Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2009 (very delayed)
From: Michael Ayers <michael@terminalia.org>
Subject: Gondwana - Monuments, Milestones, Moneyless, and nearing the Melancholic end in Mexico
Buenos Dias Phreds,
It was hard for me to comprehend that on the morning of June 5, 02008 shortly after I left Corozal, Belize, I would cross the border into the 43rd, and final, new country of the Tour - Mexico.
That was indeed the case, however, but my plans for that country, and the finale for the whole Tour, were still up in the air. My tardiness and budgetary overshoot concerns had not improved through Central America, and had actually gotten worse. Though while there was still a rather long way to go and many things I wanted to see in Mexico, I felt that I should still be able to just get through without too much difficulty. As I probably should have expected, however, events beyond my control would soon conspire to make that goal seem practically unachievable. Since most of the North American readers of this list are probably familiar enough with the southern member of the continent, I won’t waste many words on background information this time. However, there were a few aspects of the country that I was concerned about before I arrived. I had wondered if over a decade of NAFTA and Perot’s “Giant Sucking Sound” had transformed the nation into some kind of a giant, industrial free-for-all zone, and the traffic-snarled dystopia that would surely go along with that. What I found was that this concern had not been really warranted, as only a few widely spaced areas in the far north showed many signs of such changes. A related concern was that any sort of reasonably direct route through the areas I wanted to visit would need to pass through several large cities, and occasionally make use of highways that, at least on the map, appeared to be much busier that I would normally choose. In that case I was also relatively pleased with the actual situation. While I did have to use expressways and other main highways on occasion, they were not usually as bad as I had feared, and the distances over which I was forced to employ them were often relatively short. Moreover, Mexico was the first country in a long, long time, where a fairly extensive and usable network of what would normally be called “backroads” existed, and it was perhaps the best country of the Tour in that regard. To be sure, sometimes those minor roads were almost as busy as the main highways, or covered with a non-ideal surface, but frequently they were pleasantly quiet and rolled along through chains of appealing small towns and villages. One last concern was food, as the typical Mexican-restaurant fare that one sees in the States, tacos, enchiladas, burritos, and the like, has never been one of my favorite cuisines. Of course, I should have realized that the real gastronomy of the country would prove to be much more varied, tasty, and quite to my liking. One thing that did surprise me, again, given NAFTA and globalization in general, was the lack of big corporate American products in the supermarkets, which focused more on locally produced counterparts. I can also say that, among all of the spicy-food-loving nations of the world, Mexico surely takes the top prize. While I like a hot dish as much as the next person, sometimes meals there were way beyond my comfort level. That fact was exaggerated in the final weeks of the Tour, when my sunburned lips had once again cracked open in many places, turning every bite into an anguishing, but necessary, sentence.
My route was laid out to allow me to visit as many historic sites, and other attractions, as possible, avoid the congestion of Mexico City, and then reach the US border at Arizona or New Mexico. The plan was to arc around the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, then cross through Chiapas toward the Pacific coast, and then turn north to Oaxaca. Those areas were the most important part of the country for me, and that part of my route would remain largely unchanged. From there, my original idea was to drop back down to the Gulf coast, and ride north along its shores for a considerable distance to avail myself of its milder terrain, before finishing with a northwesterly course across the northern part of the country. However, by the time I arrived I was intent on streamlining the route in order to save as much time as possible. There were several possibilities for alternates through central Mexico, and I investigated skipping some areas by using the ferries in the Gulf of California as well. As it turned out none of those options looked as if they would save more than a few days off my first plan. Nevertheless, I continued to consider those alternates though the early part of the tour through the country. In the end, however, it was not time, but climate, which prompted me to modify the plan. After sweating through Central America and the Yucatan, I realized that one of the alternate routes I had looked at, which ran directly north through the central highlands, passing a little to the east of Mexico City, would almost certainly be a lot cooler. After investigating that option a little more thoroughly, I realized that that section of the country was more plateau-like than I had realized at first, so therefore its terrain should, in theory, allow me to keep to a faster pace. That ended up being my final route choice, though there were times in subsequent weeks when I thought I might have to skip over large portions of it.
Though I distinctly wanted everything to go smoothly, so I could really enjoy the finale of the Tour, my time in Mexico began rather inauspiciously, and there were a number of adverse occurrences early on, most of which were not my fault. After a fairly easy border crossing, just north of Corozal, Belize, I made a bit of a wrong turn where a new road was under construction, and that looped me right back to the border town where I had just started. Though I lost less than an hour because of that, by the time I got myself reoriented, and had a snack, I felt demoralized enough that I rode only the 10 kilometers to the regional capital of Chetumal, and took an unplanned rest day. That would be a bit of ominous foreshadowing of upcoming events. After that quick, unneeded rest, the next day was the first day in a long time that I covered a complete day’s distance, 159 kilometers to the town of Felipe Carillo Puerto, assisted by the fact that the flat terrain in the area is covered with low, but thick, forest which prevented any sort of interesting views along the way and removed any reason to stop. That day was also marked by both a milestone and a mishap. The first occurred on an otherwise unremarkable piece of highway, when my accumulated distance for the entire Tour passed the 80,084-kilometer mark. That meant I had completed my second circumference of the Earth, one of my last remaining goals! (The first circuit, of 40,075 kilometers, was completed in Malawi, but I considered the second half of the Tour to be on a polar route, and, as everyone knows, that value is slightly less, a mere 40,008 kilometers.) After that I was feeling great, but that situation turned out to be short-lived as, with only 15 kilometers or so to town, I suddenly detected unpleasant signals, buzzing sounds, and the like, indicating that I was under attack by a swarm of bees! This was the second occurrence of such an assault during the Tour, the first being in Rwanda. As before, I did nothing to provoke the aggressors, as I was simply gliding along a quiet highway. But, also as before, they seemed to be incensed by my sweaty aroma, which mainly attracted them to my helmet and gloves. I quickly tossed the helmet aside, which didn’t help too much, and so, several meters later I let the bike roll off into the grass while I dashed ahead on foot. Most of the dastardly insects seemed to veer off with the bike and hovered above its location for several minutes. It was quite a while before I could run back and grab it without attracting their attention again, which was really frustrating. Eventually, with dispatch, I was able to retrieve it, as well as the helmet which was resting 30 meters farther back along the roadside. Through the whole event I believe I was stung seven times, and, I suppose that I was fortunate that they weren’t Killer bees as their venom didn’t appear to be too toxic. The following, short, day brought me to Tulum, on the east coast of the Yucatan, where, due to some carelessness on my part, some of the cash I had been carrying vanished from my belongings, the first time such a regrettable event had occurred in three years of travel. Unfortunately, those two incidents would be just the start of my bad luck in that area.
Tulum is a somewhat low-key, but surprisingly expensive, beach resort, which I wanted to visit in order to see the nearby Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve, and a small, but exquisitely sited, Mayan ruin complex nearby. It was after those visits that I learned of a problem which would bring nothing but headaches and delays for a lengthy period ahead. To make a long story short, by that time, the last remnants of my cash reserves were kept in a European account I had opened specifically to make things easier during the Tour. When I checked on that account in Tulum, I learned that the bank had decided that they would no longer hold accounts for Americans and the only way to get the last of my money was to have it sent to my American bank. Fine. They wanted the transfer request in writing, which took me several days to work around, and when they finally had the wire transfer details for my bank, they made some sort of an error entering my account data, and my money vanished into a puff of electronic ether (all of it). It was several more days before I even knew that they had made a mistake, during which time they only told me that it had been sent and I should have it “any day now.” Of course, I didn’t, and eventually I learned that my cash had bounced bank to the sending bank, at which point they re-entered my account details and sent it again. By the time the international transfer was processed, and the cash cleared into my account, twenty-two days had passed, for a simple transaction that, in the 21st century, should happen almost instantaneously. One can imagine how frustrating that was. The first couple of days of that fiasco, when I still thought everything would be resolved quickly, I spent a couple days in the too-expensive beach town of Playa del Carmen, but soon I realized that my remaining pocket cash would be gone before too long. To try and stretch that out I slowly moved up the coast eating in small towns and camping on the beach. Eventually, realized that in order to get consistent Net access and to be able to call the bank overnight during their business hours, I needed to be in big resort of Cancun, where there was better communications available, so that was where I spent the bulk of that annoying lay-off. Though I had rarely stayed in Hostels during the Tour, I was lucky that I found the Hostel Quetzal, run by Monica Moray, an American expat dancer/actor, who was gracious enough to let me stay for several days with only a promise that I would pay when my cash finally arrived. Any tourist finding themselves in Cancun should certainly stay at her place. There were a number of aggravating screw-ups by shipping companies, airlines, and banks that arose during the tour, but that one was by far and away the pinnacle of exasperation, even more so as it occurred so close to the Tour’s completion.
The result of that near disaster, apart from me not being able to eat for almost a week, was that it seemed practically impossible that I could make up more than a tiny amount of that lost time, and would, therefore need to skip over part of the route by bus in order to make my stated return date. Once I finally got moving again, the rest of the Yucatan had many nice attractions which I did my best to see, though without excessive delay. The famous Mayan ruins at Chitzen Itza were very impressive, especially the main pyramid, El Castillo, which was probably the most symmetric and attractive of all the ones that I saw in the region. Shortly after was the beautiful old town of Izamal, which I did not know about in advance, but which was so attractive, with its streets lined with yellow-ochre colored buildings, that I couldn’t resist taking an unplanned half-day off there. From Izamal, I hit the coast again on the northern side of the peninsula in order to pass through the frumpy little town of Puerto Chicxulub. There was absolutely nothing of interest visible there (in this epoch, at least,) but the townsite is now known to be close to the center of the impact point of the asteroid which collided with the Earth at the K-T boundary, 65 million years ago, causing a tremendous mass extinction. I knew that there was nothing there today, but I still wanted to ride through anyway, just to say that I was there. A half a day beyond was Merida, the state capital, a fairy large city with a nice historic district. I took an extra day there in order to replace another rear tire which had worn through unexpectedly early not long before, and to see the town a little. Turning south, the route passed fairly close to several important Mayan sites, of which I visited three. Uxmal was one of the nicest, and seemed the most like a complete urban center than the others I saw. Kabah was a fairly small, and less well-known, site that, nevertheless, still had some nice structures, some with an excessive level of ornamentation. The last in that area, Edzna, was one of the more enjoyable sites I visited thanks to its lush green grounds, and especially due to the fact that, at the early hour at which I arrived, I had the whole complex to myself. The last stop in the region came that same afternoon, at the historic port town of Campeche.
The distance to Palenque, my next destination would normally have taken two and a half days, but my still lax pace turned it into more like three. The first of those days was the most pleasant, with most of the route close to the Caribbean coast, ending at the quaint little town of Sabancuy, which would provide the Tour’s final opportunity to see the Atlantic. At Palenque, I visited the last of the nine Mayan sites of the Stage, and that one proved to be probably the most picturesque due to its mountainside location. That same factor server to remind me that I was now returning to the mountainous part of the country, a situation that I had managed to avoid for most of the Stage so far. Now in the state of Chiapas, which was the scene of a tense rebellion sixteen years earlier, the route would cross the narrowest part of the country, the Isthmus of Tehuantapec. With no overt indications of lingering tensions, apart from a faded sign or two, I instead enjoyed the pleasant green forests and increasing coolness as the road climbed to the Continental Divide. It was 320 kilometers to the main city of the region, the attractive San Cristobal de Las Casas, and I had hoped that I might arrive early enough on the second day to see a little of the town in daylight. However, as I suspected might be the case, the climb to San Cristobal, located at 2,450 meters, was not a single climb, but instead was broken by at least four small-to-moderate descents, thus increasing the total amount of climbing considerably. When descending in that area, I found it imperative to keep a close eye out for Topes, which are the local variety of speed bumps. While such hazards are common in many countries, they were even more so in Mexico, especially in that region, popping up where one might least expect them. In some instances they seemed to have been installed by owners of restaurants in order to slow down potential customers. What was worse was the fact that, unlike in most other parts of the world, there had never been even the slightest effort made to paint them bright white or yellow, or install any sort of warning sign. Of course, hitting one unexpectedly while descending on a loaded bike would bring ones day’s to a quick end, and I was fortunate to have kept my wits about me enough that such a disaster did not happen to me. Given all of that it was not surprising that it was almost dark when I reached San Cristobal, which was a bit of a shame, as it seemed like quite a nice place.
To get from San Cristobal to Oaxaca, it was necessary to drop straight back down to near the Pacific coast, and then climb back up to altitude once more. While I would rather have just stayed up at a high elevation the whole time, at least the descent was a different experience for part of the way. There were two roads leading out of San Cristobal, an older, longer route, and a new toll road. I can’t exactly remember my reasons for making such an uncommon decision, but I went on the toll road. As it turned out the road was a two-lane expressway with wide smooth shoulders, and rather light traffic, which was not too bad. What was distinctive, however, was that it included the first 1,600 meters of the descent to the west coast, and in doing so was constructed without as much as the slightest curve, not to mention the switchbacks found on other mountain roads. Losing that much elevation on a straight, smooth road was certainly fast, though after the novelty wore of, somewhere near the top, it seemed rather boring overall. Later, after a little more high terrain, the rest of the descent, utilizing a more traditional road, brought me to the tiny village of Tapanhatepec. Along the way down, I caught a few glimpses of an estuary of the pacific, the last contact I would have with that, or indeed any, ocean for the remainder of the Tour. After a short day, and another half, of milder terrain, the climb back up to Oaxaca began in earnest. Once that climb was complete I would, more or less, be up at a moderate altitude for the remainder of the Tour. However, just as with the climb to San Cristobal, this one included some intermediate descents, and reaching Oaxaca, which lies at about 1,900 meters involved 2,900 meters of climbing, so it took a little longer than I might have liked.
Oaxaca was probably the one city in Mexico that I was most interested in visiting. Of course, nothing is ever so simple, and in 02007, while I was in East Africa, a teacher’s strike gripped the city, subsequently the situation deteriorated further, and the city almost became the scene of a local revolution. By the time I finally arrived, thankfully, things seemed, on the surface at least, to have gotten back to normal, and I saw nothing that gave me any cause for concern. I had intended on staying two days, then shortened that plan to one in order to make up for lost time, but revived the second day off, as I didn’t have the energy to move again after only one. That gave me enough time to catch my breath a little and still visit some of the sights of the area, including two ancient Zapotec cities, a smallish complex at Mitla, and a much larger and more famous version at Monte Alban. The city itself has a quite pleasant centro, with some fine historic buildings, lively markets, tasty cuisine, and a few unique places, such as little shops where cocoa beans are ground into traditional chocolates. The pleasant surprise of my visit was that, unbeknownst to me before I arrived, the days that I would be there coincided with the annual La Guelaguetza Festival. That celebration dates back to the pre-colonial days, and today involves much dancing, several concerts, fireworks, and parades. In the latter, the dancing groups display their traditional costumes from the surrounding local regions, including the popular group from the lowlands of the province, whose ladies dance with pineapples on their shoulders. I actually stumbled on that parade by accident, when I went out to look for a bike shop. The parade was more fun, but the bike shop was more useful, as it was the only really well stocked one I had seen for a long time. I picked up some extra tubes and, more importantly, replaced my disintegrating pair of gloves, as well as made the ever-important attempt at gleaning advice for the upcoming route.
By that time I had already decided on taking the route through the central plateau, but there was still a little uncertainty as to its exact details. In addition to the cooler temperatures in the highlands, which, in reality, turned out to be a huge advantage, the revised route would include a number of interesting places over the next 1,000 kilometers, several of which were World Heritage Sites. Many of those, however, were the historic centers of a string of colonial cities in that region, so I expected there to be a fair amount of traffic and other stressful conditions added onto the already decidedly unrelaxing end of the Tour. The first of those cities, one of Mexico’s largest, was Puebla, though it is an order of magnitude smaller than Mexico City. There were two highways from Oaxaca to there, which appeared roughly equidistant on my maps. The fellow at the bike shop in Oaxaca seemed to think that the more easterly route would be best, though I gathered from him that it would include more severe terrain than I would have guessed. I went that way after all, and though there were some pleasant conditions and beautiful scenery along the way, the forewarned terrain included a 1,200-meter descent, and its subsequent climb back to altitude, not to mention the extra 69 kilometers of distance beyond what was marked on my map. The result was that what could have conceivably taken two days took three. During that section, I did begin to realize that I was at last crossing into the North American bioregion. Central America and southern Mexico, in terms of flora and fauna, are essentially an extension of tropical South America. North of Oaxaca, the pine forests, birds, and flowers I saw along the way all seemed more familiar to me, and reinforced the imminent approach of the Tour’s end, a somewhat foreboding feeling to be sure.
Arriving in Puebla much later than I had hoped, and being greeted by a strong cloudburst, just as I entered the city, I only had time to ride around the historic district a little on the way out of town the following morning. That pattern repeated itself a few more times through next section, where I often only had just enough time to grab some photos of the interesting sights. The next of those were two Franciscan Missions on the slopes of Volcan Popcatepetl, in the little villages of Calpan and Huejotzingo, which were quite nice, but involved a bit of an indirect detour though the countryside north of Puebla. Though slower than I would have liked, most of the roads in that area were quite pleasant, foreshadowing the presence of an increased level of useable backroads in the region, which certainly was a treat. The next stop was the mysterious ancient city of Teotihuacan, located in the outermost fringes of Mexico City to the east, and famous for its open urban design and its two massive pyramids. That site really deserved a full look, so I spent a entire morning there. Up next was the historic center of Queretaro, after a long day and a half of riding. Once again, I arrived late and only had time to take some evening photos of is collection of colonial buildings, and a few more on my way out the next morning. The route out of town to the north was much less pleasant than the inbound route from the east had been, with a considerable distance along busy expressways through some unattractive sprawl. Nevertheless, by early afternoon, I had reached the town of San Miguel de Allende, which I had been pleased to learn only a couple of weeks earlier, had just been added to the World Heritage List with the new 02008 inscriptions. I had thought that I might just stop for lunch and a photo break, and then continue on to the next town, which was also on the list. However, the centro of San Miguel was down a small hill from the highway and I wasn’t sure that I would have enough energy to go down, have a look around, and still make it to my planned destination that evening, so I chose to stay there for the afternoon. Once I reached the centro, I realized that was a good decision, as the city was one of the more charming examples of the region’s colonial heritage. Most of the major cities in the area north of Mexico City, played some sort of a role in the region’s silver-mining boom during the 17th and 18th centuries, and still show the effects that such wealth had produced. San Miguel, seemed to me to be the religious center of the area, with a number of very fine churches and monasteries, as well as smaller-scaled decorations of the faith on the homes and shops throughout the old town.
Continuing on, the next stop was the equally historic city of Guanajuato, and it soon became apparent that it would not have been smart to try and get there the previous day, in any case. The ride from San Miguel, a long half day of 94 kilometers, was reasonable, if rather slow, but the approach to the city proved to be one of the more technically challenging of the Tour. The old section of Guanajuato is jammed into a narrow ravine, and just getting to that part of town was confusing enough. However, to alleviate congestion in the centro the city has constructed a labyrinth of subterranean roadways beneath the town, and try as I might to avoid going down into that maze, it was inevitable, I suppose, that I would end up there at some point. Most of the time the tunnels were not actually too bad, with adequate light and a minimal shoulder. However, there were some crazy aspects of the course, such as hills, merging lanes, junctions, and the only underground traffic light I have ever seen, all of which made my eventual arrival at the centro (the above-ground part, that is,) feel like quite a relief. One I settled down after that experience, I found Guanajuato to be one of the nicest of the historic towns in the region, with sort of an open-air museum feeling, complete with costumed musicians performing in front of some of the more important buildings. The distance to the next important town, Zacatecas, was a little longer, so I didn’t have the rushed feeling caused by a lot of extra sightseeing for a few days, which gave me sort of a nice little break. The start of that section involved a long climb up out of Guanajuato town, and the summit of that particular grade, at a relatively low 2,717 meters, turned out to be the highest point of the Stage. From there, however, I could not realistically say that it was “all downhill from now on.”
The three rather short days it took to reach Zacatecas, were pleasant enough, if rather uneventful, though I certainly took note of the increasingly arid environment in the surrounding areas, which revealed my arrival in the deserts that would be the Tour’s end. Zacatecas was the last major destination in Mexico and therefore one of the last of the Tour, so I had planned a full day off there, and hoped to arrive as early as possible the day before in order to extend the break. However, the approach to the city was as slow and confusing as the one into Guanajuato had been, though completely above ground for a change. In that case, the city, and its suburb, Guadalupe, sprawled along in another narrow valley for the last 15 kilometers, or so, of the southeastern approach. With any sort of helpful signage disappearing right at the edge of the urban area, I was forced to rely upon solely information that I had read in a guidebook, stating that the cities main landmark was the famous twin-spired cathedral located at the central plaza. Of course, I noticed at least five other, smaller cathedrals or churches with two towers, and their appearances had me winding around the city in a quite unproductive way. Once I was finally settled at a place in the historic district, I did enjoy the last real break of the Tour. In fact, though I really couldn’t spare an extra day, since my day off was on a Sunday, I needed to stay for a second in order to take care of a couple of errands, and that, at least, gave me a decent rest that I hadn’t had in a while, and wouldn’t have again during the Tour. There were a few interesting museums and other diversions in town, such as a tour of the former silver mine, which was considerably more modern and touristy than the one I had taken in Bolivia, and a nice cable-car up to a hilltop with a nice view of the area. The more unique experience was the parade that marked the end of an international folk dance festival that was being held in the town. Some of the performing groups were from regions I had visited earlier on, and it gave me an opportunity to reminisce a little. Time was running out, in a big way, however, and from there on I really needed to light a fire under myself.
If I was going to skip ahead by bus, for time purposes, the monotonous 900 kilometers between Zacatecas and Chihuahua would have been the place to do it. Earlier on, I intended to do just that, but as I neared that point, and though I had skipped short distances by bus or train a few times in the past, doing so for such a long distance, and so close to the end of the Tour, seemed incredibly lame. In fact, once again, I’m not sure if I could have been able to make myself accept that change of plans without loosing my composure. The only option, then, was to really haul it to the end point of the Tour. In reality, the daily distances that would require were not really much more intense than what I had done at times during earlier Stages, but the final year had seen me drop my pace considerably, so it felt like I had a rough task ahead. On the negative side, I needed to ride the rest of the way without a full day off, and I, in fact, only had four half-days off during the final 17 days of the Tour. On the other hand, the need to progress quickly, and my lack of cash, admittedly, got me back into the habit of camping again, which I had been telling myself that I needed to start doing more frequently since I left Africa. It was nice to return once again to the feeling that the Tour had in the early days, and which had been lost somewhat when I fell into the habit of staying indoors most of the time. Those days, through the wild-west scenery and relatively mild terrain of Durango and Chihuahua states, passed easily enough, without any reason to stop apart for a few afternoons when I simply was too tired to continue. For most of the time, I was able to keep to a route that avoided most of the heavy traffic as it rolled through rural ranch country, which helped a lot. In fact the only area in which I noticed the preponderance of recently built factories, and the traffic that goes with them, was in the area immediately to the north of Chihuahua city. I was aiming for the border post at Puerto Palomas de Villa/Columbus, N.M., since it appeared to be one of the smallest, and hopefully would be drastically less busy than some of the more famous crossings. To get there involved another departure from the main highway on a quieter road further west, which, of course, was a desirable change in any case. Along that route was the final historic site of the many I visited in Mexico, namely the ruins of the adobe town of Paquime, near Nuevo Casas Grandes. That site contrasted dramatically from the grand stone Mayan and Zapotec cities further south, as it is instead one of the most southerly examples of the Puebloan culture once found further north. The adobe remains themselves were a little thin, but the site museum was quite good, and the visit made for a nice reminder that I would soon be crossing into yet another culture myself.
Indeed, after two unremarkable half-days, there it was, the final border of the Tour! That would be the 78th international border I crossed on the Tour, and you might think that I would have had my act together at that point. However, I neglected to remember that there is often a small exit tax when leaving a country, and, after spending my last Pesos on cold drinks and ice cream, I had to scrounge around in my bags to put together enough cash for that. I was also a little concerned that, given the political climate in the US at the time, my scruffy appearance, and a few politically incorrect stamps in my passport, that I might have a little difficulty getting back into the United States. Fortunately, I was correct about the quietness of the immigration station, and the border guards were pleasant and helpful enough. My original plan for the Tour had me continuing on for quite a ways after crossing the border, seeing many of the famous attractions of the US Southwest; Mesa Verde, Arches, Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon, and Zion National Parks, Monument Valley, and finishing up at the Grand Canyon. I had decided months earlier to slice out the portion of the route in Utah, but at that point I still wanted to see Mesa Verde, and, of course, end at the Canyon. Time and lack of cash forced me to skip Mesa Verde after all, which was a little annoying, but, actually, I was also too worn out for much more. Instead, I rode north generally parallel to the Arizona-New Mexico border, and then arced across the Navajo territory, which left me just enough time to include a ride into, and back out of, Monument Valley. Then, as is befitting for such a long endeavor, the final two days of the Tour of Gondwana were characterized by the type of natural obstacles that should have been old hat for me by then, but which, in realty, were not. Specifically, the ferocious, hot, dry, headwind, which blew for most of the final two days, and the deceptively gradual 930-meter climb to the east entrance of the park, which rose up as if to give one final reminder that I was not as strong as I thought I was. At the summit of that particular incline, which I did in fact reach, was a sign that read “Grand Canyon National Park,” something I was never 100% sure I would get to see. A few kilometers beyond, at the Desert View Overlook, I was offered my first view of the giant chasm, which, many years earlier, I had selected as the terminus for the Tour, because it seemed like an appropriately dramatic location.
The view, of course, did not disappoint, though, with nothing left to look forward to, I noticed in myself a peculiar feeling of emptiness, as opposed to the triumphal excitement I had been expecting. I suppose, then, I will end the story of the Tour the same way; simply.
I did it.
Thanks,
Mike
The Tour of Gondwana
May 5, 02005-August 22, 02008