The next morning I ran into Carly fairly early.  She said she was at Semuc Champey, the main attraction about 10 kms away, a few days before, but she was only there for a few hours and could have easily spent much more time there.  We managaed to hitch a ride there and spent a day hanging out at the pools.  Semuc Champey is an awesome place.  Since I am pretty bad about photos, I recommend you google the place and see pitctures there.  There is a limestone bridge that goes over a river down in a valley.  There is a waterfall on one side of the bridge that disappears underneath and downstream maybe a hundred meters comes out again.  The bridge itself is full of spring filled pools that are fantastic for swimming.  We spent the day there swimming and enjoying the area.  There is also a trail that is a few kms long that leads up to a high lookout point above the whole valley.

After several hours we had to start looking for a ride back before cars stopped running to the city.  We got a ride back to Lanquin and ate dinner at the hostal, followed by a handful of beers at the bar.  The next morning I signed up for the tour of the pools that the hostal provided.  Several people I had met highly recommended it to me.  First we went to the caves that were right next to the pools.  The cave had a river inside of it and we went through the flooded caverns for a few hours using nothing but candles.  I am sure there was some provision for if the candles all went out and no ones lighter worked, but maybe not.  After all this is Guatemala I told myself.  Safety regulations be damned.  I kinda like it better that way.  It was definitely a challenge keeping everyone´s candle lit, especially when we had to swim through streams with candles in our mouths, but it was a lot of fun.  There was also an area, where you could climb up the wall and jump into a deep pool.  “Make sure you hit this spot,” the guide told me.  After giving him a sketchy look I jumped and turned out just fine.

After that we swam in the river a little bit.  There was a rope swing we jumped off of, and tubes that we floated downstream on for a few minutes.  We also jumped off a bridge over the river, but to all real Topeka people reading this it was not as high as Huxman.  We did go to the Semuc Champey pools at the end of the day, but it really was not enough time to take it all in and I was happy I spent an entire day there the day before.  After we got back from the pools, some of the people I had met on the tour and I arranged for a ride to some caves right outside of town.  It was near sunset, and at that time thousands of bats flew out of the cave.  I walked around in the cave realy briefly before standing at the entrance.  It was amazing how there were thousands of bats flying all around me and not a single one touched me.  I could feel the wind they would push on my face and all around, but never once did a single one come in contact with me.

The next day it was time to leave.  I was running low on Quetzales and there was no ATM in the city.  In the morning when I went to get my bike out of the shed, I saw two other bikes in there with full gear.  As I was packing up I met the English couple that was riding them.  They had started in Panama and were heading north.  I was amazed when I saw they did not have cycling shoes and pedals to clip into.  I asked them how they get up the hills and they said very slowly.  They were traveling much lighter than me so I guess it evens itself out.  I chatted with them for a little while about the road ahead for each of us and wished them luck.  I said goodbye to Carly and told her I was heading to San Pedro and maybe we could meet up there.

On the way out of Lanquin I could tell it was going to be another one of those days.  One of my tires was a little low on air so I decided to pump it up.  Of course, when I was finishing, the fence I leaned the bike against collapsed while I still had a hold of the pump and I bent my valve stem on my irreplaceable tube.  I can always take a stem out of one of my unused tubes, but 700×45 tubes are impossible to find here and damaging one is a big loss.  Then I had to begin the dreaded climb out of Lanquin.  I did well for a little while, but then it started raining again and I had to deal with the slipping and sliding and pushing to get out of the valley.  After about three hours I had finally covered the 11 kms and was riding on the strangest thing, pavement.

The paved road was uphill, but I really did not care at all.  It was so refreshing to once again be on pavement and actually focus on riding and having a good time than struggling to stay upright on some rediculous grade.  Before long I was in Coban and I stayed in a hostal that actually sold maps of the country, a golden find.  I headed out the next morning and had some real enjoyable mountan riding for a little while.  The up and down riding through little towns without any extreme climbs and any extreme decents was so refreshing.  However, all good things must come to an end.  The pavement ended and for a few kms the road was incredibly awful.  Fortunately, this only lasted a few kms before the road turned into something much more rideable, but still unpaved.  I was enjoying the spectacular views for a while before hitting the most rediculous stretch of road I have ever seen.  It was obvious something had happened, because the main road was closed and instead I had to take the vehicular version of Space Mountain.  It was absolutely horrifying to be on something with wheels on the way down.  It took a lot of concentration and forarm endurance to make it to the bottom.  I was fully breaking the whole way down.  Once I got to the bottom, I had to go back up.  I did not even try to pedal.  There is no way I could have made it and with the narrow roads and heavy trucks forcing me to pull over.  Fortunately, the extreme cycling only lasted about 2 kms.

I spent the next couple hours decending on unpaved roads.  It was not too bad but it was impossible to ever get up to speed without pavement which is pretty annoying.  Also,  once again I missed some great scenery because I was unable to concentrate on anything other than what I was doing.  I hit the river valley and started to go back up again.  The uphill road was paved thank goodness, but it was super steep.  Over 15 percent grades at times.  By the time I got to Uspantan, my stop for the night I was totally wrecked.  I ran into another American there who was working with an organization called Bridges to Prosperity and had projects starting soon in the area.  He was super generous and took me out to dinner where I met another American girl in the city working with the Peace Corps.  When I told her I had ridden from Coban, she said she was suprised I could walk.  She said that was the steepest road in the country.  I told her I beg to differ, but it was definitely tough.

I was offered a free place to stay from my new friends which I happily took.  The next day was totally paved, but full of more really tough climbs, and really tough decents.  Nothing very eventful took place until I made it to Santa Cruz del Quiche.  There was a market there and I tried to find some good Guatemalan food, but I do not think Guatemala really has much food.  So far I had been really disappointed in the Guatemalan cuisine and I hoped at the market I could find something home grown and delicious.  No luck.  Just more fried chicken places and hamburgers and hot dogs.

The next day I had a late start, but I was not too worried.  It was only about 60 kms to Panajachel, a town on Lago Atitlan.  My plan was to take a boat across from there to San Pedro and save myself quite a bit of riding.  The day once again was extremely tough going.  There are no long span bridges in Guatemala.  If there is a river valley between two mountains, I have to take a white knuckle decent down, cross the river, and then take on some brutal climb.  Unfortunately there were several of these on the way to Pana.  Also, it was a cloudy, rainy day and I was unable to enjoy much of the area´s breathtaking scenery.  I also made a pretty costly wrong turn and rode several kms uphill in the wrong direction in the rain which was pretty disheartening.

Finally it was time to make one last 20 km decent to the shore of the lake.  On the way down, I began to hear metal on metal coming from my brakes.  I really should have replaced my brakes much earlier, and the problem was clearly due to my own negligence.  All the crazy up and down slopes of the country completely wore through my brakes and they were totally toasted.  I figured I could make this last decent and was just trying to go really slow and take brakes so nothing would overheat.  On the way down I ran into Juri.  I do not remember if I mentioned him much earlier, but he is motorcycling through Central America.  He just pulled up next to me on the highway and asked how I was doing.  We talked for a little while and he was staying in San Pedro.  I figured I would see him soon.  It is  not a big city.  After a little while I decided to throw the bike in the back of a truck and get to the bottom of the hill.  I was too worried about damaging my brand new rooms and it does not feel like cheating I guess if I hitch a ride downhill.  I think it would take a pretty extreme set of circumstances to get me to hitch a ride uphill.  That would be admitting defeat and be absolutely unacceptable.  I would probably squat with the tent on the side of the road before doing something so dishonourable.

I got into Pana and took the boat across the lake.  Right as I unload the bike and push it away from the dock, I turned the corner and saw Carly getting off a shuttle into town.  We went and found a place to stay together and spent the next few days hanging out in San Pedro.  The city is notorious for people planning on spending a few days there and never leaving.  I met several people who had been there for years after planning on passing through.  It was a great place to rest and recharge after some really brutal cycling which to be honest had not been too enjoyable.  Eventually it came time for Carly to fly home, but instead she skipped her flight.  I have put my bike in storage at a Spanish school there and now we are traveling together by bus for the time being.  I plan on going back and continuing my trip when she flies home.  I am not sure exactly when that will be but probably in a few weeks.  I figure it is actually a good opportunity to catch up on this blog.  So sorry for not updating this blog very well recently, but I have been a little distracted.  I will try to catch up on photos and things before riding again, but probably no more updates for at least two weeks.  If anyone is worried though, I am still alive and doing well.

I obviously stuck out. Not only was I the only white person there, I was also the only person taller than 5 feet 6 inches and I had an enormous bicycle. Eventually some official came up to me and asked if I had a foriegn passport. I said yeah and he led me over to the side and helped expedite me through the border. The process still took forever. I crossed the border into Guatemala and I suddenly felt like I entered another planet. The roads were unpaved, the streets were filled with chaotic merchants yelling out whatever it is they sold as dogs and chickens roamed around. This was certainly the beginning of a new more challenging phase of my trip. I went to a service station to get some cash and a map. Cash was no problem but there were no maps. Oh well, the road to Tikal is simple and there would be maps there.

The first several kms of highway after the Belizian border is unpaved. Apparently this is because the Guatemalans gave the British Belize however long ago and in exchange the British were supposed to build a road there. They never built it and the Guatemalans are a little bitter and they refuse to build a proper road. Fortunately, it was not nearly as bad as I had feared it would be. Before long I was rolling on pavement once again, my only complaint after that was a handful of rediculous grades. Fortunately, they were all mercifully short.

I pulled over to cool off a bit and it started to rain. I wanted to wait it out, but eventually conceded that it was not coming down too hard and I put on the rain gear. There were a few tough hills which slowed me down and I ended up getting to Tikal right at sunset. I would have been a little nervous being on the road so late, but Tikal is located in a national park and they control the road fairly tightly. I was exhausted when I got to my campsite. I suppose it was a big day all put together. At the campground I headed to the fire and talked to some other campers there. One of them was named Bart. I met Bart really briefly in Caye Caulker. He is permanently traveling. He is a chef and when he runs low on money he finds work in some country and saves until he can go to the next one. He has been doing this for a few years and he said he plans on doing it for a few more.

I went to bed and fell asleep right away. I wanted to wake up early. If you sign up with a group or give the guards a tip they will let you into the park early. I woke up super early and went into the park. There is one temple that everyone sits at to watch the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was cloudy and visibility was really poor. I was a little disappointed. The main reason I camped at Tikal was to see that early rise. It was still kinda fun to camp in the jungle though.

Tikal is absolutely enormous. You can easily spend a few days wandering around the site. Also, it is really in the jungle. I liked how the land had not been cleared to the extent it was in Mexico. There were birds and monkeys and tarantualas all around. Also, there were wooden steps next to the piramids so you could safely climb to the top of them. Genius! Take notes Mexico. There were no informative plaques so bring your guidebook with you or you will get really lost and not know the significance of any of the temples. Overall though, I loved the site. At times I felt like I was wandering through Jurassic Park and I would come to an opening with huge structures. As I was leaving, I ran into Carly and she told me she where she was staying in Flores, a little tourist town nearby. The other nice thing about getting into the park early as I was ready to head out when the huge tour groups started to come it.

I rode the short distance to Flores. Is 63 kms short? It feels like it by now. When I got there Martin, from Caye Caulker, was there. Also, two Swiss girls I had met in Caye Caulker were there. I gave them all a hard time and called them weaklings. It was good though to see so many friendly faces. One of the big drawbacks on the bike is I am unable to travel with people I meet. As a result I am kinda always traveling alone and sometimes I do get lonely. When I see people like that over and over again it is almost like having a travel buddy.

The hostal had a huge collection of documentaries that it would play. There was a group watching the documentary on the Phelps clan in Topeka. I did shamfully admit that was my home town and added a bit more details to the story on the screen. I actually really enjoyed watching the movie and paying attention to all the stuff in the background and trying to guess where in Topeka they were. Maybe I was a little homesick at the time. Fortunately everyone watching understood that this is a small, overexposed group of crazies and not representative of Topeka.

I hung out at the hostal bar and had a political conversation with a group of Europeans. It is really interesting sometimes hearing how other governments around the world work. Sometimes they say something that makes me think they have much better systems and then they sometimes say things that absolutely make no sense. I am also consistantly amazed at how well they know the American system. One of them new how many delegate California has. I do not even know that. Generally I would say that most Europeans I meet are better informed and more opinionated about their politics. I sometimes answer their questions by telling them Americans simply do not care about these things and that is why we have some of the problems we have. How else can you explain that a country, where you can get 168,894 drink combos at Sonic has only two political parties to choose from.

Carly and Martin and most of the rest of the crew was heading to Lanquin to go to the pools at Semuc Champey. I told them maybe I would see them again. Lanquin looked to be around a four day ride but I was motivated by the possibility of seeing a group of friends again and I told them I would try to make it in three. I woke up super early the next day to pack up and clean the bike off. Riding in the rain and pushing it through tall grass to a campsite and made the chain quite dirty. I spent a little bit of time in the morning searching for a map with no luck. I rode hard all day. I stopped several times at gas stations to look for a map but I could never find one. I started to think either Guatemalans never go anywhere, or they simply know where everything is. I finally stopped at San Luis and I had a first on my trip. I had to push the bike. The road got progressively hillier all day and in the city, there was a 20 to 30 meter hill that was impossible. At least impossible for me with a weighted bicycle.

The day was tough enough that I was beginning to think it was going to have to be four days to Lanquin. I asked around for maps all over town without luck. I had heard rumor of a highway that might still make the three day trip possible, but it was not on any of my maps, which were the Lonely Planet map in the guidebook and a AAA map of Central America. I did eventually confirm the existance of the road and was provided with a hand drawn map of how to get there. I asked the map drawers if the road was paved and they said no. I asked if the road was good and they said more or less. Famous last words. I went back to my cheap, sleezy hotel and talked with the owner. He worked in the U.S. for a few years and had really good English. It was interesting to talk to him. He made a lot of money in the U.S. but he had to work all the time. He said he may go back in a few years, but he liked the simpler life he had in Guatemala. That seems to be the opinion of a lot of people I meet. They work in the U.S. for a while and save some money, but ultimately money is not the number one goal in life. We definitely work harder than any other country in the world. It makes me realize how heavily money is emphasized in our culture and how many people associate it with happiness. Although, he did agree that America is a nice place and wished he had the nice stuff that we have. As I took a cold shower, I had to agree with him.
After a little searching in the morning, I found the highway that leads to Lanquin. The first km or two was awful road that was soaked from the rains the night before. Then out of nowhere it was beautiful pavement for almost 20 kms. I told myself though to not get too excited. Sure enough the pavement ended and it was time for extreme cycling. There were grades that tested the limits of my gearing and the road was terrible. People laughed at me and some asked if I wanted a ride to the top. It is hard for me to explain in Spanish why I want to ride a bicycle to the top in these conditions. I crashed a handful of times as well. I go all the way down to my lowest gear and pedal as hard as I can, but eventually I slow down too much and then slide on a large rock or a bunch of small ones and I can not keep balance because I am too slow. The nice thing is these are all low speed crashes and do not do much damage to me or the bike.

After about 5 kms of this nonsense the road flattened out I could make reasonable time once again. There were one or two more steep hills, but nothing that could be called a climb. The scenery was nice, but unfortunately I could not really enjoy it too much. I had to put all my focus on the road and keeping my balance.  People looked at me like I came from space on this stretch of road.  Children would also scream in fear as I approached and stare at me from the doorway of their houses.  This was a lot different than the shouts I normally hear followed by children running out of their yards and waving at me.  Gringoes are obviously a little rare in this area.  It is easy to see why though.  There were no real cities, I was not exactly on a real road, and I got the impression that most of the people here are born, live, and die in the same little village.

After a tough day, I arrived in Fray Bartolomene de las Casas, or simply Fray.  I was exhausted.  By shoulders had taken an absolute pounding from the terrain and much more time in the saddle would have been too much for me.  I was happy to get a cheap room and have some children help me wash off my bicycle which was absolutely coated in mud.  I woke up expecting another tough day to get into Lanquin.  Fortunately the distance was not too much.  How bad can it be right?

On my way out of Fray, I was again on unpaved road, but much better than the day before.  After maybe 10 kms I was on sweet, sweet pavement.  Haha, this will be childsplay.  I see a mountain range rise suddenly out of the ground ahead of me.  I am looking around for something resembling a pass, but the road seems to just disappear in the trees somwhere.  Alright, I guess I have to go straight over them.  As I approach the climb there are several construction workers at the bottom.  They wish me good luck and tell me to be careful.  As expected, I did have to take on a really steep grade that basically just took me up and over all the mountains.  The climb was not too long though and soon I was flying downhill and could not help but let out a laugh of joy.  I had not had a blissful moment on the bike for a little while, but it is times like those that make me feel like I could never travel any other way.

Just when I was thinking the day might not be so bad, the pavement ended.  The dirt track was pretty good for a while as I rode through a large floodplain in a valley.  I asked some construction workers how far it was to Lanquin.  One of them said 30 kms.  I always double the distance people tell me, but at this moment even 60 kms felt like it would not be too tough.  Shortly after this, all hell broke loose.  I saw another range ahead of me that once again had no visable pass.  I was a little more concerned this time.  Without pavement the grade I had done earlier in the day would be really tough.  It did not take long before I was in my lowest gear setting, 22 teeth in front and 34 in back for anyone keeping score at home.  I was once again, sliding all over the road and had to take breaks constantly.  At one point I was so exhausted I pulled over and took a nap on the side of the road.  There was no traffic so I was not too concerned.

The road got progressively worse as I went higher.  The grade got steeper, and the road conditions got much worse.  I saw a few buses unload the people so it could make it to the top of the steepest parts.  I crashed several times due to me not being able to maintain a speed high enough to keep balance.  Several times after a spill, I would have to walk the bike a short distance to a point on the road where I could get some traction.  I would rest at any stretch of road that leveled off at any point.  One of these flat parts had a one room school house on it.  When I pulled up outside and took a breather, I suddenly had an audience of about 60 children who came outside and looked at me in amazement.  “I come in peace, take me to your leader,” I feel like saying.  Instead I just asked where I could find some water.  I suppose the nice part about extreme cycling is you are certainly off the tourist track.

After several hours I hit the summit of this climb.  Going down is not quite as difficult, but much more terrifying.  With the crummy roads, I still can not go faster than about 10 kms which is difficult on really hard grades.  I start to think I have gotten through the worse of the day until I get to a little town.  I ask hopefully if this is where the turn to Lanquin is.  Unfortunately it is still about 6 kms to the turn and a heavy rain is starting.  What followed was the most difficult 6 kms of my life.  I pushed the bike almost the entire way.  The roads where near impossible to ride on.  They were nothing but large jagged rocks for me to slip on.  Also, the highway was only narrow enough for one vehicle.  Any time I was passed by a car or saw one coming the other direction I had to pull over.  It required so much work to get going again on the steep grades that I did not bother.  Anytime I got going again, I would ride 20 meters and need to dismount again.  I even had to walk the bike downhill.  The road was so rough I was afraid to roll my bike over it with all my weight on it.  Of course, the slipping problem does not go away when I am off the bike.  It still slides everywhere, and so do I in my cycling cleats in the pouring rain.  I honestly have hiked on trails that were more fit for vehicles than this road.  I told myself though, that if I can do this I can do anything.

Fortunately, I started the day with high spirits.  Otherwise, I may have cracked at somepoint along the way.  I finally got to the turn into Lanquin.  It was begining to get dark but I was stubborn and insisted on riding the last 10 kms in.  It was all downhill and I thought it should be no problem.  The road though was still aweful the whole way and it started to get really dark.  I decided to not put on my lights.  I needed them, but at the moment my fears where not road hazards and I did not want to attract any unneccesary attention.  After a while I tell myself that I am doing is incredibly stupid and I am begging someone to rob and kidnap me.  I flag down a truck and get a ride the last few kms into town.  I told myself it was not cheating because it was all downhill.  I get to the hostal late and I run into Martin, from Caye Caulker.  I tell him I had the day from hell and he tells me to come relax at the bar.  I agree, I had earned it.

Martin and I got to Altun Ha right around the time it was closing.  I talked to the rangers which typified the laid back mentality of all the Belizians I had met so far.  They told me it was no problem for us to spend as much time at the site as we wanted.  We just had to be gone by dark.  I talked to them a little while longer and told them I was planning on camping at the site that was about two miles away.  After five or so more minutes of chat I asked if it would be a problem to just camp at the site.  No problem mon.  I just had to put my tent down on a paved area because they didn´t want me to mess up the grass.  I was pretty excited, not only did we just get a free place to camp, it was in the middle of architectural site that we had all to ourselves.

The ruins were not overly spectacular.  Perhaps I have seen so many by now I am jaded.  At the same time though it was really nice to walk around without any crowds whatever.  The only bad thing was the place was absolutely swarming with mosquitoes.  Even during the daylight hours and away from the trees and other usually bad places they were still a little overwhelming.  After spending some time at the site I was hungry and thirsty.  There were some little restaurants next to the parking lot that had big plumes of smoke near the entrances.  I was disappointed to find that they had stopped selling food, but still enjoyed a cold soda and some relief from the mosquitoes.  They said the smoke comes from a nut that grows nearby and it repels bugs.  I love it when nature works itself out like that.  I wonder how many other interesting uses things around us have but we haven´t discovered them because we did not need to.  I am sure if there were not incredible amounts of mosquitoes at Altun Ha the people there would never have known that this nut generates a smoke that repels them.

The owners of the shop where I got my soda invited me to come back later in the evening to have a few beers and listen to reggae.  I happily accepted and went back to the tent to demolish most of the food in my bags.  When I returned the owner of the bar put on Lucky Dube, obviously his favorite reggae artist.  Funny thing, I actually was given a Lucky Dube album as a gift from a friend of mine who went to the Carribean.  She told me everyone listens to him there.  The bar owner started playing the music at an absolutely incredible volume.  Any sort of audio communication was impossible.  At least the speakers were very high quality and the music came through crystal clear even though it could be hear two or three miles away.  Before long he hooked up a microphone and sang along to every song.  I asked him if he always sings and he told me he does.  I enjoyed the free beer even though the atmosphere was not too pleasent.  Then the owner tells me he has a video of Lucky Dube talking about his childhood and how it has impacted his music.

When he put the video on I began to know how all those poor people who came over to my house and were subjected to way too much Red Hot Chili Peppers by my roommates felt.  I watched the video which did have a few interesting moments and then excused myself to go to sleep.  I asked Martin back at the campsite if he could hear the music and he agreed that it was very loud.  Unfortunately it was overcast and I was unable to explore the site by moonlight like I had wanted.  I went to sleep and hoped things would be better in the morning.  I woke up early and climbed the tallest temple to watch the sunrise, but again it was overcast and began to rain.  Feeling a little disappointed I went back to camp and went to sleep.  Whenever it rains I get a really late start.  It is really difficult to be motivated to pack quickly in the morning when you can´t look forward to the riding.

By the time I got ready it had stopped raining and the park was open.  Apparently so were the nearby restaurants because I could hear Lucky Dube music playing loud and clear.  I went to say goodbye to my host from the night before and he insisted on giving me a burned copy of Luky Dube´s music before I left.  I think the obsession is a little out of hand.  We headed to Belize City where I was planning on catching a ferry to Caye Caulker.  On the way there, Martin told me he was not going to join me to the island.  Instead he would take a shortcut to the wester highway and keep going due to time and money restricitons.  I understood and wished him luck.  I had already made a commitment do doing what I wanted and not compromising so I was not about to change my plans.

I took the water taxi out to Caye Caulker and made friends with a guy on the boat.  He asked how old my guidebook was that I was flipping through.  To be honest it is only about eight years old, I got it at a book swap, but it looks much older.  The color choice was poor and it looked faded when it was new, plus the bath it got outside of Villahermosa had done it no favors.  Ironically enough, this guy´s name is Martin and we were staying at the same hostel.  He is from Holland and has a strong accent but speaks English better than I do.

Upon arrival at Caye Caulker I found a little strip of paradise.  The island is maybe 300 yards across and a mile and a half long.  There are no cars on the streets, just electric golf carts, and the environment is definitely no shirt, no shoes, no problem.  Off shore there is a huge barrier reef that I could see the waves breaking on from my hostal.  I wanted to go snorkeling here since I did not in Playa del Carmen.  Martin and I went around and checked out places to rent boats and snorkle gear.  Before decided to go back to the hostal for drinks and watch the US vs Mexico game.  Fortunately, the game was over when I got back and I did not have to see us lose, but there was still plenty of opportunities for drinks and socializing.  The hostal had a really young crowd and quite a party atmosphere.  After a little while a group of us went out to one of the local bars and danced and made merry before I came back and fell asleep on a hammock outside while watching the Persieds meteor shower.

The next day my effort with Martin to snorkle the reef hit a bit of a snag.  After renting a canoe and paddeling hard out to the reef a ranger came up to us on a boat and told us we were required to explore the reef with a licenced guide and had to turn back.  We ended up canoeing all over the ocean and did jump in a few times to at least get the rented snorkle gear wet.  I actually still had a really nice time, and I was lucky enough to see a hammerhead shark swim around beneath our boat.  We were not in the water at the time but it was still a bit scary.  After the hard days work I went back to the hostal in did Caye Caulkers number one activity.  Nothing.

I had a few drinks back at the hostal and I when I told someone about my trip a guy says, I have heard about you.  You waited in Cancun for a new rim right?  I have to admit my vanity was swelled.  It felt cool to be unique enough that people told stories about the crazy cyclist after I had left.  I went out again that night and ran into a snorkeling guide at the bar.  I talked to him for a while and he encouraged me to go on the boat with him the next day.  He said dont take it from me talk to the Irish girl over there.  After hearing her acount of the trip and him telling me a little about the activities on the boat besides snorkling I was sold.  They also turned out to be one of the most affordable tour groups out of everyone I checked out.  The next morning I boarded the boat and went on the snorkling tour.  We made several stops and at times I was literally surrounded by tropical fish.  They all swim amazingly close to you but if you try to grab one you will always fail.  We also saw several sharks when we swam around, but nothing as big and majestic as the hammerhead the day before.

On the way back everyone on the boat drank rum punches and ate ceviche.  I met an American couple from California and talked with them for quite a while.  He was an engineer and had just recently lost his job due to the economic downturn.  His wife and him were traveling around the world for about a year.  We talked about engineering and the professional world.  It was kinda refreshing to have a conversation like that.  Most people I have met traveling are really unconcerned about such things as investment portfolios or starting their own business.  It is really just a different culture.  I have been told I am unusual among the community because I still talk about my professional ambitions.  I tell myself that working hard and being professionally successful and traveling around the world dont have to be mutually exclusive.  In fact they can even work together if you are lucky.  The much more common personality here is to work until you have enough to travel and then quit until you run out of money and start the process over.  I have to admit it is at times tempting.  Also, while I was on the boat an English guy says, you were traveling with an English guy named Graham right?  I was really suprised, but apparently he had met Graham in Oaxaca and I was mentioned somewhere in the conversaiton.  Twice in a 24 hour period my reputation proceeded me.  I felt kinda awesome.

By the time we made it to shore the rum punches were beginning to have their effect and I went to a bar with the American couple to take advantage of happy hour and watch the sunset.  While there I ran into Carly, an American girl I had met two nights earlier.  After the American couple packed it in, Carly and I hung out and went to dinner.  We talked for a little while and we were both planning on heading out the next day.  I was going to ride all day to San Ignacio and she was going cave tubing somewhere near Belize City and heading to San Ignacio in the evening.  We figured we could meet up there and maybe do dinner.  After that I spent a frustrating night trying to call my sister to wish her a happy birthday.

The next morning I wanted to catch the first boat back to the mainland.  I was kinda in a mad rush to pack everything up and eat breakfast.  When I was putting the bags onto my bike, I saw a business card attatched to my bike.  Someone else on the island was traveling by bicycle.  To the trained eye, it is really obvious what my bike is for even without the panniers attatched.  I have really low gearing, front and rear racks, kevlar tires, and a really comfortable saddle.  This guy started in Alaska and is headed to Argentina.  Who knows maybe I will be able to meet up with him down the road.  I got the boat back and chatted with Carly along the way.  After a few confusing blocks in Belize City I was back to pedalling down the road.

I can´t really explain why, but I just had a fantastic day of cycling.  The weather was beautiful, the landscape became progressively more attractive, and the hills were not as bad as I had feared.  I even had a stiff tailwind.  I literally could not remember the last time I had a good one.  I stopped several times and chatted with more friendly Belizians at my stops.  I finally rolled into San Ignacio and my clothes were white from the salt from my body and maybe a little from the ocean as well.  I looked around for a campsite briefly, but decided to set up dinner with Carly first.  Right as I was sending her an email with a meeting point to be at in an hour or so, she came into the cafe.  This saved me a lot of trouble, but did cause the embarassment of going to dinner with a pretty girl while still filthy.  We ate and got ice cream and after an extended search I found an affordable place to stay and got some rest.  The next day I would be crossing the border into Guatemala.

I spent the afternoon lying on the beach doing nothing until I got hungry.  I walked around and looked for something to eat and even though Playa is not developed to the extremes that Cancun is, I still saw several American chains and some of the same restaurants that were in Cancun.  I decided then that I was not going to stick around another day to snorkle.  I was still feeling the itch to keep moving and sticking around an overly Americanized city did not appeal to me too much.  I was dying to feel like I was traveling again, not like I was at home.  After a few drinks at the roof top bar in the hostal I went to bed.

The next day to Tulum was another easy ride.  It was almost a carbon copy of the day before.  Short, hot, and sweaty without much scenery.  The beach to my left was lined with huge resorts the whole way from Cancun to Tulum.  About every 3 to 5 kilometers there would be an enormous entrance with a big fancy gate and guards there to keep out scrungy cyclists.  You could never even see the resorts behind the entrances which where hundreds of feet long and at least thirty feet tall.  I got into Tulum really early and checked into a hostal there that was recommended to me the night before.

If Cancun is Vegas, then Tulum is Breckenridge.  It is definitely still touristy, but it feels so much more laid back.  I can deal with that a lot better.  I realize that I am a tourist as well and I can deal with touristy stuff pretty well, but it was nice to finally be somewhere that was much more chilled out.  There were bars and nightlife here as well but not the insanity of Cancun.  There were also resorts on the beach, but they were much simpler and less obnoxious.  It seemed like the place had everything you could want without the crowds.  I took the shuttle the hostal runs to the beach, and I loved it.  Tulum is definitely a place I could see myself going back to.  The beach is incredible, there are plenty of nearby activities and there is lodging in every price range,  and oh yeah the girls there were incredible.  Both the locals and the tourists where the hottest girls I had seen anywhere on the Carribbean.  If you have even seen a drawing of a little fish getting eaten by a bigger fish which is eaten by a still bigger fish, that is kinda like the women in Tulum.  One passes by and you think, wow look at that, then another passes and you say to yourself, oh my goodness are you serious, then another one passes and you don´t think at all.  I wished I was stranded there for a week.  Or maybe I have just been on the road too long.

There is also a large Mayan archeological site in Tulum.  I went and visited that as well while I was there.  The ruins were unspectacular to be honest, but the scenery (I mean the ocean view this time) was nice.  Despite all the positive things about Tulum, I was in a little bit of a funk.  The hostal I was staying in was a party hostal, but instead of staying up having drinks with the pretty señioritas until four in the morning I went to bed early.  The next morning, I still wanted to spend another day in Tulum, but I checked out of the hostal and moved my bike to the campsite on the beach.  I threw my tent down there and talked with a few hippies that were staying there.  I went swimming some more and then rode out to swim in one of the many nearby cenotes.  It felt awesome to jump into the cold fresh water.  The ocean is great and all, but the sea is almost too warm to be refreshing and nothing beats fresh water swimming.  Cenotes are kinda a crazy thing.  This one was huge and I saw some scuba divers come out of the water that had been exploring the place for two hours.  I overheard the guide tell someone else there are 60 kms or underwater tunnels in that cenote.  Cenotes just seem like such a strange phenomenon to me and the strange landscape inside them mixed with the large amount of area unexplored in them are enough to make the imagination run wild.

I went back to the campsite and watched a storm come in off the sea.  No one else seemed too concerned so I figured it wasn´t serious.  It was really cool and humbling to look out over the ocean and see huge clouds lit by lightning coming in.  I was once again blown away by the vastness of the ocean and what a powerful force it is.  Once the rains hit I hit the sack.  I had a day to simply grind out distance the next day.  On the road south I saw another cyclist resting at a shaded bus stop by the road.  His bike was fully loaded just like mine so I stopped to talk to him.  His name is Martin and he is a Polish guy traveling more or less the same route as me for six months.  We go about the same speed and distance per day so we decided to ride together for a little while.  Martin is kinda a strange dude.  He speaks no Spanish at all and his English is worse than my Spanish so communication is a big challenge.  He had been on the road for three weeks and honestly I don´t know how he has done it.  My Spanish is not good by any means, but I can understand the idea of what someone is telling me and I can make myself understood and cleary ask all the basic questions.  The nice thing though is when my Spanish really breaks down I can get away with English.  Also, English is the default language in any hostal.  To be honest, Martin was the first white person I had met that did not speak English.  Every other European speaks English with a varying degree of skill.  But Martin is a little older and from a former Soviet bloc country so I doubt he learned any in school.  He also seemed to have no desire to improve his language skills.  He lived in the UK for two years working as a welder and hardly spoke English, and for Spanish phrases he had notecards already written down that he would hand to people.  I read them and they said simple phrases like “I need a place to rest for the night, can I put my tent in the garden.”  The fact that he hadn´t memorized these after three weeks quickly squashed my hopes that this could be a person to learn Spanish with.  He was also traveling very cheap, which is perfectly understandable.  I like to cut corners wherever I can as well.  There is no purpose is frivolously spending money and I actually prefer the tent on some nights, but Martin took some extremes.  The best example is his water.  He buys water in 20 litre jugs, because that is the cheapest way to buy it, and puts it into 4 smaller containers in each of his bags.  That is 44 pounds of water.  Nothing but water.  I couldn´t lift is bike it was so heavy.  I think in the long run a knee replacement is more expensive.  I asked about his spokes with the weight and he said he had broken a rear spoke on a 40 spoke wheel.  He hasn´t made any mountain crossings yet and I wonder if he will continue with his strategy once he hits the Andes.

All that said, I was beginning to get a little lonely on the road and was glad to have the company.  It is also so much easier to ride when you have someone to share the load with.  In a way, not being able to talk much almost made getting along easier.  There are no expectations from the other person to be your friend or keep you entertained, just as long as you take turns cutting the wind its all good.  At the end of the day we arrived at a little village and I asked aruond about camping somewhere.  I figured that would be easier than handing someone a notecard.  However, we were quickly reminded of the drawbacks of having more than one person.  People are simply more wary and less generous.  Martin refused to camp in any fields, including one that we were told about that was in the middle of nowhere with a few good hiding spots.  He insisted on staying in someones garden where there would be people to keep an eye on us.  We could not find anything in the first pueblo so we tried a few ranches without luck until we reached the next pueblo.

It was beginning to get dark and I started to try and get more and more creative for a secure place to stay.  Eventually I got hooked up with the mayor of the pueblo and after talking with him for a little while, he agreed to let us stay in his yard.  The major downside was the small zoo of dogs that kept me up all night.  I was glad to get an early start the next day.  We rode to Laguna Bacalar, and it is an incredible lake.  The water has the same beautiful shades of blue that the ocean along the coast had.  Also, the bottom is sand and there were these bizarre coral formations that I was told by a local were some of the first organisms on the planet to perform photosynthesis and  pollute the air with oxygen and cause the first mass extinction.  I have no idea if that is true but it is kinda neat if it is.

There was a small campsite along the lake that we stayed it.  It was an absolutely ideal location.  As I was setting up my camp I recognized two Spanish girls I had seen briefly in Tulum.  I went over and asked them if they were in Tulum and they said, yeah you are John the bike guy.  Apparently they were also camped on the beach and someone there had told them about the crazy bike dude.  They told me another friend of theirs was going to arrive in a little while.  Not long later Juri, a Belgiun guy I had met in Cancun, showed up.  It is funny how these things work sometimes but I guess we were on the same trail and all trying to travel cheap so it makes sense.  The four of us hung out at the lake for a while.  Later we heard about a fair in town.  We figured why not go check it out.  The fair was exactly like any American fair except they had fried bananas instead of funnel cake.  Eventually it got late and Juri and I were exhausted.

There was no rush to do anything the next morning because Corozal was pretty close.  I woke up early, which I always do when I am camping, and decided to go for another swim.  The lake was just too perfect to not jump in one more time.  There was also a cenote very close to where we camped.  Martin and I went there and I jumped in the water again.  The cenote was free, but not underground so it was not quite as neat as some of the other.  Eventually it was time to stop swimming and start biking.  The road to Belize was horribly windy but we did not have to go far.  At the border it was time to spend some pesos.  Martin cooks every single meal to save cash.  Overall it is a good strategy, but it is really hard to find decent meat at any of the stores.  I almost always resort to buying something from a street vendor and crossing my fingers that it is well prepared.  This time I was able to talk Martin into buying some tacos at a street stand.  When I told them they serve tacos he asked me what they were, which told me he really does make every single meal himself.  Tacos are as common here as trees in a forest.  They are literally impossible to avoid if you buy food.

After some delicious fish tacos and spending the rest of my pesos on groceries it was time to cross the border.  It was a pretty painless process and the next thing you know I was in Belize.  I was so ecstatic to finish Mexico.  I had a huge sense of achievement and I could not take the smile off of my face.  After the border it was maybe ten miles to Corozal.  Belize is an entirely different place than Mexico.  The most obvious change was language.  Since Belize was a British colony, everyone speaks English.  Spanish is also very common and so is some other Carribbean language that sounds like nothing I have ever heard before.  The population is incredibly diverse.  There are white, black, hispanic, and chinese people all mixed together with no clear majority.  There is also a large Rastafarian population that has dreadlocks and will gladly sell you marijuana.  Overall though I would say the people are very friendly and laid back.  Everywhere I went, on the bike or off, I was gretted with a “whats up dude.”

After hitting up the internet cafe in Corozal I headed to the beach which was actually quite awful.  It was incredibly rocky without many good places to swim.  That did not keep it from being swarmed with children though.  They all looked at my bike and found it to be the most incredible thing they had ever seen.  Even the smallest features amazed them.  My camelback and rear flasher were probably the two most popular items.  At least a half dozen children insisted on squeezing the mouthpiece and watching water drip out.  After a while it was beginning to get late and I had already given away all my sweet bread.  I headed back to a campground that Martin and I had picked out earlier.  After setting camp I celebrated being alive two years after being diagnosed with cancer, which I have since beaten, by eating a massive plate of Chinese food and going to bed.

It took me a little while to find the cenotes because they were not very well marked.  This kinda suprised me because they have to be a big source of income for the village.  When I finally did find them I learned that I would not be able to ride my bicycle to them.  The only way in and out was on an ancient rail track with a horse drawn cart.  I was able to hop on with a smaller group and off we went.  The cenotes were really incredible.  The water was crystal clear and incredibly blue.  They were nice and cold also, perfect on a hot sunny day.  One of them was just a few holes in the ground that were just big enough to stick a ladder in and climb down.  Once inside it opened up into a huge cavern with roots dangling down from the ceiling and little shafts of light shooting through the other holes.  Being a weekend and all they were a little crowded, but I did not care too much.  I was too busy jumping off the platforms into the water.

Afterward storm clouds moved in and rain started to fall.  This did not bother me too much though because I was not planning on going farther that day anyway.  After taking a bit of shelter and waiting for the rain to pass I asked the police station where I could camp.  They recommended a futball field a few kms away because there was going to be a party in the center that night.  I asked about music and dancing and they said there would be many señoritas.  When I got to the field it was raining again and I had to chill out for a while until it stopped to pitch my tent.  I crawled inside and began to update my journal which was falling behind.  I reached over to hit my GPS locator to let mom and dad know I was still alive and I could not find it.  I looked through my bags and realized I must have left it in Merida.  This was a pretty big blow.  I was planning on going to the fiesta that night but resigned myself to sleep so I could wake up early and return to Merida.  My short bike ride to Chichen Itza now turned into a long bike ride.

I woke up and began riding before dawn.  It was pretty scary without any moon.  My headlamp was painfully inadaquate and drivers do not seem to realize that highbeams blind cyclist just as easily as they blind drivers, if not more so.  Cycling over terrain I had already covered was enough to make me sick.  It was incredibly demoralizing to pass through the villages again knowing I was going the wrong direction.  Fortunately, when I got into Merida, my Spot GPS was exactly where I left it.

It was breakfast time by now and I remembered seeing a place in town that did breakfast buffets on the weekends.  I decided to hit that up and see how much damage I could do.  The food was only slightly above average but what makes this buffet worth mentioning was its likeness to the Topeka Country Club Sunday buffet.  Almost every weekend I am home in Topeka, I go to the Sunday buffet with my grandparents.  It is one of their favorite things to do and has become a small family ritual.  The buffet was set up exactly the same as TCC does it at home, and there was even a live Spanish guitar trio, which I figure is the Mexican version of the TCC piano player.  After the guitar trio was done Frank Sinatra, my grandparent´s favorite singer, came over the speakers.  The whole experience gave me a huge sting of homesickness for the first time on my trip.

After breakfast I went to fill up on water.  In the process a guy walked past me wearing a Kansas State shirt.  This is only the second time I have seen K State gear in Mexico, the other was on the Mexico City subway and I did not have a chance to flag down the guy wearing the shirt.  This time I chased the guy down, who looked to be about the age of a college freshman.  I asked about his shirt first in English and he gave me a bewildered look.  I asked again in Spanish and the situation was not improving.  I told him that I went to that school and asked him where he got his shirt.  Maybe I scared him off by being way too enthusiastic but he basically told me that it was just a shirt he had with a logo on it and it had no significance to him.  Bummer, it would have been cool to run into a fellow Wildcat.

I began the long ride back toward Chichen Itza, although this time on a different road.  I stopped in a small village long enough to watch the U.S. get embarrassed by Mexico in the Gold Cup final.  I left before it ended and saw the final score that night was 5-0.  Ouch!  There was a hotel with campsites near Chichen Itza that I pulled into.  After paying the man at the desk I began to wheel my bike through the lobby.  I felt the brakes rubbing badly so I stopped to inspect my wheels.  My rear rim was cracked very badly.  I actually could not believe I did not notice it earlier.  This was a killer blow on an already awful day.  This almost pushed me to tears.  I went into the campsite and just sat down for a while.  I did not know what to do.  A suitable rim could not be found in the entire country, and even with a new one I was beginning to have serious questions about the craftsmenship on some bicycles in the area.  It is a little unbelievable what people ride on here.

I could not deal with the problem that night.  It was just too much for me at the moment.  I went to sleep and woke up for Chichen Itza the next day.  I was sadly disappointed by Chichen Itza.  This “Marvel of the World” does not allow climbing on any structure.  I had read that someone had an accident on the main Castillo several years earlier and it had yet to reopen to people who want to scale the steps.  I really wish I could simply sign something when I go to these ruins that states “If I fall and die it is not your fault.”  Although the Castillo is a truely beautiful building, without being able to touch and experience the building I can not feel same level of intimacy to it.  I loved Palenque where I was allowed to run around on everything in site.  The same for Teotihuacan.  Although the ruins I have seen since surpass these in quality in many ways, the experience is simply not the same when you just look at it and snap a few photos.

I went back to the campground and hung out by the pool in the swealtering heat.  Chichen Itza also has a light show that I figured I would attend.  I went back that night and watched the light and sound spectacular which was a little less than spectacular, but it was included in admission and it was not like I could cycle anywhere.  That night I tried to write in my journal, but I realized I had left it at an internet cafe.  I felt like my whole trip was starting to fall apart.

I woke up and hung outside the internet cafe waiting for it to open.  As soon as it did I retrieved my journal.  There was a town of a decent size about 40 kms down the road.  It also had a hostel that sounded like a good place for a potentially extended stay.  I decided to chance it and ride there.  Fortunately I did not have a massive wheel failure and did not have a deadly crash, although they were a nervy 40 kms.  In Valladolid, the town I arrived in I found an insane area of massive activity.  I actually really liked the town.  It had much more character than any I had been to for quite a while.  I found out the hostal had recently been closed so I started looking around for bike shops.  There were bikes all over the street and a handful of outfits that rented bikes.  Unfortunately all the people that rented bikes were unable to help with parts or repairs in any way, and I had no better luck at the shop.  One part store at least looked at my bike.  At the shops I would say I have a cracked rim and they would give me a crazy look.  Then I would point at my rim, just in case I pronounced something wrong and say its broken.  They would continue with the blank stare and say, you are going to have to replace it.  Then I would ask if they could help me with that and I would get another blank stare.  I would ask again and they would just say no.  They never even asked my what size my rims where.  This process repeated itself at every shop I walked into.  I was baffled.  I wonder if the “shops” are just glorified puncture patchers because I could not even begin a dialogue about a real repair.

I found a cheap hotel but the desk was closed for siesta for the afternoon.  I figured I would wait in the center for it to open back up.  There I ran into Oscar, one of the guys who worked at the Merida hostel.  I talked with him for a while and showed him the cracked rim.  We eventually decided to catch a bus together that evening for Cancun.  Maybe I could find suitable parts there.  So yes I cheated.  I took a bus.  There is no way around this one, I cheated out and out.  It was only about 100 miles, but in ways it did feel like a failure.  I looked out the window as we passed through small villages and found myself wondering what that place was like and what kind of experience I would have there.  After a little while though I got over it and took a nap.

The next day Oscar and I went around town to look for a rim.  He is completely bilengual which helps a lot with technical conversations.  I should really learn how to say every part on my bike in Spanish and every action for the bike in Spanish, but I am just not there yet.  We went all over town and one guy tried to sell me a racing wheel after I told him that I had a bicycle with a 40 kg load.  He insisted that the racing wheel was strong enough.  My theory about glorified puncture patchers was being confirmed.  After a while, we found a nice shop.  The owner understood that a unique bike and a unique trip requires a unique rim.  The mechanics knew all about bike also.  This was a huge breath of fresh air, but they did not have a suitable rim.  I began the process of ordering a rim from the U.S. but at least  I had a shop to take my bike to now.

So I was basically stranded in Cancun, what a tough life I lead.  I have to say though, after spending two months in Mexico I was not a big fan of Epcot, I mean Cancun.  The place is really busy, but not in a good way, and the beaches are not very accessible.  Mexican law says that anyone can go on any beach that is not under military control, but all the resorts have big walls and fences that force you to go through their lobbies to get to the beach.  They do not allow access to anyone who is not staying at the resort.  I not only found this to be a terrible shame, but bad business.  I would think they could make a lot of money selling drinks, sunglasses, sunscreen, towels and other beach items to people walking through.  Not to mention higher end items like clothing, jewelry, and the “Wow, I want to stay here next time” effect.  They really need to take notes from the Vegas people.  Fortunately, I can be rather sneaky when I need to be and made it to the beach after a few attempts.  There are also public access points, but sometimes they are a 2 km walk away.  Who wants to do that?

I will admit the beaches in Cancun were fantastic.  The sand is perfect and the water is beautiful.  It is truely a paradise.  I just could not help but wish to myself that they had made it a national park instead of trashing the coastline with resorts.  But everybody has to make a living, and I figure I am not one to judge how another man, or nation, feeds his family.

I spent my week in Cancun lounging on the beach, meeting other travelers at the hostal, hanging out at the bike shop and trying to learn a thing or two and going to the clubs.  I only did the big club thing once and that was enough for me.  First of all I can live for a week on what I spend there in one night, and second of all I have noticed clubs just are not my thing.  Most night I like to simply chill out when I go out for drinks.

My wheels finally came in and I was really itching to move on.  I relaced them at the shop myself which was a really educational experience and was ready to hit the road.  Finally I get to head south again.

There are two ways to go from Campeche to Merida.  The short way and the long way.  The long way had many more sights and activities to do along the way so I figured it was worth spending a little extra time to take that road.  A little off the road are the ruins of Edzna.  I figured it was worth the extra 40 kms or so to check them out.  The ruins were not as extensive as the ruins in Palenque but they were also not as crowded.  I did not have the entire site to myself by any means but it is nice to not be bothered by people trying to sell things.  The unfortunate thing about this ruins site is the main attraction, the building of the five stories, was closed from climbing.  My guidebook mentioned spectacular views from the top, so I assume that someone must have hurt themselves on it fairly recently.  Still, the site was impressive.  The main acropolis was especially impressive and I was allowed to crawl around on all the the other buildings.

I took a siesta in the village that was right outside of town.  When I finally got going there were storm clouds coming.  Fortunately the downpour missed me and I arrived into Hopelchen nice and dry.  Well kinda dry.  I was covered in sweat, but that happens to me when I read a book in the shade here.  In Hopelchen I asked the police where I could camp and they told me to camp in the centro.  The main plaza was really lit up and full of people well after dark.  Finally the lighting and thunder that was moving in convinced me to get a room.

The next morning I went to a group of caves that are about 40 kms north of Hopelchen.  I got there early and waited for a little while outside for them to open the doors.  The first part of the cave has well lit paths for you to walk through.  They open up into huge areas where they found Mayan artifacts.  After a little while though Iwanted to keep exploring.  I got the few flashlights that still worked after the bag flooding and went back in.  I crawled around and climbed as much as I felt comfortable.  This was my first caving experience of any kind and I really had no clue what I was doing.  I just tried to be really mindful of the way I came because the one thing I did know about caves is they are easy to get lost in.

To be honest I am not sure what my feelings about caves are.  I know some people swear by them, but I am not convinced.  It may have been much different if I had the right equipment or a guide or at least a partner that knew what was going on, but it is really hard to see everything.  When you crawl through a small shaft and come to an opening it is neat, but without a proper lantern I really could not see the big beatiful stalactites well.  Also, the amount of guano everywhere made the whole place absolutely reak.  Still, I was glad I did it and know I have a new experience under my belt.  There was nowhere to shower when I got out.  I did find a hose bib by the bathrooms and I did my best to get cleaned up there and wash my clothes, but there was no way to deny it, I smelled awful.  I can only describe my oder as offensive.  I really tried hard to not get too close to anyone.  I was embarrassed to talk to people at places I stopped.

After the caves I hit the road to Uxmal.  By this time of day it had gotten pretty hot and the road was actually really hilly.  Nothing ever went very high, but I was constantly going over rollers the whole day.  And here I was thinking the Yucatan was flat.  I got to Uxmal that evening.  There was a light and sound show that I went to that was kinda neat, but it also humbled my Spanish skills quite a bit.  Still, I think I got the general idea of what was going on.

I went to the ruins the next morning and was blown away.  The buildings are huge, but it was not the scale that impressed me so much.  The detailed ornamentation of the buildings was incredible.  The site was huge and I was constantly snapping pictures.  I ended up spending quite a bit of time wandering around.  I managed to find some nice trails around the area as well which I am not sure I was supposed to be on.  I did not leave until almost noon.  I had put myself in a situation again where I had to bike in the heat of the day.  Merida was too far off to wait for it to cool down.  Yucatan is not like Baja.  Biking in the middle of the day is not dangerous, but it is really unpleasant.

Four hours later I arrived in Merida.  I must say that overall I was disappointed in the town.  It is a major tourist stop, but I am not sure exactly why.  I think it is very centrally located to a lot of other sites.  Uxmal and Chicen Itza and many other Mayan sites are close by, as are several cenotes (underground water chambers), and coastal areas with nice beaches and flamingo sanctuaries.  The down side is I will pass most of these things on my bicycle so there is not much need to go to Merida at all.  However, the hostal I stayed at was really pleasant.  There were many friendly travelers and the breakfast was excellent.  I ended up hanging around and doing a lot of nothing while I was there.  I cleaned all my equipment and swapped the chain to avoid serious wear issues later and read a lot.

One person I met at the hostal was Horacio.  He is a tour guide in Playa del Carmen and we hung out a lot.  He thought my trip was an awesome idea and was even more impressed that I was an American doing it.  I have discovered that we Americans are a sadly unadventurous people.  I very rarely meet Americans anywhere I go despite our proximity to Mexico.  On the other hand Europeans are everywhere.  However, I tell myself that it is only because Americans work all the time.  We only get two weeks vacation a year and taking time off between high school and college is very frowned upon.  We simply do not have time to travel.  It is not because we are too scared to leave our comfort zones and travel to other countries that are not filled with white people that speak English, I hope.  Horacio was an absolutely rediculous person to hang out with.  He whistled at every girl we passed on the street.  I am not exaggerating.  Young girls with their parents and older women with their husbands were all targets.  No one was safe from Horacio.  Needless to say I loved the entertainment and was constantly cracking up as we walked down the street and hung out.  I also learned some good Spanish pick up lines, although I have to say they really are not too complicated.  He offered me a free place to stay in Playa and I definitely plan on hitting him up when I pass through.

So after spending a few more rest days in Merida that I planned I was off to Cancun.  I felt well rested and ready to make that final push through the end of Mexico.

I finally rolled into a town of a decent size and looked for some tortillas.  Unfortunately it was still a small enough town to sell out of tortillas.  I asked a man in the town if there was a bank or ATM anywhere nearby.  He told me the next ATM was in a town that was two days away and not on my route.  No I suddenly had a problem.  I only had about four dollars in pesos on me.  That would hardly be enough to buy water for two days.  The rest of the day was not too fun.  I was hot and hungry.  I was eating most of the reserve food I keep in bags.  At the end of the day I rolled into a tiny ejido and they said I could camp in the field there.  I was relieved because I could not afford to stay somewhere that I would have to pay.

In the morning I rode a little way and bought a loaf of bread for my food for the day.  I was heading to a town named Sabuncuy on the coast that I figured would surely have some way of getting cash.  It was not too far away and I still should not have a problem.  While I am telling this story let me explain how baffeled I was by the lack of banks or ATMs.  In Baja California I went through some long stretches where there was no access to cash, but this was kinda expected because there were no people in these areas.  There might be some small truck stops, and tire repair shops, but very few places that could be called cities.  In this stretch of road I was passing through towns with gas stations, police, fire departments, internet cafes, medical facilities and every other type of public building you would expect to find.  There were populations in the thousands of the towns I was going through.  I am amazed that business can function effectively without banks around.  It blew my mind at one point that internet access is more widespread than access to money.

I rode towards the coast and was planning the feast I was going to treat myself to upon arrival.  I had gone two days surviving on noodles and bread.  Also my guidebook had mentioned a place on the beach that allows tents, and has shade, hammocks, and cold beer.  It sounded like a little slice of heaven.  When I got to Sabuncuy I discovered that this town did not have a bank or ATM either.  The nearest ATM was 70 kms away and it was noon and the sun was out in full strength.  I had already ridden about 100 kms that morning and really wanted to stop for the rest of the day on the beach.  I carry a reserve of dollars on me for emergencies and I started going around the town asking if anywhere could change my dollars into pesos.  All the hotels told me no, as well as the large grocery stores, pharmacies and everywhere else I went.  I went to the coast in search of the site mentioned in the guidebook.  I was completely out of cash by this point and all the water around me was salt water.  I found a soldier and begged for some water which he fortunately gave me.  He told me there was a tourist restaurant down the road that might be able to change money.

At this point I began to resign myself to the fact that I was simply going to have to ride the 70 kms in the heat to the next town.  I rode along the coast, which would have been quite enjoyable if it was not for the heavy head winds and awful heat, and the fact that I had no food, water, or money.  I ended up riding all the way to Champoton, the next town.  What was supposed to be a relaxing day on the beach, turned out to be a hellish bit of riding.  The only good thing about it all was I never saw the place mentioned in the guidebook.  Passing by a cool palapa, with a beautiful seniorita serving ice cold beer on the beach would have made it even worse.  In Champoton, I found the mythical ATM and finally got cash.  Unfortunately, there was no real beach here even though this town was on the coast.  I ate a delicious seafood cocktail at one of the countless seafood joints.  I crashed after that in a hotel room.  I did not even bother looking for a place to camp, because at this point in the day the wind had reached a point where I would have had real problems getting the tent up.  Over the coarse of two days, I ended up riding 200 miles.  That is a new personal record on this trip.

The next day into Campeche is as easy as a day on the bike gets.  Outside of Campeche I ran into something I had not seen in a long time.  Hills.  It was actually fun on an easy day like that one was to ride agressively and weave through turns as hard as I could.  I wore myself out just in time to hit the city.  I was hoping Campeche would have a beach so I could reclaim the afternoon on the beach stolen from me at Sabuncuy.  Unfortunately, it is just land going until it hits a wall and then water.  Nothing even resembling a beach.  I needed the rest though so I just pigged out at the hostel for the rest of the day.  The next day I went and explored around Campeche.  The city actually has a really interesting history.  It was a major Spanish port and it constantly had problems with everyone´s favorite menace, pirates.  The pesky pirates pillaged the city over and over.  At one point they completely sacked the city and burned much of it down.  Finally the Spanish forced their slaves to build walls around the city.  Some of them are still standing and the basultrades now hold small museums.  I enjoyed myself by wondering around and visiting these.  That evening I walked around the plaza and sampled food from the temporary stalls set up everywhere for Sunday night.  After that I hung out on the roof of my hostel and watched the activity in the plaza as lightning flashed off over the ocean.  I woke up early the next day, I was off to Merida, but not without a few stops in between.

I have to admit though, that what Villahermosa lacked in character it made up for in convenience.  I had a rest day scheduled because the UPS store was closed on Sunday.  It was really easy to resupply all the little odds and ends I needed at the giant walmart style store that was a block away from my hostel.  Normally these are really hard to find and require a lot of time and effort.  Not really what you want to do when all you need is a new bar of soap or some zip ties.  I was assisted in all my efforts by the good natured Lucio.  I was oddly really craving some solitude when I rolled into Villahermosa.  I am traveling alone, and it would seem I would have as much alone time as I could stand but this really has not been the case.  Staying with families, and talking to people about my trip almost anytime I stop anywhere, has provided me with a lot of human contact.  It is nice of course and I like the generousity of the people I have met, but there are times when all I want to do is chill out and read a book.  However, Lucio was a young boy that was spending his summer working at the hostel, indeed at times it seemed he was running it, and I could not tell him no.  He was fascinated by me for whatever reason and accompanied my on many of my errands.  At times it was nice because he could talk to people in Spanish for me.  He did not speak English at all but I have found I communicate much better with children.  They seem to be more patient and they dont use as many words or phrases I dont understand.  It is sometimes depressing to think that I speak below a gradeschool level.

In Villahermosa I did go to the one tourist attraction there.  About 100 kms away there is an archeological site and many of the important pieces have been moved to a zoo area in the city to make them more accessable.  It is an Olmec site which is really old.  Olmecs predate the Maya and just about every other major civilization in the region.  The coolest pieces were definitely the giant heads that were carved out of stone.  Also the jungle like setting they were in was cool.  I was able to watch animals running around without some of the annoyances of mosquitoes and flies and other jungle critters.  Also in Villahermosa I met a cyclist that was going the opposite way.  A Mexican man that was heading to Guadalajara.  Ironically, we were the only two people staying there.  I am pretty used to being a novelty everywhere I go, but here being a cyclo-tourist was the norm.

After my recharge in Villahermosa I left to retrieve my tires.  I went to the UPS store and excitedly opened my package.  There they were, my giant new monster truck tires.  I put them on my wheels and pumped them up, then I had a heartbreaking moment.  The rear tire fit onto my frame only barely.  There is maybe two milimeters to spare.  My front tire was not fitting at all.  It was close, but there was no way it was going to work.  I was pretty disappointed, but I remembered where there is a will there is a way.  I began searching around town for a welder.  Once I found one I showed him the problem and asked if he could grind away a piece of metal on my fork, or simply cut it off.  The piece I am talking about is the part that I would attatch a fender to if I had a fender.  With this gone the tire would fit.  I was not quite sure if I was using the correct word for grind and I was having trouble communicating with the man.  He told me he could cut it and I trusted him.  I thought to myself that this is a country where things are repaired instead of thrown away and someone like a welder would have plenty of experience.  I was super nervous as he put the flame to my bicycle.  I felt like I was watching a family member go under the knife.

My fear started to grow as it looked like he was having trouble controlling the flame.  He was definitely starting to hit parts of the bike I did not want him to.  After a little while a man, who was obviously in charge of the shop, returned and started helping him and scolding him.  Now I was really nervous.  I looked at the work they did afterward and told myself my trip was over.  My fork looked ruined.  It was absolutely horrible.  I almost wanted to cry.  I told myself to remember the big, friendly, yellow letters on the book that contains all the knowledge of the galaxy.  DONT PANIC.  It is just a fork, worst case is I have to replace it.  Maybe these guys can actually fix it.  The shop master spent the next three hours working on my fork.  The whole time I was under agonizing stress.  This was not helped that almost the entire time I was being bothered by another guy, obviously a friend of the shop, that was drunk before noon on a Monday and would not leave me alone.  I could not understand anything he said either except that god is powerful.  I could not have understood a word the shop master was saying if he was speaking English his speech was so awful.

Eventually they presented me with a fork that seemed to work.  It was very difficult to reattatch the wheel, but it did work.  I decided to ride on it.  I figure only time will tell what happens with it.  Either it will last the whole trip, and I will be ecstatic, it will have a slow failure and I will see it bend and be forced to replace it, or it will fracture and I will be hurled over my bicycle and possibly severly injure myself or damage other parts beyond repair.  These are really the same possibilities as before and I just told myself not to think about it.  After several kms and some hard bumps I could finally do that.  The plus is I immediately loved the tires.  I was amazed at how much smoother my ride felt.  All the little bumps and cracks were much less jarring on my body.

There was no way I was making it to Palenque after all my delays so I just started to ride and was planning on seeing where I ended up.  I made it Agua Blanca.  It was a beautiful set of waterfalls that just cascaded from one pool to the next for a really long ways.  Unfortunately I got there really late and after doing my own exploring and swimming it was too dark to take photos, but I highly recommend you google it.  The rocks were really slippery though and I realized that I was all alone in this paradise and falling and breaking something would be really bad.  I kept my exploring pretty tame, but it is always awesome to have a chance to swim in fresh water.  I camped on the restaurant patio and talked with a man and his boy who worked the restaurant in the morning.  They said it was no problem if I left early.

No problem there, I wanted to hit Palenque early.  I left at dawn and rode back to the highway.  Palenque ended up being too far away to hit before noon.  It was almost 80 kms which it near a full day ride for me.  Also on the way my computer stopped working.  While the welder was going all over the place with his flame he grazed the piece that attatches to the fork and sends a sign to the computer on my handle bars.  It worked for a while to my suprise, but no doubt the airtight seal was broken and condensation trashed it.  I now dont know my speed or distance, and in effect have a very expensive clock/altimeter.

I rested after I got to my Palenque campsite and decided to explore the site the next day.  I did not want to rush things.  I did not do much of anything.  I lounged in a hammock and read a book.  Although the campgrounds had a bunch of cool people in it and a bar that had good live music, I was happy to finally get my alone time.  The Palenque ruins are awesome.  I will try to get pictures up soon because I am not a skilled enough writer to do them justice.  It was very different than the Mexico City pyramids.  These were less massive, but more enjoyable in their own way.  There were tons of structures to satisfy your urge to climb everything in sight until your legs are as tired as they are after a day of cycling.  The site was huge, and the society there was sophisticated and advanced.  There were different sections of the city for different purposes and irrigation channels to avoid flooding during the rainy seasons.  After what turned out to be a tough morning I went back to my site and paid for another night.  Once again, I did a lot of nothing except enjoying my solitude.  I went to bed early,  there would be big ground to cover the next morning.

This made me even more lost as I found myself going around in circles.  It was not until I asked directions from a man who spoke broken English that I realized my mistake.  Eventually I got on the road to Puebla.  I once again stubbornly decided to avoid toll roads.  I realized this would put me through more city, but to me one of the biggest benefits of traveling by bicycle is how you truely feel everything you pass through.  I think it helps develop a deeper understanding of what places are.  You feel mountains when you climb over then, you feel deserts as you cross them, you feel jungles as you sweat through them.  Often in a car these things are just a different color on a map.  You never feel what they are and can not appreciate how they effect the people and the development of an area.  I figured I also had to feel the city and decided the slow route was best.

I proceeded to battle horrible traffic for miles and miles.  I somewhat regretted my decision but it was definitely too late to change now.  It was amazing to me how the city just seemed to go on and on.  It was mainly flat to the east and I think that meant more sprawling city.  A small sidenote here.  In case anyone is reading this for advice on bicycle trips there is the great debate of panniers or a trailer.  They say whichever one you use you will end up swearing by.  I suppose I am no different.  I have been using panniers and I absolutely cannot imagine having a trailer.  While it may help with handling and all that, maneuvering my bicycle through several lanes of traffic and crowded markets is difficult enough as it it.  The extra length of a trailer would make it near impossible.  If I was only touring in the U.S. maybe it would be different, but I often push my bike through extremely crowded pedestrian areas and this would be extremely difficult with the extra length.  After several hours of stressful riding in the city I stopped to call home and wish a happy fourth to everyone.  After I left the internet cafe it started to rain a little.  Nothing too bad though and I could easily ride through it.  I took a short detour to avoid a flooded highway and then noticed it appeared that the city finally ended.  This also coincided with the beginning of the climbs for the day.  I knew Mexico City sat in a valley.

I climbed through the rain up the mountains.  It was fairly late due to my being lost for several hours and making slow progress for several more.  As I started to get pretty high up the weather got a little cold.  My socks were wet and there was thunder threatening more rain.  All things pointed to finding a stop for the day.  Plus I had to be close to the summit as I was approaching 3000 meters.  I passed through a little village.  I stopped to try and find it on the map but it was too small.  Something about this little village high in the mountains with crisp, clean air, something I had not had for ten days, really drew me in.  I found the police station and asked about camping.  They said I could sleep in the station and even fed me tacos.  One of the officers brought an enourmous trey of meat from something they obviously recently slaughtered and a bunch of tortillas.  The policemen at this station seemed to have a really good time at their job.  Obviously there was not much for them to do on a Saturday night so they spent the evening laughing and joking around.

I left early in the morning and had one of my best days cycling.  I left at dawn and the weather was cold.  My thermometer had the temperature at around 40 degrees.  It took about an hour to get to the summit and then I spent the rest of the day delightfully coasting into Puebla.  The weather warmed up to the most perfect temperature possible and the view included two majestic, snow capped volcanoes to my right.  One of which had smoke coming out of it.  I cannot recall ever seeing that before.

Puebla was a nice little town.  Well I should not say little.  It felt small because I was able to see most of it fairly quickly.  Like Morelia it is a small colonial center surrounded by lots of city, but unlike Morelia the city surrounding it was not unpleasent.  I wandered around a bit and went to a highly recommended anthropology museum.  I ended up staying in the zocalo area for quite a while.  I know it was Sunday and I am sure that had something to do with it, but the area was absolutely swarmed with families and children.  It is nice to see children and families doing something together besides watching television.  I really enjoyed just sitting there and watching the people.  I think it is because not very many people in Mexico have air conditioning, but it seems to me that seeing lots of families and children playing outside together is not an uncommon site.  I think it is a much healthier way of growing up than the standard American lifestyle.  It makes me wonder about the idea of progress and what it really means.

In the morning I had the not so small problem of figuring out what in the world I was going to do about these tires.  I received an email from the company I bought the tires from that UPS was going to claim them if I did not contact them.  I wanted to scream.  I have been in contact with them for weeks and nothing has happened.  I called a UPS representative in Mexico.  He told me that I had to have someone in La Paz get some sort of stamp for them because of customs and then they could forward them.  My other option was they could be returned to the shipper and I work something out with them.  I was furious.  If I had a friend in La Paz I would not be in this situation.  And the shipper had already told me it would cost 90 dollars to have the package returned so they authorized UPS to claim it.  I said everything I could without mentioning the word “steal” to the UPS representative to describe what they were doing to me.  I resigned myself to losing the tires and biked out of Puebla a little upset.

My anger quickly melted away as I poured my energy into flat roads in beautiful weather.  I knew today had some tricky navigation and was trying hard to pay attention to the signs.  Many highways here do not have numbers on the map or in reality.  Often there is just an arrow pointing to a town that is not named on my map and I have to use my judgement to tell if it is the right road or not.  I was trying to avoid the dreaded toll roads, but this time there was no simple free road running parallel.  I was trying to take small side roads.

I did a decent job with directions the better part of the morning.  Every time I asked I was told I was on the correct road.  I knew I had another turn coming up and I saw a sign pointing towards a road and I was not sure if this was the one I wanted.  Fortunately there was a gas station right by the turnoff.  Unfortunately, all the attendents were women.  I hate asking women for directions.  I honestly believe in this somewhat machismo society that the male always drives the car and as a result has a better idea of where things are.  I tend to always get better directions from men.  Although I must say, I very rarely get good directions at all, and people here are absolutely awful with maps.  I tell myself that I am simply being sexist and this woman surely knows more about where we are than I do.  I ask several times to make sure nothing gets lost in translation, is that turn the yellow road or the red road on my map and point to make sure she knows which roads I am talking about.  She assured me this was the yellow road.

After five kilometers I realized something had gone wrong.  I was on the red road.  I had also spent that 5 kilometers going uphill and really did not want to waste that precious energy by simply going back down the way I came and climbing again.  My options were to go about 20 kms out of the way to get to a road that could take me where I wanted to go but would take me a further 40 kms out of the way, go backwards (never an option in my opinion) and possibly get lost again, or hop on the toll road.  Ugh.  I decided to tough it up and take the toll road.  I would have to take it for about a day, but I was not interested in spending three days lost in the mountains going around in cicles.

It did not take long to remember why I had avoided the toll roads.  Also on this straight, flat road with no obstacles I had to head into a headwind.  To anyone reading that does not cycle, headwinds are the product of the devil.  Mountains are fun in a way.  If you keep working you know you will always outlast a mountain.  Eventually, even if it takes days, you will reach the summit of a mountain and then reap the rewards by taking it easy downhill.  Winds can last forever.  There is no give and take like mountains, only take.  Personally they absolutely suck the desire to pedal out of my legs, and on a trip where today is a long day, and tomorrow is a long day, and yesterday was a long day, it is also terribly ineffecient to bike into a headwind.

I called it quits pretty quickly.  I pulled into the town of Cuacmopalan.  I got the look from the locals that told me gringos on bicycles are a rarity around here.  I asked if I could camp in town and was allowed to sleep in the police station.  The police talked with me most of the night and joked with me.  I really have trouble understanding jokes.  If they are anything like our jokes they are riddled with colloquialisms which I am not even close to getting yet.  At one point I hung outside the police station and was writing in my journal as lots of children played basketball.  Soon I had a crowd talking to me, obviously fascinated by the foriegner.  After a while I finally had to excuse myself and go to bed.  I had plans for the next day.

The map had me licking my lips for the next day.  It was not much further and I would be out of the mountains on perfectly flat planes.  I really wanted to cover some distance.  I started off on some small mountains, into the wind, and was wondering if my planes of a record day would be foiled.  Then the earth opened up into a huge valley and I began a 1,000 meter decent.  I was passing the large trucks that could not take the corners very fast and hardly pedaled for an hour.  After the huge decent I continued to lose altitude slowly and kept a great pace despite still fighting the wind.  I got low and started sweating a lot in the jungle like conditions again.  I was trying to keep my water breaks brief because I wanted to hit 240 kms before sundown.  The turn south helped me get out of the wind, but after 225 kms I simply had nothing left in the tank.  I pulled into Ciudad Aleman which despite the name had no Germans.  I started the day at 2300 meters and ended at 50.  I asked some locals where I could stay but they were drunk and rambling.  I was told by someone else there were no hotels in town.  The police gave me permission to camp outside in the park and assured me it was safe.  I locked up my bike and went into the town for groceries.  I asked at the bike shop if they had any tubes in my size.  Again some of the workers were drunk.  I was now a little worried about camping in the park.  Drunks are the one thing that make me a little uneasy, because they are unpredictable.  Speaking of unpredictable, I checked my email and UPS was rerouting my package to Villahermosa.  I will believe it when I see it.

I got groceries and then decided to eat something at the restaurant bordering the park.  I was waved over by a table and they pointed to a young girl and told me she speaks English.  This is not uncommon in the smaller towns I have noticed.  Often someone will come up to me and inform me with great importance about the person in town who speaks English.  Sometimes this is really nice, like nights when I am dead tired from biking so far.  The girls English was flawless and I asked her where she was from.  Kansas City she told me.  I could not believe it.  Here in a small town in the middle of Mexico I meet a 19 year old girl that went to Shawnee Mission South.  I was a little suprised we did not have common friends on facebook.

The park started to get active at night, presumably because that is the only time it is cool enough to play outside.  And the mother of a friend of the Kansas City girl (keep up with that?) invited me to camp in their backyard.  I happily accepted and spent the evening chatting with them, this time with an interpreter to iron out the misunderstandings.  I slept awfully.  It was so hot and sticky inside my tent.  I got a late start the next day and did not feel good all around.  Even early the heat was bad.  Packing my tent had me soaked in sweat.  I tried laying siege to the day.  Or trench warfare on the distance.  Go for about 10 miles and then take a good break.  Then 10 miles more and a good break.  It just was not working.  I was still feeling the day before too much and it was too hot.

I pulled into a town and spotted a water purification plant on the outskirts.  I tried going up to fill my water bladder but it was closed.  A family who lived next door took pity on me and filled my bladder from thier water reserves.  I was really grateful just for this.  They asked if I was hungry, which I always am when I bike, and they fed me.  Then they insisted I rest in thier hammock.  When I woke up they fed me again and insisted they wash my clothes.  My efforts to help with anything were rejected.  I was told I was a guest and this was how I was supposed to be treated.  This family absolutely showered me with generousity and they very clearly had nothing.  Their house was a cinder block structure that had only two bedrooms for five people and a small common room.  The toilets were in a shed outside and did not have running water and the kitchen was a thatched structure made from woden posts.  The stove was operated by slow burning wood and the whole thing reminded me of exhibits of Mayan life I had seen in the archeology museum.  However, as usual, the people who have the least are always the most generous.  They were incredible to me and even invited some of the extended family to come over and talk to me.  I spent most of my time talking with the oldest son.  He was a few years older than me and worked in the pineapple fields.  I had seen many of the trucks full of pineapple pass me on the highway.  I had also seen men working in the field and it is clearly brutal work.  However, this family seemed very happy and close knit.  Even though they had very little, they seemed to have everything they needed.  The son I spoke with told me they were very content with their life.  It was hard to leave the next day, but I had a package to pick up now.

I left predawn  I wanted to avoid the merciless heat.  Locals were continuously asking me if I rode at night.  When I said no they always looked at me funny.  I tried explaining it was not safe because I am not easy to spot in the dark but the concept of working through the day is obviously not endorsed here.  I rode hard that morning.  I wanted to hit the coast before dark.  I made good progress and decided to take a rest in the middle of the day.  When I started again I was hit by rain.  I pulled over for a while and got going to the next town named Cosoleacaque.  This town was a small dot on the map but it was obviously some sort of busy bus terminal.  There was traffic everywhere and large buses and people running too and fro.  I had never seen such activity in such a small place.  It was insane.  I stopped at an internet cafe to wish my sister a happy birthday and when I came outside the heavens were pouring down.  I opted for a cheap hotel.

It was still raining in the morning and I got going a little late.  I got lost in the next town of Minatitlan and gave up hitting Villahermosa that day.  I took the detour to Coatzcoalcos.  They had a decent beach there and I took a few hours to enjoy my accomplishment of hitting Atlantic waters.  I officially became a transcontinental traveler.  After enjoying the beach for the middle of the day I got going again.  Once again the road was flat, hot, sticky and everytime I stopped mosquitoes came out in force.  I was also going into the, now clearly predominant, east to west winds.  I rode until I simply was tired of riding and did not want to keep going.  I heard thunder rumbling and I asked some kids at a snack stand if there was anywhere to rest for the night.  They took me to their house and brought out a hammock.  I jumped in and passed out.  I woke up a little later to an incredible thunderstorm.  I was not worried though.  My bike had been dumped on several times by now.  I went inside and crashed again.  I spent the night camped out on their porch.  In the morning I was putting the bags back on the bike when one felt rediculously heavy.  I must have sealed in improperly because it was nearly half full of water.  The worst part is many of my lights got wet, including my camp lantern which I had fallen in love with on this trip.  It was such a great, compact piece of equipment that I will not be able to replace here.  However, it could have been much worse.  That day I rode into Villahermosa, but I will write about that in the next post because this is already much too long.  If you read this far, I applaud you.