepare for the night. I feel a little bit better but far from perfect. That night I notice that my eyes are hurting because I forgot to wear my sunglasses.