México: Parte 2

What a difference 7000 vertical feet make. From the cool, crisp mountains of the Oaxacan highlands to the humid, tropical coastal plain, the change was evident in the amount of sunscreen-infused perspiration falling from Ryan onto my top tube. It was excessive, and I’m relieved that he washed me once we got to Puerto Escondido. 

On the way, we got caught in what could only be described as a weather apocalypse. We were making good time and closing in on the beach that Ryan had been daydreaming about for weeks. Mother nature didn’t care. For as we soon as we reached 20km away, the winds shifted and the sky darkened. Then the rain came, which was tolerable at first but quickly reduced the visibility to zero as raindrops the size of marbles smashed on the pavement. Ryan made the sensible move to stop under a bridge and wait out the torrent. First it was just us, then some drenched motorcyclists joined us. A little later a couple trucks full of surprisingly jovial passengers dropped by. Call it rainy season solidarity, but the whole group banded together, ate some bananas, sloshed around in the puddles, and generally made the whole experience memorable. 

Surf and Shake

The next couple weeks were spent lounging around surf towns while Ryan played in the ocean. Now that I have a surfboard strapped to me, I can expect more of this in my future. But things did get interesting one frightful night in Barra de la Cruz. Ryan had just returned from a dinner party with his surfing pals when the ground started shaking. He ran out of the room into the parking area while I slowly lost my balance and tipped over. It was an intense 45 seconds followed by an erry silence and utter darkness. Then I heard car tires squeel as the whole group headed for the hills in case a tsunami came. Since I’m writing this, clearly the tsunami never materialized but the destruction and deaths from Oaxaca to Guatemala were all too real. Even weeks later when we passed through the hardest hit town of Juchitan, it still resembled a war zone. Hopefully the persistent aftershocks stop soon so the people of southern Mexico can rebuild their communities. 

Revolutionary Chiapas

After Oaxaca the route veered back inland. In Mexico, this also means up. The Chipas mountains are formidable and Ryan spent days climbing at the pace of a fast walk to reach the colonial city of San Cristóbal de Las Casas. He enjoyed the crisp mountain air and outdoor markets while I relished the high altitude tire pressure. Along the way we were overtaken by a friendly Dutchman named Martijn. He and his bike, Shrek, were also traveling to Patagonia. What are the chances! Actually, as we found out when we arrived in town that night, pretty damn good. Unbeknownst to us, we were on the Pan-American highway. This is the main thoroughfare for bike tourists like us. Not letting the lack of uniqueness get us down, we had a good couple days of riding together and bid Martijn and his fast bike farewell after San Cristóbal. I’m sure by the time this blog is published they will be crossing into Colombia. 

The second to last day in Chiapas was pretty ordinary until we saw the tail lights, cars turning around, and the reason why. Three passenger vans, ten large rocks, and about 15 masked men were strewn across all four lanes of the highway. Despite the hand gestures telling us to turn around, Ryan inched closer to the blockade. When we finally stopped, Ryan picked up his phone and began looking in vain for an alternative route. Then three of the men approached and greeted us with “we don’t like that you’re taking photos”. “Nah, just looking for a way around you guys” said Ryan. Somehow that response was satisfying to the men and after a couple minutes of high-stakes small talk, the barracade was opened and we slipped through onto the empty highway. A few minutes later we saw a military truck full of heavily armed men driving towards the blockade. Not sure what happened with that situation but we didn’t stick around to find out. To the Guatemalan border as fast as possible!