The first 10 miles were difficult, but doable.  I was headed north from Juchitan and had mostly a headwind.  When I got to the main highway I started heading east, and this is where the fun started.  There now was a side wind.  I rode without my feet strapped in, as I frequently had to stop the bike suddenly as to not tip over.

Then it got rough.  The terrain changed a little and the gusts became even stronger.  I would bike a little and be blown onto the shoulder.  I tried to do this for a mile or so, trying to convince myself that I’d be able to make it.  But I looked behind me to see how little progress I had made in the last hour, and the reality was I was going to have to hitch a ride.

I tried for a few minutes, and gave up, figuring I was not on the right spot on the highway.  I made it half a mile more when I got blown into the gravel shoulder again, and then as I was loosing my balance, jumped off the bike into the ditch right as a gust of wind rolled the bike once over.  Thankfully me and the bike were just fine.

I sat there for a minute, then dragged my bike back up to the road and held my thumb when pickups came by.  It was not long before a family pulled over and took me 40 miles down the road, where there wasn’t nearly as much wind.  Kind of a tough decision, as I know other cyclists have been able to bike through this stretch, but today it was just looking too impossible.

After getting back on the road on the bike, a little ways on I noticed a person on the highway walking quickly, running at times.  I’ve seen plenty of folks out on the highway, but most seem like they know what they are doing (often out herding animals or whatnot).  As I biked by I could tell he was exerting himself, so I shouted out asking if he wanted water.  He said yes and crossed the highway.  The guy couldn’t have been older than 20, and had a swollen and bloody lip.  He gulped down the bottle of water I gave him, and I picked up just a little of his story.  He said he had gotten robbed (though he didn’t explain where, or how he had ended up alone on the highway, or where he was trying to get to today), and he was from Guatemala and was trying to make his way to Mexico City and beyond to ‘el otro lado’, the other side.  He didn’t really want to talk,  and kept walking on.  A grim reminder the migrant’s struggle can start thousands of miles south of the USA border.

I’m now in Tapanatepec, where the highway splits, either continuing down the coast to Tapachula and Guatemala, or back inland to Tuxtla Gutierrez and San Cristobal, which is what I’ll be doing.

Thank you all for the birthday messages! I have fond memories of birthdays in years past with family and friends, and this year was a little different but I was still able to celebrate and be thankful for another year of life. I think it was a year ago on my birthday that I decided to give my ‘three months’ notice at work, which pretty much sealed the deal that I’d be going on this trip. It is crazy to think of everything that has happened in the last year.

For the past many months I’ve been in the mountains of Mexico, pretty much since the long climb from the coast to Tepic in December. The past few days were a climb out of the Oaxaca City valley which was ridiculously curvy, but with very little traffic which was nice. Here is a satellite view of part of the road, with the line Google has used to represent the road. Usually Google has pretty accurate representations of roads, but it looks like they just gave up on this one:
View Larger Map

Once I got to Tehuantepec, I had 15 miles of perfectly straight and flat road to Juchitan. Juchitan is marked on the map below. I came out of the mountains today, and will be heading along the coast for a couple days.

This is the narrowest part of Mexico, only about 125 miles, and the lack of tall mountain ranges (the lowest point crossing from one ocean to the other is only 750 feet) means that all sorts of weather makes its way through here from both the Pacific and Gulf of Mexico. I’ll be going through a town tomorrow called La Ventosa, or “The Windy”. I got a taste of that wind today, and know it is just a little of what is to come as I head east. Supposedly trucks get blown over!

Cyclists will tell you that they would much prefer a hill than headwind, but worse than those two is side winds with gusts. With hills you can find a rhythm while pedaling and you know that you’ll get to the top eventually. With headwinds you just have to pedal through it and hope that the next day treats you better. But side winds can make biking impossible. But many cyclists have survived the isthmus. It’ll be challenging!

I should be in Chiapas in a few days, and then will head up to San Cristobal de las Casas, which is up in the mountains. Its a 6,000 foot climb in about 40 miles!

Today was a day of contrasts.  I left Atlacomluco with an idea that it was going to be hectic.  I had spend time online looking for information about a brand new highway that goes from Atlacomulco to Texmelucan, near Puebla.  It was built so traffic could go around Mexico City, which is exactly what I want to do.  However, the part from Atlacomulco to Jilotepec hasn’t been finished, and what I had read is that the opening of this segment is being eagerly anticipated because the tiny country highway that is the only other option is terrible.  And I agree.  Potholes, idiot drivers, absolutely no shoulder, barking dogs running after me.  Awful architecture to boot (then again I was probably just looking for more reasons to hate this road).

I finally got to Jilotepec and found the entrance to the new tollway, which still hadn’t opened.  I chatted with some of the engineers and they said go ahead!  So I had a few miles of brand new tollway all to myself.  Then I arrived to the part which is open, and took this the 12 miles to Tula.  The shoulder seemed wider than the lanes from earlier today.  But the problem is the bridges don’t have a shoulder, and traffic is so fast that it is hard to know if two trucks are coming behind you or not.

When I exited at Tula, the guard at the tollbooth told me that bikes aren’t allowed, so go around the side so the sensors won’t think a car went through without paying (the usual routine on tollways here in Mexico).  I’m not sure I want to get back on the tollway, as the services on it are many miles apart and there is very little shade to rest under.  On the other hand, I don’t know what the safest back roads are.   I think I’ll sleep on it and decide tomorrow.

I set out today from the old cobblestoned town of Tlalpujahua, famous for its nearby mine that operated for many centuries.  I had used satellite pictures to find a long way to Atlacomulco.  I found a route that would take me up to 10,100 feet, and down into the valley I would have come through had I gone through Angangueo to see the butterflies as I had originally hoped for.  But the recent flooding and mudslides have devastated the area, the worst disaster the town remembers.  I had my heart set on going there, and I will be back one day.  Unfortunately it seems as though assistance to this community is severely lacking at the moment.

I had gotten close to 10,000 feet in Utah and then again a few days ago in Michoacan, so this was a good chance to break that mark.  I made my way east across the Michoacan- Mexico border, and the headed south on some paved roads.  I passed a few small towns not in my atlas, and then followed my nose up a dirt road into the hills.  For a whole very quiet hour, no cars passed either direction, and the only people I saw were a family washing clothes in a creek.

After emerging from the pass I had a spectacular view of the valley hundreds of feet below, and off in the distance, the snow-covered peak of the Nevado de Toluca (gotta love the redundancy).  This volcano is the 4th highest peak in Mexico at 15,354 feet.  I could see one other snow covered peak farther behind Toluca but am not sure which it was.

The dirt road turned into pavement again, and then the cars returned.  I think I’ll be looking for some more back country routes again.

I completed the 7,000th mile of the trip today (11,265 km), and am feeling great at the moment!  Very happy to be back on the road after a slow last month.  Tomorrow I head to Tula, Hidalgo, about 50 miles north-east of here.

Well I’ve not gone too far since last updating 3 weeks ago (but I have done my best to keep my location on the map updated).  After stopping by in Patzcuaro on my way back from Mexico City, I returned to Guadalajara, where my bike was patiently waiting for me (and with a nice layer of dust).  I thought I’d be eager to get back on the road, but found myself in Guadalajara for another week and a half.  My host Prisca, who’s had over 50 couchsurfing visitors from around the world in the past years, hosts a potluck dinner every Wednesday.  Out of town visitors and other Guadalajara couchsurfing hosts come around, and if you are her guest, you’ll probably be asked by Prisca to cook something (WORST HOST EVER!*).  A French couple, JC and Gaelle, backpacking around the Americas had shown up that morning, so we made a meal together.  A lot of fun people!

*Inside joke, but I’m sure you understood the sarcasm.

Then there was a few days of rain, so I was in no mood to leave.  Then Sunday came around and I wanted to witness in person what is called the Via RecreActiva, which is a system of main roads in Guadalajara and surrounding suburbs that are closed off to non-vehicular traffic from 8am to 2pm every week.  Several cities in Colombia are credited for starting initiatives like this, and the idea has spread around the world.  It is encouraging that the 2nd largest city in Mexico can pull something off like this.

I had a blast!  The main street that goes through downtown was packed with all sorts of folks of all ages, shapes and sizes, mostly on bike, but roller skates and foot as well.  There were stations in parks where you could take dance lessons, jump rope, chess, and free bike repairs.  Businesses had piles of bikes parked outside.  It seems to me one could only conclude cities really need more permanent bike infrastructure, citizens are happy to use them, and area businesses seem to do well from it.

I spent the next week not doing much.  The longer I waited, the more I worried that getting back on the bike was going to be rather difficult.  I did finally take off the following Sunday, crossing the majority of the city on the Via RecreActiva.  It may have added a mile or two to get to the highway, but was worth not battling the cars.

I pushed myself (and the bike I guess) 60 miles, which probably was a bad idea considering it had been almost 5 weeks off the bike.  That evening I found a hotel right off the highway turnoff for La Barca, which was rather expensive, but after inquiring about cheaper hotels further in town, the owner took pity on me and slashed the price for me.  It was still more expensive that I have usually paid in Mexico, but as I sat there I could feel my fried brain fading very fast (I hadn’t gotten back into the routine of eating enough yet), so I accepted his offer and spent the night there.  It was the first hotel I’ve stayed in that didn’t give me the ubiquitous Venus Rosa soap, rather, it had its own logo on it.

The next few days into Morelia were uneventful, if not hilly.  This brought the total mileage for January was to 200 miles.  In comparison, I averaged 1,200 miles a month the first four months of my trip.  But I’m in no hurry, so I don’t worry about that too much.

I showed up in Morelia and was welcomed by Juan Carlos, a friend of my sister she had put me in touch with.  I figured I’d stay one, maybe two days at most to see this beautiful historic city.  That all changed the 2nd night when I was hit with some sort of food poisoning.  Not Fun.  I spent the next two days in bed, rather weak from having eaten barely anything for lack of an appetite.

I finally regained enough strength where I felt I could get back on the bike the next day, when an incredible hail storm hit Morelia that evening.  This was a prelude to 4 days of rain that barely took a break, so I decided to stay put.  Not only is biking in the rain not fun, I had my eyes set on riding up into the mountains to visit the monarch butterfly sanctuaries.  The butterflies migrate here to spend the winter.  Braving the rain would have meant showing up and not being able to enjoy the butterflies, as they only fly around when it is warm out.

So finally today the clouds lightened up and blue sky made an appearance.  One forecast for tomorrow morning says “Abundant sun”.  But this is a little too late, as the region has seen record breaking rain for this time of year.  The town of Angangueo where I was headed to, near one of the butterfly reserves, had landslides and just this evening it and several other areas were declared emergency states.

I’ve been here in Morelia for over a week now, and I’m not exactly sure where I’ll go next, it seems like the butterflies are not realistic option in the near future (whether they can even survive such an onslaught of constant rain is another concern).  I’ll probably leave tomorrow and see how far I can get, as several roads in this area are being closed.  I may see myself back on the toll highway sooner than I expected, which I was hoping to avoid by taking the more rural routes up into the mountains.  My dilemma and uncertain plans are all quite minor though, as there have been several deaths and hundreds of folks evacuated to safer areas less prone to flooding.

As juniors in highschool, we were allowed to explore the town in the evening unsupervised.  As an adolescent, the feeling of independence was huge, despite the fact that we had to be back before curfew.  I wanted to go back and see the town again, and of course find some sopa tarasca, which I did, and which was as delicious as I remembered it.

[Continue reading for more photos.  Click here to see the whole Patzcuaro flickr album]

I spent two nights in Patzcuaro.  I wandered around for a little after getting off the bus, and found my way to a cheap hotel on one of the squares.  The hotel was on the second story of the building, and the courtyard had skylights that looked down into the pool hall below.

I spent the night walking around, eating a torta from one of the many street stalls (and survived just fine thank you).

The next morning I walked around town, enjoying the architecture.  All of the buildings in the historic center are painted with a deep red stripe, and the lettering for the businesses are all hand-painted in red and black.  Most of the roofs are covered in ceramic shingles.

As is usual with such an old town, the courtyards hidden behind old doors are quaint and charming.

A visit to the public library, which has an impressive mural.

The picture for the Ushuaia entry from an encyclopedia from the 70’s.

I felt my $12 hotel room was a little too expensive, so I moved to the hotel around the corner where I scored a nice little room for $8.  Of course, it had a floor made out of glass tiles, directly above the lobby downstairs.

Then late in the afternoon, a ferry ride to Janitzio Island, in the middle of Lake Patzcuaro.

A climb to the top of the Morelos monument.

An cold and overcast day, but nice views nonetheless.

I’m back in Guadalajara for a few days before I take off again.

Aside from vendors and beggars, Mexico City’s underground Metro train also has its share of creative performers looking for some spare change. In the past few days I witnessed some singing, a clown, a comedy routine, and today on my way to the bus terminal, a young man walking on shards of glass…

As and aside, I am writing this from the bus that is taking me from Mexico City to Morelia, which offers WiFi internet on board.  How the world is changing!

I last updated over two weeks ago (sorry!) from Guadalajara.  After a bus ride into Mexico City, I spent Christmas with my friends the Petersons.  The next day I met up with my friend Karla, who I’ve known since grade school and then in Chicago.  I accompanied her and her family for a few days in the coastal state of Veracruz.  We returned to Mexico City in time for New Years.  Starting on New Year’s eve, the next 48 hours were a continuous celebration as relatives came to visit and eat.  Karla’s family has been very welcoming and I have enjoyed participating in all the holiday festivities.

I’ve worked on getting photos from my last few days in Arizona and then Sonora, the first state I crossed in Mexico.  I have plenty more photos from Mexico to sort through but in the meantime here is a sample of sights so far:

The past few days have felt a little rushed, squeezing so many miles in has meant too much time on the bike and very little to get to know the placed I’ve passed through.  But I wanted to get to Guadalajara as soon as I could as  I’ll be taking a bus into Mexico City for Christmas which is only a few days away, and I needed to get to a place where I could leave my bike for a week or two.  I’m looking forward to being back in Mexico City and seeing friends.

NAY stands for Nayarit, which is the 3rd state of Mexico on this trip so far.  Up until now I’ve mostly been at sea level, though tomorrow I am headed to Tepic, at about 3,000 feet.  I’ve done little climbing the past month and a half, so it will be a little challenging.

I ran into a cyclist yesterday, Nelson from Portugal.  He started in New Jersey about 5 months ago.  It has been good to have some company, the last time I cycled with someone was in Arizona over a month and a half ago.

From here I plan on going to Guadalajara and from there figuring out where to go for the Christmas and New Years.

I spent half the time getting over a cold in Creel, a town way up in the mountains.  There I met some great folks at a hostel, in particular, four Australians backpacking around Mexico.  There are many things to do in the area, but I hadn’t the energy but to go to some hot springs.

It ended up being cheaper for 5 of us to rent a 2 bedroom apartment, so we moved into our casita and enjoyed many home cooked meals and lots of poker played with cotton swabs as chips.  One night it snowed in Creel, which was  exciting, especially as some of the Australians had never seen snow.

After Creel, I made my way to the town of Urique on bus, which is at the bottom of a canyon.  The road goes downhill wit about 5,000 feet in elevation change to get there.  I stayed at a hostel that has a garden and lots of citrus trees.  Mandarins, lemons and grapefruit galore.  Tim and Anne, two of the Australians, caught up with me from Creel, and we decided to stay in Urique for a few days together.  Hikes in the valley (which really ended up being rides in the back of pickup trucks more than anything), a swim in the Urique river, and coffee roasting and tortilla making lessons were the highlights.

Yesterday we took the bus out of the canyon and the train to El Fuerte, hung out there this morning, and then made our way back to Los Mochis.  Tim and Anne will be travelling to Baja California for a while, but we hope to cross paths again, maybe in Oaxaca?

This is by far the longest time I’ve taken off the bike, 13 days so far (I haven’t taken more than 5 days off at a time, and usually no more than 2 or 3).  That I don’t have to worry about cold weather now, and that I’ve wanted to go to the Copper Canyon(s) region for years meant I decided to just take my time and be in no hurry to get back on the bike.  It was worth it and I have no regrets having put the bike trip on hold for that long.  From Los Mochis I’ll continue along the coast until Mazatlan, and then from there I’ll need to think about whether to continue along the coast or head into the Sierra again, which would most likely take me through Guadalajara.

I’ll upload pictures and tell more stories at some point.

There isn’t a towel, soap or toilet paper in the bathroom, I’m not surprised.  No worries, I pack these items anyway.  I open the door of the dilapidted dresser, and there, laid out, are two bars of Rosa Venus (standard issue soap at any Mexican hotel) on top of a towel, a roll of toilet paper made up of odds and ends from other half-used rolls, and a jug of water with a plastic glass on top.  The glass has lipstick on it.  Classy!

The neighbor in room 5 plays music for a while but I sleep just fine.  I’m up at the usual time, 7:30 with no alarm.  I stay in bed for a while, though I’ve decided to take a day off, I don’t know for sure yet if I can spend another night at the guesthouse.  On my way out to get grocieries, I ask the owner if I can stay another night, she says sure, stay as long as you need.

At the grocery store, I pick up a few pastries.  In Mexico, you pick your pastries, place them on a metal tray, and take the pastries to the pastry counter, and there they put them into a bag and write the price on it.  Everything in the store now has barcodes, so I don’t see why you can’t just take it to the register.  But then the pastry counter employee would be out of a job!  Back at the room, I prepare the usual oatmeal and coffee.  Here at sea level, however, the water boils at much higher temperature than what I’m used to.  I almost can’t hold onto the coffee filter while I pour the hot water over the grounds.  But I manage somehow, eager for that caffeine fix.

Over to the internet cafe.  Mostly younger folks here.  One kid watches boxing clips on YouTube, another plays a game, a girl prints out lyrics to a song and another girl looks for pictures for a school report of the damage done by tropical storm Jimena that hit the area just a few months before.

Back to the room, and then over to the grocery store again.  Empalme is big enough to have a couple chain supermarkets, but doesn’t have the big name retail or fast food stores.  It is a young town, stickers on windows proclaim the 100 year anniversary that was celebrated in 2005.  I can go about town with relative ease, it seems there is little tourism, so vendors are there to cater to the local residents, and no one tries to sell me things.  A few people do ask for pesos para completar los tacos, but there are no beggars stationed anywhere.

I buy an avocado, cheese, two limes and half a kilo of flour tortillas that have just come out of the machine steaming hot.  They are chewy, moist, a little doughy still, and have a delicate taste more like Swedish pancakes than anything you can find even in a Mexican grocery store in Chicago.  Back in the room I work on the problem of quesadilla engineering that has haunted me since the beggining of the trip: how to fold the tortilla and cheese so as to fit two at a time in the small cast iron skillet.  I come up with a way to roll the tortilla up neatly, but this encloses the cheese too tightly.  Runny cheese that seeps out and gets nice and crispy is a must in my book.  I’ll either have to start trimming the tortiillas so they fit, or trade the skillet for a larger one.

The serviceman arrives to install cable TV for the lady in the room next door.  It seems I have a choice, stay two nights or end up here for the rest of my life.

The church at the end of the block has been busy all day.  A funeral, a wedding, but this time I walk by and nothing is going on.  I walk in and take a seat at the back.  Three women go about sweeping the floor.  The one at the front is shushing another who is at the back.  But she is too busy talking to a dad who is there with his son.  The topic is her gastrointestinal issues.  She says carbonated bevareges don’t treat her well.  I am tempted to take a picuture of the older lady sweeping, but don’t want to be that pesky tourist.  Right then, I kid you not, a man walks into the church, and flash and all, starts taking pictures of the lady.  She ignores this completely and dutifully continues with her chore.

I read a few chapters of a book I stumbled across in Prescott, AZ titled “Southwestern Utopia”.  The book had lost its cover and was in a sealed bag, but the inside covers had a hand drawn map of Mexico, with a detail of the area of Los Mochis and Topolobampo, Sinaloa.  This alone made me want to get it.  The gist of the book is this, without going into too many details:  Alfred Owens is a child during the time of the Civil War.  His dad is a well respected medic and Alfred helps his dad on the battlefield.  Alfred gets a good education and ends up doing survey work for the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway.  The railroad will link up Kansas City to a Pacific port in Mexico in the Gulf of California and will be much shorter route to the ocean than California by several hundred miles (look at a map!). Somehow decides to start a colony in Mexico, his surveys of the Topolomampo area make for a perfect port city.  He has the buy in of all sorts of important politicans of the time (including the American and Mexican presidents).  He promotes the colony all over the US and raises funds.  Folks are overly enthusiastic and come in boatloads too early.  Many stay and endure hardship of building a town from scratch.  We’ll find out how this story ends another time.  If I don’t finish the book, no worry, I’ll be in Los Mochis in a few days.

Dinner time, so over to Don Tamal.  Three tamales, including a chocolate tamal which I take with me to enjoy later.  I’m sad as I know I won’t be back to eat here anytime soon.

I leave town the next morning, and ask directions at every block.  The directions out to the highway generally consist of folks pointing and saying vete todo derecho, roughly, just keep going straight that way.  It works!

A few dozen miles and I arrive at a town so foresaken I’ll not even mention its name.  I go over to the OXXO of course, and am approached by a group of little boys and a swarm of gnats.  The usual questions, but also if I got stopped by the federales.  I buy a Coke and move over to the other side of the parking lot under the shade of the gas station.  I watch two drunks pretend to fight.  Or maybe they are really fighting but are too drunk to do any harm to each other?  I eat my chocolate tamal from the night before.  I bike a mile to the other end of town and find a more peaceful gas station and eat some PB&J.  My peanut butter supply is dwindling.  Oh no!

More tedious biking in the heat.  I make it to a toll booth just north of Esperanza, any further and I’ll be in a city with less luck of finding a place to camp.  I ask if I can set my tent up outside of the gas station office.  I watch part of the ranchero movie Zacazonapan starring Pedro Infante Jr. in the lounge.  Some truckers that are spending the night in the rest area talk to me.  I ask them a little about their jobs.  I mention the military checkpoint I saw a few days before, they say it can take over 10 hours sometime to wait in line.  There are dozens of other questions I decide would be a good idea not to ask, so don’t.

A very noisy night and the only reason I sleep is because I’m exhausted.  The trucks keep coming through.  In the morning I go to use the restroom.  As is usually the case at gas stations, there is an attendant outside that will let you in and hand you a ration of toilet paper in exchange for 3 pesos.  I pick the only stall out of three that has a toilet seat only to find the door doesn’t shut well.  I try to wash my hands but neither faucet works.  Am not sure why the worst restrooms in Mexico are the ones you have to pay for.  What a racket.

I pack up and leave without breakfast, something I rarely do, but I’m fed up with the rest stop. Past Ezperanza and a few miles to Ciudad Obregon.  To Walmart for some pastries and coffee, and then across the parking lot to the VIPS diner.  The waitress takes my order on a little handheld computer.  My molletes arrive lukewarm, and I remember this happens everytime I’m at VIPS, next time I need to ask for them extra melted.  Or just not go to VIPS.

On my way through Ciudad Obregon, the main road splits in two.  One way the sign says “Navojoa, Los Mochis”, the other way “Navojoa, Los Mochis”.  Choose your own adventure!  I’m disappointed later to find out both routes meet up again.  I stop at one of the many OXXOs for some water.  I’m in line, wearing a bright reflective vest, holding a 1.5 liter bottle of water when a guy walks up to the cashier and places his Coke on the counter.  I’ve encountered this situation several times before at other OXXOs.  It seems as though if you want faster service, you simply cut in line and crowd the cash register.  I remind myself I’m in no hurry and that it is  not worth raising a stink.

Bike for an hour or two, stop at the next OXXO.  Repeat.  This gets me to Navojoa, where I’ve contacted a host through CouchSurfing.

The hotel in Benjamín Hill has a gated entrance that gets closed at night.  I look around the courtyard to find the owner.  I ask him if he could please open the gate, as I’d like to run to the corner store.  ”Well” he says, “I don’t know what ustedes usually eat (you guys? cyclists? gringos? bearded freckled gringo cyclists? I dare not ask him for clarification).  You can only get soda and chips there, why don’t you head into a town, go to a restaurant and buy yourself a carne asada, it will only cost you 40 pesos”.  I tell him “that sounds like a great idea for lunch or supper, but right now I’m just going to go buy some milk to go with the oatmeal I have back in the room”.  He shrugs his shoulders, “as you wish”, and opens the gate for me.

I’m back in one minute, the store is closed this early in the morning. I sit outside my room and eat my oatmeal.  The owner comes by and I ask him if I can take some fruit from one of the trees in the courtyard.  Apparently I’ve asked incorrectly, whether it be poor grammar or improper sentence structure, and he begins to lecture me.  He isn’t grumpy or nasty about it, but for some reason feels the need to correct me.  I don’t even get his explanation.  I guess I’m still thinking in English and translating into Spanish.

Between Benjmin Hill and Hermosillo the road is made up of many stretches that are perfectly straight for a dozen miles at a time.  I’m accustomed to riding in the mountains of the West and have come to understand the language of valleys, washes, basins, rims and passes.  This flat desert of Sonora seems monotonous and uninspired, and I have not yet learned how to appreciate biking through it.  Today I can only focus on riding in a straight line, constantly looking back in my mirror, rarely stopping for pictures.

An hour into my riding, I pass a military checkpoint for northbound traffic.  I can see trucks lined up, and begin counting them.  I give up at 100.  The truck drivers are standing around talking while their engines idle, vendors with coolers walk along selling drinks.  The line is over 3 miles long and only budges once in the time it takes me to bike by it.

I stop at a run down restaurant for quesadillas for lunch.  Later I stop at an OXXO for some junk food.  I diligently put the wrapper in an uncovered garbage can, and right then a gust of wind blows it out of the can and across the parking lot.  There is no way I can chase it down.  I look around, trash everywhere, and feel just a little less guilty about littering.  At the next gas station there are a bunch of police that start talking to me and asking questions about my trip.  One of them points to another and says, A este le gusta ir a Alaska, this guy likes to visit Alaska.  ”Oh, yeah it is so pretty” I say, and then the punch line to the joke I didn’t realize was being set up.  A las kaguamas.  Hilarious guys.

I arrive in the outskirts of Hermosillo just as the sun is setting.  This city is huge and no one uses their turn signals.  I keep on pedalling, knowing that I’ve got a CouchSurfing host waiting for me.  I make it to the McDonalds, an easy landmark, and give him a call.  A few minutes later Rodolfo shows up and we walk back to the apartment.  He just came back from a summer of working in Canada and lives with his mom and brother.  We talk for a while about our travels and whatnot.  He is getting used to being back in a huge city after months in small Canadian towns.  I can sympathize with this.  At about 8pm, he leaves to meet up at a get together with other Hermosillo Couchsurfing hosts.  I’m already yawning and get to bed early.

I’m awake at 7:30 and hang around the apartment for a while, then go to buy groceries and eat some lunch with Rodolfo.  I don’t get going until 1pm, but I know today is shorter than yesterday.  It is about 100 miles to Guaymas, the next city, too much for one day, but I know there is a gas station at a junction 55 miles away.  I have no idea what it will be like, but decide I can’t worry in the least about it.  I can’t spend my whole time in Mexico in hotels and with CouchSurfing hosts, so I might as well get used to camping once in a while.  I’ve decided that the gas station will be a safer option than pulling off the side of the busy highway.  Up until now there have been few places ideal for camping.

There is a small ridge to get over, and when I do, the air immediately feels different.  It is denser, warmer, and I think it smells like the sea.  I’m only 30 miles from the Gulf of California at this point.  I make it to the truck stop and amble around a little, trying to figure out who is in charge.  I ask one of the gas station attendants if I can camp behind the building, he says, sure.  I’m not convinced though yet.  I look around the back and see which uneven patch of littered gravel I’d rather set my tent up on.

Abraham comes by and starts talking to me.  He works in the mechanic’s garage, and says I can set up  my tent on the concrete.  He is from the area, tells me about his family and his work at the truck stop, and makes me feel welcome and unconcerned about spending the night there.  The lights stay on all night and he sleeps in a little room nearby in case trucks come by needing to get cleaned.

He sits down with me while I make dinner and eat.  I say sorry, I don’t have enough to share but that I’d be happy to treat him to a Coke, and he accepts.  His family brings him dinner later anyway.  I ask him about the road ahead and where I should try to make it to the next night.  I’ve picked a little town halfway between here and the next big city so that the mileages would work out nicely, but he says that isn’t such a good idea.  I run the names of some other towns on the map by  him, and he tells me about the varying degree of “indian-ness” of the towns.  He tells me that he is Yaqui, and that there are Mayos and Huicholes down the coast.  His grandpa speaks Yaqui fluently, his dad just sometimes, but Abraham only knows a few phrases.  I ask if he wants to learn to speak, he tells me that since he grew up in the city there isn’t any point.

I get in my tent and am falling asleep when a truck pulls in to get sprayed off.  Abraham is hard at work with the high pressure hose for several hours.  Somehow I sleep well despite the idling trucks and the engine brakes throughout the night.

I eat breakfast while talking to Abraham, and leave the gas station by 9.  I make it to Guaymas late morning and end up taking a dead end to a hotel on a beach.  They have RV spots for US$19, but it is still so early in the day and there isn’t much to do near the hotel.  I find my way into downtown.  It is Friday and things are very busy, and the hotels are all US$30 and up.  I consider splurging to celebrate my arrival back to sea level, but don’t want to stop so soon.  At the very least I’ll get lunch in Guaymas, tostadas de ceviche.  I fill my water bottles up at a water purifying storefront for 2 pesos, good deal.

On to Empalme, just 5 miles away, where I hope to find a cheaper hotel.  I do, but it is full for the night and the owner tells me of a guest house.  I ask if there is a sign on the building, he says yes.  I get lost trying to find it and miss Chicago where everything is X blocks north, south, east or west, and where you can use the address to navigate.  After asking several people, I end up talking to a cop who tells me I’m almost there.  He is enthusiastic that I am in Empalme, and tells me that in this is the town Charlie Chaplin got married.  He was coming through on the railroad at the time.  We’ve got his marriage certificate.  Sweet!  I’m happy to have ended up here for the night, for this alone is reason enough.

[This comic strip, which is narrated by the town's historic water tower built in the middle of the town square (very picturesque!), tells of the story of Chaplin's visit to Empalme]

I make it to the guest house, there is no sign outside.  It is a long narrow courtyard with a single story row of rooms on each side.  I look around, it is an odd place.  Painted assorted shades of pale green.  One of the guests has a fridge in his room, and he sits in front of a TV, you can tell that some of the folks probably live here.  The owner comes be and shows me a room.  It probably saw its prime when Chaplin came through town.  But it is safe, is full of character, and for US$8 a deal hard to beat.

I ask where to get some food, and am told of Don Tamale just a block away.  For 2nd lunch, 3 tamales with beans and a Coke for US$4.  ¡Exquisito! I feel right at home talking to the owner, a retired school teacher.  I ask her why the 20th was celebrated on the 16th and not the 20th (I’ve been asking folks along the way).  We all agree it makes no sense, after all, it is the politicians in Mexico City who write the laws.  She says they are open until 8 if I want to come back for dinner.

A walk around the town square, and find a refreshing glass of horchata.  Then back to the guest house to look at my map of Mexico (so many possibilities) and work on this blog entry.  Then back to Don Tamale for a plateful of beans, mashed potatoes and shredded marlin with a cup of beef broth and bottomless corn tortillas, US$3.20.  On my way out, the owner says see you tomorrow.  I guess I’m a regular already.

With a cheap place to stay and with so much unknown down the road, I’m tempted to take a day off here in Empalme tomorrow.  Doesn’t seem to be much to do around here, so I may just eat myself to death out of boredom, but that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

It is 29°F on my thermometer, I decide to stay in my sleeping bag 15 more minutes.  I know I should get going as the border awaits, but for some reason don’t feel terribly hurried.  Eventually I get up and put several layers on just to be comfortable for breakfast, knowing that I won’t need them in an hour and probably not again for many weeks.

Then I remember, the clock I had in the tent is an hour ahead, so really I’ve woken up much earlier than usual.  I take my time putting together the usual breakfast I’ve eaten just about every morning on the trip.  Raisins, a packet of flavored instant oatmeal with some plain (bulk, cheaper) oats to make it stretch, and coffee in a little filter in my mug.  Then the boiling water into each.  And when the water is done, I toast a bagel in my skillet.  By the time the bagel is toasted the oatmeal and coffee are cool enough to drink.

I pack up, head back into town and stop by the post office to send out a bunch of postcards.  There I meet Janie, all smiles, who is moping the floor.  She is enthusiastic about my trip, and also reassuring about the safety south of the border.  I’ll be fine, the protection I need surrounds me, she says.  She recently moved to Patagonia and already knows the area well enough to be doing real estate.  She confides (SSHHH don’t tell anyone) that the cleaning job at the post office is a great place to network and hand out business cards.

The 20 miles to Nogales are quick.  On the outskirts, I stop at a gas station in search for an ATM.  None to be found but I talk to the employee who is helpful and answers my questions about crossing the border.  Then into the city and I decide to eat a McDonalds lunch before crossing the border.  I sit inside with a view of my bike and ponder my proximity to Mexico.  I realize that within plain view, following the contour of the hills, is the wall that divides the two countries.

I ride down the lane of traffic signed “Mexico”.  I go into a little office and get my passport stamped.  Then I continue down the street for a little.  Everything seems chaotic.  It seems as though the streets turns into a sidewalk, and the sidewalks into a drainage canals, and vice versa, with no rhyme or reason.  I’ve got to keep an eye on the road.

I sit stupidly behind a truck for a couple minutes before realizing that there indeed is no driver in it and that the street is really full of parked cars.  The crowd isn’t standing by the side of the road waiting for the ambulance to go by.  Law enforcement cars, ambulances and motorcycle gangs revving their engines are all part of a parade today.

I go up to a man and ask what is being celebrated.  The 20th of November he says.  I’m a little confused, as its the 16th of November.  The 20th marks the Revolution of 1910, but I’ve forgotten this important date.  Lo hicieron de puente he says, roughly, we’re just observing it a little early out of convenience.

The parade is an obstacle but I’m told to just head one block east to continue south.  The four lanes of this road are usually the north-bound traffic, but everyone seems to know that traffic is being redirected, and thus two lanes are for south bound traffic today.

On my way out of Nogales, I get lots of waves, thumbs up, whistles, applause and cheers.  This gets to my head quickly and soon I’m waving to everyone that even just looks at me.

Everywhere the smells seem different.  Cars belch out black smoke, storefronts smell of that very Mexican smelling cleaning solution, and the many food puestos smell of that very Mexican smelling charcoal.

I know there is a town, Ímuris, 40 miles south of the border and that is my goal for the day.  I’m excited to be in Mexico, I’m envisioning sitting in the public square, the zocalo that evening.  But the reality of where I am soon sets in.  From what I can tell Ímuris is mostly all on the highway, including the first hotel I see.  There is no zocalo.  I ask someone, is there a hotel more removed from the highway, but this is stupid as the majority of my nights have been spent by highways anyway.

I roll my bike into the hotel room and shower, the water is barely lukewarm.  A little cable TV and then back out to the highway where one block in either direction is open air eateries.  I walk up and down the block, as if I knew how to spot the best one.  So I pick one at random and take a seat.

What can we offer you?  Is there a menu, I ask.  No, just say what you want, del uno al cien, from one to a hundred, we’ve got it.  So I get five quesadillas with meat, and a Coke.  The food is served on plastic plates covered in a thin plastic bag.  Is this to assure the customer of high sanitary standards, or to make cleanup easier?  Both probably.

I head back to the room and get sucked in by the cable TV.  I end up watching Friends for a little.  I normally find this show unbearable but the subtitles make it entertaining.  Sometimes it seems as though the translators understand the idioms and translate them true to their meaning, then other times they seem to have completely missed the joke.  A couple hours of channel surfing.  I sing my heart out along with Hombres G.

I wake up and head to the OXXO convenience store.  I’m sure I’ve already seen a dozen along the highway, and it has only been 40 miles.  That is comforting in a way, I’ll always have somewhere to buy snacks.  I buy a liter of milk and some Bimbo buñuelos. I ask to use their phone booth, as the night before I had been unsuccessful in using the payphone to call my parents.  The cashier informs me that to call the US I dial 001520 and then the number.  This doesn’t work, and it dawns on me that she’s assumed I’m calling the 520 area code which is southern Arizona, including Tucson.

A slow morning as I’ve set my sights on a town only 52 miles away.  I bike for 2 hours and then stop for lunch.  Quesadillas with meat again, then over to the OXXO (there is also one across the street) for water and donuts.  Another application of sunscreen.  It is warm out, not very humid though, and so biking isn’t terribly uncomfortable.  But I’m still at about 2,500′, and it is only going to get warmer as I head south and down to sea level.

I’m focused on my steering.  The highway is divided, two lanes in each direction.  More often than not there is not a shoulder.  This keeps me alert as cars and especially trucks have a hard time driving side by side, the lanes are just too narrow.  Not enough room for a cyclist, so most people pull over and give me enough space.

After another hour of cycling I decide to take a break, I’ve got plenty of daylight and want to take it easy.  I pull just off the highway and find some shade from a huge abandoned corrugated metal roof, but I’m not actually in the building.  I’m staring at my Mexico highway map, thoughts wandering, and notice a man with a huge beer belly walking, waddling, slowly across the vacant space.  He looks over very briefly and I say buenas tardes, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.  He continues walking and turns his back and stares out into the open field for a moment.  Then he walks over in my direction, and stops right where the roof and the cement floor end.  Hola, que tal I say as politely as I can.  He just stands there though, ten feet away, with a blank look on his face.  He is not threatening in the least, but the awkwardness of the situation is.  I decide I don’t want to be watched like this while I drink my water, and decide to just keep going.  I’ve already tried twice with small talk but it obviously is a lost cause.

The main town of Benjamín Hill is a kilometer off the highway, but my brain is too fried to check it out so I go to inquire at the hotel at the turn-off.  Even more expensive than the night before.  Both times I’ve asked for a cyclist’s discount but none exists.  I’ve lost any ability to bargain.

Some TV, then I check for an internet signal but it is password protected.  I wander around the courtyard, don’t seen any employees, and head back to my room when a man from the 2nd floor office says Diga, Can I help you.  From the first floor I say Yes, quick question, I noticed there was a wireless internet signal and wanted to know if guests can use it.  He didn’t catch that, so I repeat myself, and he responds something about medicine for the kidneys.  I am about to give up, assuming he knows nothing of the internet.  I say no, not kidney medicine, Internet.  Oh, internet?  Yes, I didn’t understand what you were saying, he says, you’ve got to speak up and not mumble.  He goes into the first floor office while I wait outside.  Well do you want the password or not, come in!  He then mentions several more times that I was asking the question wrong and was mumbling, but is happy nonetheless to give me the password.

I sent over 11 pounds of stuff home; some of it things I’ve barely used the past 4 months, a bunch of maps and a few books, license plates I’ve found along the road and a heavy jacket I don’t expect to need anytime soon.

Bad news  I can’t let get to me… while out shopping today, somewhere in Tucson, someone stole my water bottle that has the logo of Cycle Smithy, the place I got my bike.  It happened to be my favorite water bottle of the two I have, the other is an uninspiring Performance Bike bottle.  Rather irritating.  Am I surprised it happened in the largest city of my trip so far?  Not really.

After having survived several well below freezing nights, John (he’s got a much more detailed description of our last days together than I’ll ever get around to writing up) and I opted to split a cheap motel on old US Route 66.  The TV in the room has knobs on it…

While things were still looking good at Jacob Lake, just north of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, I ran into John from England, who has been on the road for about two and a half years.  He cycled from England to Australia, and is now headed east from California across the USA.  We decided to bike together for a few days, as we were both headed to the Grand Canyon.  It has been great having him as a companion!

When it comes to cold weather, I have had a bad record going through National Parks (Jasper and Banff and Yellowstone and Grand Teton being the other chilly ones).  We made it to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon two days ago, barely.  The day started with a climb to the East Entrance of the park that would have been doable had it not been for the gusts of wind blowing us off the road.  We were happy to have made it 30 miles.  That night the temperature dropped to about 20F, not too bad, as we had decided to share a tent that night as we knew it was going to be cold.

The next day we made our way along the South Rim, enjoying some spectacular sights early in the day.  Later in the afternoon, we stopped at some viewpoints and could almost not see across to the North Rim because of the clouds and snow.  We made our way south to just outside Valle, AZ last night, where the temperature got down to 10F!  All our water was frozen in the morning, so we could make breakfast or coffee.  So we are eating in a restaurant right now, hoping it has warmed up a little outside.

From here I am headed to Prescott for a few days off and some planning before headed down to Mexico.

First and last chance to send me mail while I’m in the USA!

Matthew Kelly
GENERAL DELIVERY
442 MILLER VALLEY RD
PRESCOTT, AZ 86301-9998

(Since it is General Delivery at a US Post Office, you must send it via the US Postal Service!)

I am glad to be 2,000 feet lower than last night, which was a little chilly.  I need to get out of the mountains!

Depending on my route, probably my last night in Utah!  On to Arizona.

[Note:  I don't usually eat breakfast outside women's bathrooms, I just happened to be behind a closed rest stop, finding some shelter from the wind]

A few things:

I still have a few odds and ends of food left over from British Columbia.  I am making a point of eating them up.

I am about 700 miles away from crossing into Mexico.

Did I mention I was out of bear country?  At last!

Despite having enjoyed the company of familiar faces on this trip, I have yet to see somewhere that I already know, up until today.  One of the biggest reasons I didn’t take the more traditional coastal route south through the USA is the canyons of southern Utah.

Today was the first day that I’ve retraced routes I’ve previously traveled.  I’ve come out to Escalante along the beautiful UT Hwy 12 three times now with good friends, by car.  The last time I was here was about 7 months ago, and back then I already knew I was leaving on this bike trip, and kept telling myself, “this will be fantastic on a bike”.

So here I am.  No familiar faces.  But familiar sights, and it is the closest I’ll come to feeling at home in a while.  In particular, the red dust that has coated my shoes and the smell of sagebrush have welcomed me back.

And of course, the junipers.  I don’t often refer to my bike by her name, so you may not know I named her Juniper.  I will be sure to get a picture of her propped up against the many junipers that scatter the area.

I hope to do some hiking and camping down in the side canyons of the Escalante river over the next few days.

The approach into Torrey was just what I’ve been waiting for this whole trip.  Around a corner and suddenly it appeared.  Three strips of color; on the bottom, a fluffy yellow-green of grass and sagebrush, on the top, an infinite empty bright blue, and in the middle, a burning mix of reds, pinks and oranges.

I’m now headed to Escalante, canyon country, but I am not sure I’ll make the 64 miles today.  From 6,800 feet here I’ve got a climb for the first 25 miles up to 9,300, the highest elevation of my trip so far.  I’ll be happy just to get that done today.

I better get going.  Once again, not a cloud in the sky.

After the night in the motel in Afton, I ran into a couple from Germany.  They had also spent the night in Afton in a different motel.  We didn’t bike together very long, I was motivated to make up for lost time and was travelling a little faster than them.  I got to Cokeville, WY that night, having done 3 miles in Idaho.

From Cokeville I pressed on to Evanston, where I had a place set up via couchsurfing.org.  Maurizio was a great host, and took me out to have some Chinese food.

Park City, UT was next on my route.  I had found another place to stay via couchsurfing.org, this time with Pam and Tom.  They moved to Utah from the east coast to be closer to all the outdoor adventures the area offers.  They cooked up a great meal for me and I

The next morning I was planning on leaving and continuing to Helper, UT over the next two days to catch the Amtrak and go to Denver for a quick visit to my 98 year-old Grammie Johnson.  However, I looked at airfare and found a flight from Salt Lake that was cheaper than the Amtrak.  So I relaxed in Park City for a day and flew into Denver on Saturday.

I took the shuttle from Denver to Loveland, and stayed with former North Parkers Sten and Erica.  They graciously let me stay at their new home and dropped me off the next day at my grandma’s.  I spent the morning and afternoon with her.  I had brought along an audio recorder, and got to spend some time asking her questions about her life and hearing some of her stories.

That afternoon my cousin Seth came to pick me up and I hung out with him and Kirsten that evening in Golden.  Monday I took the bus into Denver, with the hopes of surprising my friend Jessie, who had no idea I was coming.  I had to wait around, as she was out for the day, but met up with her and Steve (Hawk) later in the afternoon.  It was good to see them!

I flew back into Park City the next morning and was picked up by Pam at the airport.  I got back on the road and made it to Provo, where I stayed with Josh, who I found via couchsurfing.org.  He is a student at BYU and lives with 10 other guys in a house.  They made me feel very welcome, and took me out for a bite and a drink at a swanky (non-alcoholic) lounge downtown.

A short day because of a rain got me as far as Nephi last night, where for the first time in over a week, I set up my tent.  Although I have had a good time hanging out with friends old and new, it was good to be back on the road again.

Well, I am off to get my money’s worth and enjoy some cable TV!

Fortunately, I found this rest stop last night and have been staying dry for the most part.

Better snow than rain!

Unfortunately, I felt harried during most of my time in Yellowstone and Grand Teton.  I had come after most of the campgrounds had closed for the season, and the ones that were open are run by private concessioners and charge up to $19 for camping sites.  This, in addition to road closures in the park meant I spent most of my time worrying about logistics and hurrying from one place to another without much time to enjoy the scenery.  I don’t expect to be biking through National Parks again any time soon, too many rules and regulations.   I really miss Alaska and Canada, where for the most part no one cares where you set up your tent!

From Jackson I head generally south, mostly following the Wyoming-Idaho border all the way to Utah.

My last update a week ago was rather short, partly because I was pressed for time, but mostly I was in a foul mood for two main reasons, despite having had a great time in Glacier National Park hiking with my cousin (pictures coming soon).

For one, I was on a wild goose chase for an order from Amazon.  I had it sent to the West Glacier Post Office as General Delivery.  Problem is UPS shipped it, and so of course they can’t deliver at a location like that.  Why UPS accepted the shipment in the first place is beyond me.  After numerous delivery attempts to West Glacier (as if UPS hadn’t already learned the first time that it was undeliverable), the package had been left at the Kalispell UPS warehouse, so I decided to swing through there on my way south.  This detour added over 20 miles and was in vain (though I did meet a friendly local cycling couple that let me use their phone).  The UPS facility was closed to customer service on weekends, and despite there being an employee working in the back, there was no way that he could get me the package even though I was standing right there.  I ended up calling Amazon, which I should have done in the first place, and got a new order shipped to an address I knew I’d be at later in the week.  Apparently my first order was in UPS limbo, they couldn’t forward my package to a new location, because I hadn’t been given and Infonotice number.  But I didn’t have an Infonotice because they couldn’t leave an Infonotice at a US Post Office.  Anyway, long story short, don’t mix UPS and USPS.

For two, I had ended up paying much more for camping the night before than I had expected.  From the Montana State Park website, I had understood that hiker/biker sites were only $3.  However, this was really just wishful thinking, the $3 fee is for day use of a State Park for those that arrive via foot or cycle.  Camping fees are actually $15, regardless if you are a cyclist or a family in and RV and a car.  It was already dark and I had my tent set up and dinner cooking when the campsite hosts  came by to pick up the extra $12. My manifesto on RVs and paying for camping will come at a later date, but for now I’ll say that nothing is more irritating than waking up to your neighbor’s RV generator running, especially knowing you paid as much to camp as he did.

After biking south through the Flathead Valley, I made it to Missoula.  While there, I stopped by the Adventure Cycling Association, an organization that promotes travelling by bicycle.  They are well-known for the cycling routes all across the US that they have researched and mapped.  The organization was born out of an event in the summer of 1976 dubbed “Bikecentennial“, where thousands of cyclists rode either all or parts of a designated route that spanned from Oregon to Virginia.

The idea for Bikecentennial was conceived by several cyclists while they were on a trip from Alaska to Argentina.  Among them was Greg Siple, a co-founder of Adventure Cycling, who currently works there as their art director.  He took some time out of his day to give me a tour of their office.  They have a bunch of  bikes on display everywhere, among other remarkable ones is the bike Ian Hibell used to cycle across Europe and Africa.  Hibell was the first person to bike the length of the Americas.

Hanging all over the office are pictures taken during the Bikecentennial ride.  Greg would tell me a story while I stared into the pictures, and more often than not would say, “That was a glorious summer”, before moving on to the next picture.  My dream of being a bearded cyclist in the 70s will never be realized, so the best I can do is be a bearded cyclist and wear 70s clothes from the thrift store.  It was a real treat to meet Greg and learn more about the organization.

From Missoula I headed east to Helena.  There I stayed with the pastor of the Helena Covenant Church (the only one in Montana) and his family.  They received me with open arms and fed me rather well.  I got a tour of the beautiful town which was born out of the gold rush in the area in the late 1800s.

Two more days of riding brought me to Bozeman, where I have been staying with Kristin, whose brother Steve (Hawk) is a good friend from college.  I knew I’d probably spend two days here, taking a break, doing laundry, catching up on emails and sorting photos, etc, but today is now my third day off.    Often my days off the bike can be anything but restful as I inevitably drink coffee all day and stay up late taking advantage of electricity in the form of internet and cold milk on cereal.

I decided not to leave until tomorrow as the weather forecast has some nasty cold weather coming through the area.  I was hoping to be in Yellowstone when the worst of it is expected to hit, so by leaving a day later, I’ll still be at lower altitude where hopefully it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.  At any rate it is going to be a cold, cold week.

I found out a few days ago that my Baptiste, my riding buddy in Alaska and Canada is taking some time off the bike after getting hit by a car in Oregon.  Best wishes for a speedy recovery Baptiste!

My last few days in Canada have been great, and I feel like I’ve milked it for all it is worth.  After Canmore the road south was mostly gravel, and then paved for a while.  Though I didn’t know this when I originally planned my route to avoid Calgary, Hwy 40 crosses Highwood pass at 7,200 ft, the highest driveable pass in Canada.  Despite the altitude, it was actually easier than the passes on the Icefield Hwy;  the gentle slope leading up to it was rather enjoyable.  Just before reaching the top I took a break for some pictures of a few mountain sheep standing in the middle of the road.

Just 24 hours ago I was struggling up a gravel road, even falling off my bike, at about 5mph, working my way out of the foothills of the Canadian Rockies.  That morning I woke up and my thermometer said 29°F inside my tent.  Maybe my thermometer was wrong, but my bucket of water outside had a nice layer of ice on it, so I believe it.  By the end of yesterday I had descended into rolling farmland, with the peaks of the Rockies barely visible in my rearview mirror.  Not since the first few days of my trip in the Artic tundra has the landscape been so wide open and treeless.

I’ll be back in the mountains in a few days, after crossing the border sometime tomorrow and making my way to the east side of Glacier National Park.  I’ll ride Going to the Sun road across the park on Monday, and then meet my cousin Ingrid at the Amtrak station in West Glacier on Tuesday morning.  Then I’ll have a few days off the bike while we do some hiking in the park.

Though I had expected a whole day off in Banff yesterday, I took off yesterday and made it to Canmore, just down the highway.  From here I’ll be taking a gravel road along Spray Lake (the Smith-Dorrien Trail), then down Alberta Hwy 40 and other rural roads to Pincher Creek.  I will be a nice change after having been on all these highways during Labour Day weekend.

The Jasper-Banff experience was less of the theme park rigamarole than I had anticipated.  The road was real busy, but free camped at some secluded spots off the highway a few nights and generally enjoyed the ride, except for the cold drizzle of course.  Plenty of breaks in the clouds to admire the incredible mountains.  I had a great time with Cass, from England, who I met a few days before, and two German cyclists Mieke and Niko.

The ride on the Icefields Parkway was a good introduction to mountain cycling.  Two passes over 6,600 ft and a night at 6,300 feet, where I woke up to a fresh dusting of snow on the nearby peaks.  This is not the Midwest!  I also passed 3,000 total miles during this trip.

It is time to keep riding south.  Less than 250 miles to Montana!

Not sure when I’ll next check in, could be up to a week from now.

I arrived in Banff just as it was getting dark.  Cold after a few days of rain and ice, I decided to check into a hostel.  It was only few dollars more than the local Banff National Park campsites anyway, and I’ve ended up with a dorm room all to myself.

I was hoping to take a day off tomorrow, but am not sure Banff is the place to do it.  Real expensive (the guidebook says “resort town”), and despite a long week, am looking forward to being back in the USA in less than a week, so am tempted to just keep going.  Gorgeous surroundings, to be sure, but boutique filled streets are just not my thing.

Two days ago an English cyclist, Cass, caught up with me, and we ended up staying at an organic gardner’s place that night (more on that later…).  We cycled together yesterday, a rather rainy day, and made it to a campsite after dark last night.

Cass left a little earlier than I did, we had made plans to meet up in Jasper and see if we’d do some more riding together later today.  On my way out of the campsite, I rode by Sean, Ingrid and Kate, the Scottish cycling family, they were packing up and headed out as well.  They had had a few short days due to the awful weather and so I had caught up to them after my days off in Prince George.  I biked the 20 miles into Jasper with them.

And so we’re all in Jasper running errands and doing some shopping, with the idea of meeting up and conquering some of the Icefields Parkway together.  I think we’re all feeling a little frazzled by the circus that is Jasper National Park.  I kind of had a inkling about this when I saw that the first campground headed south from Jasper had over 700 (!!!!) campsites.  Apparently you are supposed to phone somewhere and make reservations, etc, etc.  There are all sorts of price categories, with or without this or that, showers or not; we are used to just biking till sometime in the afternoon and looking for a rest area to camp at.  Cass was told all the sites at the nearest campgrounds are booked, being Labour Day weekend at all.  Not sure what they do if cyclists show up and they are “full”, but I guess we’ll find out.

The threat of more cloudy and rainy weather is a little discouraging.  I planned this route over the coastal route particularly to pass through Jasper and Banff.  To not see anything and be wet the whole time would be quite a pity.  But I’m in good company with the other cyclists and we’re determined to make the most of it rain or shine.

Well Cass is outside the cafe talking to some other touring cyclists that just showed up.  I am going to go say hello to them.  I’ll most likely next update you from Banff.

I’ve  added a “contact me” tab to the blog as well.  Several folks have asked how to send me mail, the next chance to receive something via general delivery will be somewhere in Montana most likely, I’ll let you know as soon as I can.

I had hoped to get the map updated, but have been having trouble with the Google Map plugin.  You can see a list of Alaska and Yukon highways on wikipedia if you want to learn more about the roads I’ve been on.

I ran into the Scottish family again on Friday at the grocery store, they were going to continue biking, and are probably a few days ahead of me, but I hope to catch up to them eventually and spend some more time with them.

As tens of thousands of people gathered on the shores of Lake Michigan to celebrate the Fourth, I was by myself in the middle of Alaska, with nary a patriotic display to be seen.  During the first few days on the Dalton, there was pretty much a tailwind the whole time, but when I woke up that day, this had changed to a headwind.  That afternoon, I started to notice the sky darkening significantly behind me, and thunder off in the distance.  The black clouds started moving in quickly, swallowing the mountains and scenery with it.

With a storm with lightning approaching from from behind and a strong wind coming toward you, it doesn’t take a meteorologist to tell you that the results will be impressive.  I decided to make a quick sandwich while I could, after all, I rather eat while dry and ride in the rain that will eventually come, than ride in the rain anyway and be hungry.

Right when the first drops of rain hit me, there was a turn off to a pipeline maintenance site; perfect timing.  Several times earlier in the trip I had noticed leftover concrete blocks that are used when laying the pipeline underground, and told myself that they would make nice little shelters.  There happened to be some where I pulled over.  I grabbed some warm clothes and crawled under the concrete blocks as the wind began to howl and lightning sounded overhead.

Instead of fireworks I had my own little show.  After the storm passed I took a long nap while until drizzle stopped.  I kept pedalling that evening until I got to Coldfoot, the first place on the Dalton Highway with a gas station.  I saw a note waiting for me there from Baptiste, he had spent time there before finding a ride the rest of the way back to Fairbanks with his broken bike.

I enjoyed a patty melt and fries (with a side of mayo of course), and also enjoyed just sitting in a chair and a table and feeling somewhat civilized, if not rather worn out and grimy.

I think my favorite part of the Dalton was the few days before and after the Atigun Pass.  Here, the road followed rivers and crossed many crystal clear creeks.  After Coldfoot, the rest of the Dalton became much hillier, the scenery a little less dramatic, and mostly covered in haze from forest fires.

Yesterday afternoon, as I was in Vanderhoof, thinking of riding another few miles to make today shorter, I ran into a cycling family from Scotland.  Already avid kayakers, they decided to try cycling, and flew into Inuvik (above the Arctic Circle in the Northwest Territories) earlier this summer and are headed south for the next year and a half.  The dad and the 9 year old daughter have a tandem and mom is on her own bike.  I ended up staying in Vanderhoof, sharing a campsite with them, and very much enjoyed the time spent with them over dinner and breakfast.

As I mentioned before, I met a couple at the campground in Hyder, AK, who invited me to stay with them here in Prince George.  I had told them about Baptiste being a few days ahead of me, and told them they should shout something out the window on their way back home as they passed him (they are from France as well).  It turns out they met up with him, and he has been staying with them for the past few days, waiting for some bike parts to come in.  I had assumed he’d be long gone on his way south, so it has been good to catch up with him and swap stories of the road, which for the past two weeks we’ve expereinced a few days apart.

As for the accomodations here in Prince George, well let me tell you.  I’ve been set up with my own bedroom and a bed (!).  Having slept outdoors every night for the past 5 weeks, I am looking forward to not having to do the following:  set up my tent, crawl into my tent, blow up my Thermarest, unpack the sleeping bag from the stuff sack, listen to the traffic on the highway, pack everything up in the morning, etc etc.  Also, I’ll be doing laundry!

I hitched a ride with two recent college graduates on a 6 week roadtrip around Alaska and Canada.  After the glacier (spectacular, pictures to come) we drove back into Hyder, crossed the border into Stewart, and headed back to the Cassiar Hwy.  I might have stayed a little longer in these very quirky towns, but it was drizzling and I didn’t want to spend all afternoon finding a different ride.

The guys dropped me off at the Meziadin campground pretty early, and I spent the rest of the day in the picnic shelter while it rained.  That evening I enjoyed the company of some folks from Germany, who shared some of their dinner.  The campground director let me stay under the shelter, so the $15 dollars didn’t seem so bad.

After postponing my departure, it finally stopped raining at noon and I decided to get going.  That afternoon I needed to fill up my water bottles, so I leaned my bike on the guardrail on a bridge on a river, and climbed down the the bank.  I heard something (large) moving on the other side of the bridge.  I climbed back up to the road and heard some more rustling in the bushes, and then a minute later a black bear cross the road a few hundered feet down.  Needless to say I got going ASAP and found a nice place by a creek to camp that night.  I saw about 4 bears from a comfortable distance during my last few days on the Cassiar.

Just 35 miles left on the Cassiar the next morning, and then another 30 to New Hazleton.  I am no longer in the wilderness on the Yellowhead Hwy.  Yesterday I got to Smithers, the largest town until Prince George, and wandered around the huge Safeway reminding myself that I didn’t need to buy a week’s worth of food as had been the case earlier in Dease Lake on the Cassiar.

I ran into a local biker on my way in to Smithers who offered to let me use his shower.  It had been a couple of weeks since my last one, so I happily took him up on the offer.  He also donated a bottle of camp fuel, much appreciated!

Last night’s choice of (free) camping, on a mound beside a train track left me with little rest, so I took my time this morning and read the last article in my two year old National Geographic while eating breakfast and lunch.

I hope to make it 20 more miles to Topley this evening.  Then 3 more days of riding to Prince George where I’ll probably take another day off for some bike repairs and picture uploading.  I met some folks at the campground in Hyder who have offered a place to stay, which is very nice, especially in a larger place like Prince George.

Then I’ll continue east to Jasper and the down to Banff, and hope to be in Montana by mid September.

I can’t remember if I mentioned this in a previous post, but my sick days off meant Baptiste and I split up, he is now a few days ahead.  He’s giving me heads up on things along the way, which is nice!  Maybe I’ll run into him in Mexico or Central America. It was great having a riding companion through Alaska and the Yukon. Buen viaje Baptiste!

A quick update to say that after 14 days on the bike, with the last week being particularly rough with a doubly whammy of stomach illness and awful headwinds, I’m taking a day off in Hyder, Alaska.  It is the southernmost city in Alaska you can drive to, only 40 miles off the Cassiar Hwy.  I left my bike in Meziadin Junction, and hitched a ride with a couple and their daughter from Spain.

More tomorrow!

Before Matt’s big trip I wasn’t  one to answer my cell phone when I didn’t recognise the phone number. This summer I quickly learned that I really do need to answer it because most likely it is Matt calling from the middle of nowhere letting me know he’s alive. The second lesson I’ve learned is to carry a pen and paper with me wherever I go or else I won’t remember where he is.

The last phone call I received from Matt was on Monday August 17th. His phone card was down to 3 minutes. Before the recorded voice interrupted us to tell us the phone card was almost done I was able to get the following update:

Matt is still on the Cassiar Highway, halfway between the Alaska and Yellowhead Highway. He had to take a few days off because he was sick for a while but is feeling better and his journey continues….

I think I got the details right but I apologize if I didn’t. Matt sounded good but we weren’t sure how expensive the call was so we kept it short. If he doesn’t have internet access he will call me and I will give the next update.

But for now I’ll tell you a little story about some folks I met on the train almost two months ago sometime around Montana.  Karl and Emmy had hitchhiked their way from the east coast and were behind schedule, so had to get on the train.  They were spending some time in Seattle and then headed to Alaska.  We chatted and played cards for a few hours in the observation car on the train.  Great folks, and talking with them convinced me that if I wasn’t biking arond, hitchhiking would be the best way to see places and meet people.  So many cars going everywhere with empty seats…

Anyway, a month later I was in Fairbanks just having repaired my rim and trying to figure out how to get back to Delta Junction.  I looked at the ride-share page on Craigslist, and noticed a Karl needing a ride from Fairbanks to Tok, same direction I was headed, and the area code was from Maine!  I had a feeling I knew who it was.  I called, sure enough, it was Karl from the train.  He was on his way back to Maine after his time in Alaska.  He hadn’t found a ride from anyone yet so I didn’t actually meet up with him, and later that day I would end up taking a shuttle back to Delta.

Now here comes the crazy part.  We were no more than a mile or two out of Whitehorse yesterday when I saw two hitchhikers ahead.  I had some witty remark all prepared for them (”Jump in, make sure to buckle up”), and then, my jaw dropped and I let out a big yell.  It was Emmy!  Her and another friend were hitching from Alaska across Canada and had been dropped off by their previous ride only a few minutes before we biked by.

After a reluctant departure from the bakery, this encounter brought a much needed smile to my face.  Emmy is the only person I’ve run into that I knew before starting the trip in Alaska.  We chatted for a bit, and saw them wave from a car a little while after.  Good luck Emmy and friend on your way back home!

PS.  All the hitchhikers I’ve encountered (myself included) on this trip seem like safe, interesting people.   If and when I get a car, I’ll look forward to picking them up.

We liked it so much we’re staying another day, and will probably get going again Thursday morning (though it will be very hard to leave).

Our first stop yesterday was at McDonalds, first time on the trip.  I got a double Big Mac (maybe they only exist in Canada?).  That is 4 slices of meat.  Pretty amazing, but it made me miss my favo(u)rite McDonalds, which can all be found in the 60625 and 60640 zip codes, but then again, a lot of my favorite things can be found in those zip codes, so this comes as no surprise.  In particular, the Dollar Menu is difficult to find elsewhere…

We bummed around town for a little, and I consumed way too much coffee at a great place called Baked.  The coffee here actually tastes like coffee!  Not wanting to pay $14 (!) for each of our tents at the city campground, we found a little spot in the forest across the Yukon river from town.  After about four hours of trying to fall asleep (so much caffeine), a few late night partiers could be heard nearby in the forest.  They made their entrance to Hey Jude on a boombox, but it was rather dark and didn’t seem to notice us, and probably wouldn’t have cared much either that we had set up camp in their hang out spot.

Today, after getting some stuff at the bike store (which shares space with a coffee roaster, heaven!), I’m back at Baked, and have switched to decaf as my toes are twitching.   I’m working on a few things on the internet, and have a to-do list of things to add to the blog.

My last (and first) post that went into great detail about my travels related the first few days of the trip.  I spent about 5 hours working on this in Fairbanks, and realized that it to took way too much time, especially given the limited internet access on the trip.  From now on it seems that the best approach is shorter vignettes of life on the road.  There is no way I’ll keep an account of each day with pictures as some people do.  Some days bring more interesting stories, I’ll try to focus on those.

Expect the following sometime in the near future:

• A comprehensive review of each and every cinnamon bun so far (sneak preview: bigger is not always better)
• For those interested in bikes and long distance touring, a look at some of the stuff I brought with me (sneak preview: yes, I have a cast iron skillet)
• A little bit about Baptiste, my biking buddy (sneak preview: his biggest struggle in life is Nutella falling through the darned holes in bagels; recently he discovered English muffins)
• all this and so much more!

Thanks all for the comments, it is good to hear from you.  Please let me know if there is anything you’d like to hear about more.

yum

That pretty much settled it!  There is even an airstrip named in honor of these gargantuan cinnamon buns.  Should be there in a few days, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into one of these things…

Now it is 90 °F at 9pm.  The heat these past two days has taken the enjoyment out of everything.  The weather the next three days is supposed to be the same, highs above 90.   I’m thinking of this as preparation for Central America.

The worst part of this story is that I was given a pound (yes, a pound) of butter in Dawson City and was looking forward to eating it in many delicious ways.  But now it is sitting in an almost liquid, disfigured blob in my pannier.  I may not get to eat the whole pound before it is too late…