Saturday, May 8, 2010

Pinches Perros




Dogs. Everyone in Mexico seems to have one, or five. It can't simply be the bicycle that agitates them, as there are plenty of others on bikes, so I can only assume it's the foreign, colorfully dressed, white stranger on the weird, fully-loaded rig that freaks them out. Can't say I blame them, but still, it really sucks to be unable to make it through a town without a pack of dogs nipping at your heels, or worse. I've tried just about defensive tactic: Riding faster, stopping, a water bottle spray to the face, a far less compassionate kick to the face, even getting all New Age and visualizing myself as a bear, or wolf, and letting out a feral roar as they close in. Some tactics work better than others (the kick and roar being the most effective, especially when used in combination), but regardless, it's a drag. Nonetheless, it was such an encounter which led to one of my better nights, thus far.
I anticipated a short day after Lazaro Cardenas. It was only about 25 miles to El Consuelo, a beach my brother had recommended for camping, as it was the last chance to be on the ocean, before heading into the desert. Unfortunately, I came unprepared; rather, the distance snuck upon me, and I found myself at the uninhabited beach without food or water. El Rosario seemed a short distance on my map, so I opted instead to get provisions there, then return. What I couldn't tell was that there was a tremendous climb and descent between the two places, so by the time I hit town, I nixed that idea. Instead, I decided to try the dirt road to Punta Baja, and soon found myself slogging through a sandy river, rerouted by landslides and, of course, tracked by gangs of angry dogs. (Bright ideas: My cup runneth over with them.) Upon reaching the small pueblo of El Rosario de Abajo, I took another wrong turn, only to find myself face to snarling face with a particularly vicious bulldog.
"Ah, fuuuuck," I thought, more weary of the scene than fearful. Okay, I was scared shitless.
Fortunately, a loud whistle, followed by a shower of stones, chased the beast back to it's rightful home. A gentleman stood across the street, in another yard, beckoning me over.
"¿Adonde vas?" he asked.
"Ojala a la playa," I replied.
"Well, cut through my yard. The road's over there, but the beach is still pretty far... Do you want to stay on the beach?"
"Well......"
"Because you could camp behind my house instead."
Hell yes. Just the invitation I'd been waiting for.
Lucio lived in a small house with his wife and four children. He'd never lived anywhere but El Rosario de Abajo, and when I naively asked why, he simply replied, "Why would I? I have everything I need. It's a tranquil life."
I admired his grounded acceptance: Such a contrast to my constant moving around the country, my constant struggle between the wish for a peaceful life, and the wish for one full of action. Lucio's was indeed tranquil, and as I lay in my tent, drifting off and looking at the infinite night sky, I had to thank my good fortune and, albeit reluctantly, the pinche perro who had served as the catalyst.


It's a week later, and a lot has happened, but there aren't so many computers out in the Baja desert. I'll write again soon.

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