It’s hot! It’s hot!
It feels as if a belt is strapped around my head. Another few gulps of water. My stomach feels like a ball that’s pumped up to hard. I’m nauseous but I don’t have to throw up, neither go to the toilet. Blegh! This is no fun!
I pedal and pedal while the belt around my head is pulled tighter and tighter.
In the shade of some trees I sink down at the doorstep of a restaurant. In the bathrooms I scoop several handfuls of water over my head. That feels good! Outside in the shade I wait till my headache decreases before I get on my bike again.
In my ears: noise. In my noise: the stench of exhaust fumes. Before my eyes: thousands of cars and a monotonous landscape. In my mouth: the taste of exhaust fumes. In my body: pain.
About twenty kilometers further I sit down again, this time in front of the Pemex gas station at a big intersection. My body hurts, the surroundings are boring, there’s noise. Shaun, who’s joined me again since Mazatlan, wants to make me look at the sunny side of things. But I just can’t take any more sun! Can somebody please turn the light off?
As we continue it suddenly becomes clear to me; this is where the fun ends. When all my five senses get filled with dung. In my ears: noise. In my nose: the stench of exhaust fumes. Before my eyes: thousands of cars and a monotonous landscape. In my mouth: the taste of exhaust fumes. In my body: pain.
I feel lousy. And I don’t mind that I feel lousy. I’m allowed to feel lousy.
This is stupid, just stupid.
But I pedal, and that’s what it’s about. Off to better times, more beautiful places, tasty flavours, silence or pretty sounds, the smell of nature, the coolness of the mountains and some tailwinds.
In the days that follow I come to the conclusion that my chronic stomach ache is caused by drinking big amounts of water. Too much, too little, it’s hard to do it right. Riding into higher elevations the heat becomes less overwhelming and the belt around my head gets some slack.
My greatest and latest news trundles along on the back of my bike since a week. Ever since the USA I deliberated getting a guitar in Mexico. It seemed like the right place for that. Searching around music shops and markets I only found big guitars and small baubles for kids or tourists. In Guadalajara I found a real guitalele, by Yamaha. Not really an original Mexican guitar, but exactly what I was looking for qua size and price. It weights nearly nothings and is now wrapped in my down jacket and fleece legging in a cover that I strap on my bagage.
I didn’t know how to play the guitar yet, but over this last week I learned enough chords to play my way through quite a few songs
I may have to give up on the extreme bad and bumpy dirt roads that always tortured my back. But I guess that might be more or a blessing than a loss..
From colorful Guanajuato I’ll continue alone again. Eastwards, into the Sierra Gorda and then via the Pyramid del Sol to Mexico stad!