Me disculpo que esto no está todavía en español, pero no me prohibo más hora. Mire por favor las fotos chascando en las fotos pequeñas el derecho –>

So much more is yet to come, but I wrote this a while back, and am just posting it…don’t forget to check out the new photos –>

¡Enjoy! ¡Disfruta!

We’re home! That is to say, we’re in Chacahua, and we really feel like we are home. We’ve seen such great places all along this trip, but as we rode our bikes the 30 mile stretch down the washboard sandy dirt road, traversed the lagoon by launcha and landed at Josefina and Francisco’s house, we knew we were in the one place in the world closest to our hearts, especially when we can hear over the little town’s loud speaker: “¡TELEFONICA! ¡!@#$%^&*@#$%^&*! ¡TELEFONICA!”

Francisco’s (Chico’s) whole family greeted us with hugs and kisses. We immediately greeted the ocean with a big naked body slam. Josefina cooked us the food we had been craving for the last 4 years, took part in some great recreational sports, racked in some points on our beer tab, then promptly passed out for the night. And since we hadn’t slept in 2 days, we slept very sound.

We’ve learned this from experience: it’s never easy to get to Chacahua. Its no wonder no one wants to leave when they get here. You undergo quite the adventure getting here, utilizing no less than 3 forms of transportation, many many hours, and unexpected twists and turns from beginning to end. The first time Jesse and I were here, we left our friend Leo’s house in the north of Oaxaca by van, then by mini van (VW vanagons) to public buses (yes, the chicken-tied-to-the-roof style), to taxi, to launcha (boat), to cargo truck. When Jesse drove down with the infamous Cyrus Burch, they drove the back way, at night, through San Jose Del Progresso and down the aforementioned dirt road, through a torrential down pore limiting Jesse’s vision so much that he almost drove right into the lagoon. This time, we bused from Lázaro Cárdenas in Michoacan leaving at 3pm. We arrived 14 hours later in San Jose D.P. at 5am. We road out of town on bike and took a wrong turn in the pitch black sending us an hour in the wrong direction. But it was an amazing ride through the middle of coco, papaya and banana groves, along a huge canal. We watched the thin sliver of the moon rise right next to the constellation Scorpius just minutes before the sun rise. So we made it to the launcha a couple hours after sunrise, and to our palapa home by the time of 2nd breakfast (¡Frodo Vive Eternamente!). With no sleep, no food, and a very long bike ride on a very bumpy road, the many bruises, scrapes, and muscle cramps made our happiness that much more of a delirious euphoria. Nevermind the fact that we got lost, that I got my bike stuck in the sand and crashed multiple times, our loads came loose, once tossing our boom box down the road like a bowling ball, and on top of all that, Jesse’s seat breaking right off the post. Thank the bike gods that he had an Xtracycle, which allowed him to sit back on top of his load and finish the ride to the launcha. ¡¡WE’RE STOKED FOR CHACAHUA!!

There are so many aspects about Chacahua that I was overjoyed to be reminded of. Things like how the air is so clean and easy to breathe no matter the temperature, how perfectly serene the beach and water are, and how dark-skinned the locals are, being descendants from Africans. Plus, the local people here are different from so many other places we’ve been, because they actively participate in the beach scene just as much as the travelers do. So often, especially on the beaches, the local Mexicans don’t swim in the water, don’t hang out on the sand, don’t play on the water in boats or kayaks, and just take their surroundings for granted, staying close to their homes or businesses. But here, the kids surf, the families hang out in the palapas and restaurants, they cruise around the lagoon in row boats, kayaks or canoes, they make friends with visitors that find themselves lucky enough to be here. That’s just it: the locals and visiting travelers don’t separate themselves from each other. We all enjoy Chacahua to it’s fullest. There was even a local kid wearing a shirt yesterday that he made by hand, cutting out the stencil and spray painting “¡Que Bonita Es Mi Chacahua!” with palm trees and everything!

However, I will miss La Manzanilla, mostly for the people. Each person we met was such a character, it was just like living on the stage of a theatre. I’ll always remember how “La Pirata-the Pirate” Carlos would greet people as they walked by the stick on the beach or by the campground, saying in perfect english: “Welcome to the jungle.” Perfect english was not a typical characteristic of Carlos’, but he tried hard, and he did well, but we still made fun of him just for kicks. He had a great sense of humor. He gave Jesse the nickname of “Jaimes” (as in Jesse James) and myself, “Garcia” after an Argentinian singer, Charlie Garcia. (For those of you who still didn’t catch it, I’m going by Charlie on this trip because I have a hell of a time with my given name Sherilyn). In turn, Jesse called Carlos “Qiunto,” the name of a Mexican candy bar, and I called him “Santana.” A few times he would bust out singing when people were playing guitars, and he was really damn good! So if we weren’t visiting with Shanti and Mayama, we were hanging out with Carlos and the guy-with-the-only-non-VW-in-the-VW-camp, Don. Don was a crack up! He was so even keel, so mellow, so relaxed, and so happy to do absolutely nothing in particular.

The four of us would start our days off drinking coffee and smoking in his RV for a few hours (Jesse’s picked up his “I only smoke cigarettes in Mexico” habit, and hey- it’s damn cheap to smoke down here!) then go out to the beach and sit on the stick (Carlos’ english word for log) and watch the sun rise over the ocean and the whales playing at the mouth of the bay. Later we’d usually either cook dinner over Carlos’ fire pit or walk into town to the “Chop Chop,” the best taco stand in La Manzanilla, run by a man and his cross-dressing son. That in itself was awesome! I couldn’t believe the locals went for it, a cross-dresser running the best food racket in town. So one night after eating at Chop Chop with our friend Valerie, we decided to go back to the house she was renting and check out her balcony view overlooking the whole town and beach. Valerie was visiting from Bainbridge Island in Washington (hear that Aunt Karen!) and was with us for a couple weeks. Valerie had such a royal presence about her, with her slight english accent left over from growing up in England, and the way she would flow with whatever situation she found herself in. So happy, so glowing, she put a genuine smile on everyone’s face… oh yes, where was I? In the dark night, fat and lazy from dinner, half drunk, we were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, rambling on about something, and Jesse turns to Don for his response, and sees only the obscured figure of Don suddenly disappearing straight down off the road! We hadn’t quite comprehended that he fell into an 8 foot deep drainage ditch, when we hear him say in the most calm and matter-of-fact tone: “Oh shit, I’m in the ditch now guys.” We were laughing so hard that we could barely muster the strength to pull him out! AND, he didn’t spill any of his beer!!! Luckily there were exposed pvc pipes running parallel to the road which caught him by the armpits!

Ah yes, and then there were Anaxazi and Mona, who own the Artis, a gallery, lounge, and bar. They had just opened right before we got there. Super cool people. Anaxazi’s got a hell of a life story, a latino growing up in Chicago and coming to terms with his own life and death at a very young age, leading him from pro fútbal material to incredible artist. His sweetheart wife “Monita Bonita,” as their son Aguilla calls her, is a tall beautiful polish woman. Together with his dark sculpted features of Egyptian, Native American & Latin descent and her elegance & charm, they are remarkably striking to behold.

So I spent alot of time at the Artis, drinking cappuccino, mochaluas (mocha cappuccino, Kahlua and Baileys!), and learning about Anaxazi’s dream to create an eco-community on a huge chunk of jungle he purchased just a couple miles from the beach. A group of us hiked up to this property one day to check it out. He is selling pieces of it to people who want in on the action and who have the same intentions. That was fun to learn about, and to know that there will be work to be had once the building begins! Jesse was stoked about that. I was also working on a couple of photo projects with the gallery, one I finished, but one would be ongoing. I think I mentioned the brochure for the whole Costa Legre area. They want to print new ones every 6 months. So there’s work for me too! But hanging out at the gallery for the belly dancers, or for fresh baked apple pie in the morning, or Sushi night on Saturdays was some of the best time spent in La Manzanilla. Jesse would usually be with me, but he had quite the adventures elsewhere in town.

We met a father and his two sons, whom we called “El Prizmaticos,” who lived just up the road. Geraldo, the sweetest kindest old man I’ve ever met, and Keenan and Noe are a family musical group. Geraldo plays beautiful wooden flutes, and his sons play guitars and sing traditional indigenous music. Jesse fit right in with his bass guitar, and after jamming once on “the stick,” he was an official part of the family! They would all go around to the restaurants and play music and pass the hat for change, and at the end of the night they would buy dinner and drinks for everyone that was with them. Geraldo would always say in his broken english (for my benefit only, he hated english) “I love my life. I have my sons, our music, a house and food. I am so happy. This is all I need.” His presence constantly reminded me that you really need very little in life to be truly happy. They had hardly anything but a tiny concrete shack, the clothes on their back, and their instruments. They were a blast to hang out with.

There were so many more amazing people, including Louie and Julie and their kids from Quebec, who live in La Manz for months at a time in their bus home. She is am amazing artist, painting and carving and dancing, and him with his coconut shell polishing hobby and knowledge on just about everything you could ever think to ask him. Julie painted the board on my xtracycle too! Its awesome! Hey Louis - will you email those photos to me? And one of my favoritest new friends, Kalina. We were bound to meet. The connection with her is the stuff that tells the stories of fate. The first time I saw her was a night in the town center selling her jewelry. She had the sweetest face, and a natty dread reminiscent of the Blackheart Mon himself. We talked for just a bit, and knew we would run into each other again. The next day I took a bike ride down the beach, and spotted her doing yoga, but didn’t want to interrupt her. But as I rode by, she ran out and called me, and we stood there for what must have been close to an hour, talking about all kinds of life’s twists and turns. That’s why I liked her immediately. No bullshit, just real life.

Jesse and I didn’t know how long we were staying in La Manz, and Kalina was taking a trip to Mexico City for a week, but we both hoped to meet up again. As it turned out, we didn’t leave La Manz for a month, so when Kalina came back we spent a good amount of time sharing reggae music that she got in the city, yoga, jewelry making, eating, and talking and talking about where we were in these moments in our lives. I really feel like we were brought together to walk with each other through these crazy times, if for nothing else but to be a sounding board for the other. I know we’ll keep in contact, and I know I’ll see her again soon - right Kalina!!!

……………………

Back at Chacahua, a few days later….

I’d like to say that I’ve sat in the hammock for the last three days simply because I’ve just been that lazy, but alas, I’m not that lucky. I finally caught it. What it is, I can’t say for sure. Call it the flu, call it food poisoning, bad water, a curse - but all I know is, my huge appetite that bike riding had brought on, yeah well, that’s history. So is my craving for fish tacos. You know what I’m saying. But it’s all good. At least I’m in my favorite place, and I can just chill in a hammock all day in the shade and watch the waves crashing in.

a few more days later….

…after a week of taking it easy, everything is back to normal. Jesse took a weekend trip into Puerto Escondido to sell CDs, and I stayed here to work on a photo project. Jose Antonio “Toño” is starting his 2nd book about Chacahua and he needs photos. His first book is a collection of stories that he recorded from the local people, but with no photos. So he wants lots of photos for this one…

What will no sleep, one meal, and over 1,000 miles of travel in a mere 24 hours all at once do to you?  Well, 3 beers and some tequila shots back, and it’ll make you feel reeeeeeal good.  ¡BIENVENIDOS A LA PAZ!  ¡Beep Beeeeep!  Es correcto, nosotros llegemos en La Paz, and our first hitchhiking experience is automatically one for the getoffyourgass logs, so ¡JUALITO PARA PASITO!

OK, so we realized that we just aren’t able to make it to Chiapas by bicycle with the time and money allotted.  So, after riding a few excellent days with Paul and guerrilla camping outside of San Vicente, then riding the bikes into town, we left Paul to the road, and hopped a bus to Làzaro Càrdenas, a bigger town, where we wanted to hitch a ride as far south as possible.  The bus rides down the Baja are NOT CHEAP, and niether is bicycling.  We passed Paul along the way, spying him from above in the bus windows.  It was a sad moment, realizing that we wouldn’t be “that bicyclist,” but we swallowed our pride and poverty.  When we got into Làzaro Càrdenas, it was getting late, and we decided to find a place to camp and try hitchhiking in the morning.  Well, no camping to be had in Làzaro Càrdenas, and the hotels were not an option for us.  So we’re tramping through town, up and down the road and back, sun is setting, we’re getting a bit stressed, and I’ll be dammed.  An angel comes to our rescue, literally.  Ángel runs a used car lot off the main road and Jesse spotted his kind face, and asked him if it would be possible to camp on some empty space.  He not only let us stay at the lot, but he let us sleep in a shaggin’ wagon van, and fed us cafe y galletas y bananas en la mañana!  He was such a nice guy.  He made sure to get our promise to come and stay with him again on our way back home.  If we were going that way, we totally would!  You’ll see a photo of him….

That morning, we were repeatedly told to get to the 3rd Pemex (that’s the ONLY type of gas station in Mexico) on the south side of town, because it’s the largest, where all the long-tail-xtracycle-hauling trucks pull into.  So we stick out our thumbs for about half an hour, then a huge semi loaded with madera (wood) pulls in, and lets us on!  The driver, I’ll call him “Wences,” successfully held up most of the personality traits of a stereotypical truck driver that make truck drivers look bad.  But overall, as it turns out, he was a good guy.  But it took 24 solid hours of sharing the same cab with him to figure that out, only known when he let us off just where we needed to be, safe and sound, and shook our hands and wished us a heart felt “!Bien Viaje¡”  Our own over cautious presumptions almost got the better of us.  As it happens, we land in La Paz, exactly one entire day later…

As we travelled on the road with Wences, we got the “enemy’s” perspective.  As we bicycled out of the border towns into Baja before we hitched, we got the full impression of the bicyclist sharing the road with automobiles.  And now, we have it from the other end.  From on high, in the cab of the semi truck, the same trucks that repeatedly had to dodge our puny asses hugging that half-ass white line on the right side of the road with no shoulder to be had, while squeezing between the OTHER semi truck coming right for ‘em from the front.  It was ridiculous how quickly I lost count at how many times Wences came to hitting side mirrors with oncoming trucks, and that was with no wide-ass long-tail bike to dodge down below.  OK, I get it.  I’m grateful for the realization of both worlds, in that I no longer have ’small dog syndrome,’ thinking I can pull road rights out here on these roads.  When that trucker has to play 3-way chicken on an impossibly narrow road, there’s no question who’s going to lose.

All along Baja, there was some incredible scenery, volcanoes, fields of boulders and cactus, rolling hills of century plants and plains of cirio growth.  Wences taught us the proper ways to speak obscene español, por lo jemplo:  “Quiero a cambiar le la agua a las aceítunes.”  Now, if any of you can translate that into proper mexican trucker, I’ll bring you a hell of a prize from Mexico OK!  In between the scattered little pueblos, there were wild burros, vacas y caballos running down the road, cannibalistic dogs eating eachother’s carcasses off the asphalt, automobile graveyards around every curva peligroso - Wences says “¡YO ROBO LA CURVA!” - robbing the curves, making the road straight, driving the loaded semi like he was in the Baja 500 race.  To be honest, Wences has been driving this same road for many years, and drove them like he owned them.  I had full confidence in his road warrior skills.  He had to make a couple of curious stops, leaving Jesse and I alone with the truck, but what he did I’ll leave to your imagination, as it was left to ours.  Wences gave us a hell of a trip, 1,000 miles in 24 hours, and we’re grateful for introducing us to hitchhiking!  It was both of our fist times hitching, after all.

As we ride into La Paz from the outskirts where Wences dropped us off, we have no concept of time and space, which plays to our advantage.  We hit up the ferry office, finding out that the last ferry to Mazatlàn took off the day before, and the next one is not until a week from now!  ¡Pinche barkos!  Upon finding out that we were now stuck in La Paz for an unexpected week.  We immediately started looking for the cheapest lodging possible, which does not exist here.  The cheapest we could find was a beach about 8 miles out of town.  Fine, but every time we want to come into town, we have to break camp, pack up the bikes, and ride loaded in to do our business, only to return to set up camp once more.  We’ve got the word out around the place for spots to camp with the Baja Expedition people, and some folks at the marina.  We checked internet options, found telephones and calling cards, got city maps, scoped out the marinas, inquired about temporary work at 4 different places, and all this before lunch time!  When we finally sat down to eat, we thought we were eating an early dinner, and half way through, realized that it had just turned noon.  HA!

Well, some time between christmas and new years, and we’ve just arrived in La Manzanilla.  We finally found a ferry from La Paz, 4 days after we arrived.  We camped our last night for free in the Casa Blanca trailer park, thanks to our neighbor Ross who took off for Cabo, and let us use his space that he had prepaid for.  Our neighbors on the other side, Betty and Gerry from Nelson Canada, were waiting for a ferry as well, and so they took us to the ferry terminal that morning, a 16 mile ride that we never would have made in time.  As it turns out, the ferries that weren’t running were actually just full, and we had found a second cargo company that allowed passengers, only if there was room.  So Betty and Gerry just bought tickets for the next available boat and went back to the campground.  We hit the second co. up, and they wouldn’t sell tickets until 2 pm, after the cargo was loaded.  So it was about 11 am, and we were camped outside their door, when four backpacking kids showed up.  Victor-Spain, Izzy-England, Braulio and Melina-Mexico, were trying to get to the main land, and between the six of us, we camped out at the first co, the second co. and the waiting list line, and the first person to the front would get the tickets.  There were 2 routes from La Paz, Mazatlan (where we were trying to go) and Topolobompo.  Jesse and Victor were the first to come through with the waiting list, and as we pay and look at our tickets, we see that they were for Topolobompo!  They put us on the wrong waiting list!  And there was no turning back, this place was like the Disneyland gates on the first day of summer vacation.  The others also had these tickets, so we all loaded up together on the bigger boat (not the cargo co.).  The good news was that the ride was only 5 hours, instead of 18!  And the bad news is that, well, there isn’t any.  So we had decided that with all the pickups and semi trucks loading the boat, we would score our second hitch out of the city, as far south as we could.  5 minutes on the boat and Jesse meets Jesus, Wences’ complete opposite.  This was the greatest old man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.  He must have been 80, and looked way too small to drive such a massive truck.  He was hauling canned tuna.  Because of the weight of the cans, his trailer was only filled half to the top, with 6 feet or so open at the end.  Our bikes fit perfectly, and he agreed to take all 6 of us with him!!!

The boat ride felt like it must have felt a hundred years ago when people trecked across the sea of water to a new land, arriving to a sea of people yelling and calling out in excitement of seeing their loved ones and all the new faces. Nothing but water for as far as the eye can see, and nothing to do but drink, eat and play games.  There were many rounds of cinco dados, 5 dice, and quite a few rounds of beer, as well as some free and free-er meals.  They served one meal with your ticket, and you could buy additional food.  The meal they served was really good, but really small.  When Jesse went through the line, he accidentally handed them his bicycle ticket - oh yeah, we had to purchase tickets for our bicycles - and then Victor (appearing more mexican and blending in better) went back through the line and got another plate with Jesse’s actual ticket, and they didn’t mark it!  So then Izzy went through again with the same ticket for yet another plate! and they finally marked it.  But its all good, there was plenty of food.  Then an epic bicycle ride down the gang plank onto land!  It was late, dark, and a complete cluster f**k when we got off.  Our bikes were down with the semi trucks, and at first we got lost between the four levels of cars.  I felt like I was  locked in a gas chamber where the ceiling was inches above my head and not even enough room to walk between the hundreds of cars that had already started their engines and were sitting there filling the tiny space with fumes.  Finally we found the bikes, and road out to the awaiting crowd.  Hundreds of people, all lined up watching us ride our big fat loaded bikes out with all the cars ahead of us and all the semi trucks behind us, too funny!

Jesus was waiting for us outside the gates, just like he promised.  We were hurrying to load our bikes into the trailer, and Jesus insisted “Camete!  Tranquillo!  This is Mexico, relax!  Take your time!”  Can you imagine this?  The man we’re hitchhicking with, a man on the job, having 20 something hours of drive time ahead of him, and he’s telling us to chill out!  I love this guy.  Jesus dropped Braulio and Melina off in Culyacan, and Jesse and I in Tepic so we could keep on the coastline. He took Victor and Izzy with him all the way into Mexico City.  We rode with them all night, and well into the next day, and by the time we parted ways, we just wanted to stay in the truck and keep riding with them!  We had a great time, 3 of us all kicked back in the sleeper cab, one was sitting shotgun, talking the hours away with Jesus and eachother.  Jesus was great, stopping all the time whenever we needed to pee, and wanting to buy us drinks from the store, and making sure we were comfortable and had everything we needed.  In the morning he stopped at a northern office of the company he worked for, and needed to wait for some paperwork.  So we all climbed in the back and laid out beds on top of the boxes of canned tuna and had a great rest!  We woke up and made breakfast, cooking right there in the back of the truck parked on the side of the road.  Jesus joined us for some tea, and told us, “whenever you’re ready, just take your time.”  So then we landed in Tepic and said our fair wells.  Jesus has a special place in our hearts for sure.

The funny thing about Tepic was, as we were loitering for another ride at the Pemex station that Jesus dropped us at, we meet this guy from El Salvador.  As we sang our bicycle tune and told him we were from nor cal by Sacramento, he spits out “Yeah, I know Oroville.”  We about fell out.  And not only that, but he knows Leo, our friend that works with us on the orchard, that lives in Oaxaca that we’re going to see soon!!!  Now I will always believe that this truly is a small world.  Literally over 3,000 miles from home, and there’s still only one degree of separation.

So as the sun starts to set, and there’s no ride to be had, we decide to start searching for a spot to hunker down.  We end up at a hotel, only the second one of this entire trip.  We slept in a real bed and took 3 hot showers each by the time we left the next morning.  We got our money’s worth!  Our next destination:  Puerto Vallarta.  We catch a ride with a Puerta Vallarta high school teacher, one year away from retirement.  He was on his way back from Tepic getting fishing supplies.  He has a little boat that he was spending his vacation on, and his buddies were back there making turtle soup awaiting his return.  He was a nice old guy.  He gave us oranges and beer. 

And so we hit Puerto Vallarta, a city spanning from ancient to Ikea within a few kilometers.  Cruise ships docked on one end, cargo ships on the other, seaside in front, mountain side in back.  One of our most enjoyable rides so far was the 20 miles south out of the city.  We stayed right about in the center.  Our stay in Vallarta was about the best we could possibly ask for, thanks to the powers of celestine and a kid named René.  We were in Vallarta approximately 5 minutes, and our presence had spread across half the city already.  No joke.  We started to ride toward Vallarta Viejo, old town, away from the cruise ships, and found a spot on the beach that would have been good to camp on.  Jesse went into the bar closest to this, and spoke to the gringo owner to get the feel for the place.  Well, that guy showed his true colors, telling Jesse that we couldn’t camp there, no its not allowed (which it IS, all beaches in Mexico are public), no, the tent that was already set up there will be removed by morning by the police.  When Jesse questioned him, saying that 6 people, including the locals in the information booth on the main road told us to camp there, the guy spat back “well I can call the police NOW if you want me to!”  So of course he was lying, we totally could have camped there, but not that it mattered.  We got back on our bikes and as we started to ride off to hit up a taqueria, René walks by and says “hey!  You’re the ones from California!  I just heard about you!”  Turns out that René was right next to the bar and heard them talking about us after Jesse walked out.  So René adopted us, and we lived with him in a bar called the Galeria Clandestino.  He said “I’m sleeping on the pool table, we’ll make a bed for you guys too!”  René had been traveling from Montreal to Puerto Vallarta just about every year for 8 years, and had just arrived that morning by bus.  He had made friends with the owner of the bar on a previous trip, and often crashes in the bar after it closes.  The bar is also a gallery, with tons of artwork, all for sale.  Its real mellow and comfortable, and we didn’t mind staying up till 3am when we could hang out in a bad ass place like this!  We were hesitant at first, but it was scary how fast we got into the up-all-night routine.  We had the bar all to ourselves all morning, right next to the beach, nice and warm, and two of the greatest taco stands right outside that stayed open until 5am.

We also had a chance to hunker down and finalize mixes and artwork to make some CDs.  We got the idea to burn some of Jesse’s mixes onto CDs and print stickers for the front to make them look somewhat pro, then sell them for a few pesos.  So far we’ve sold almost 50!  And given some away of course, but it’s really helping us make some money to buy food and supplies!  Just before we left Vallarta, we checked our email, and heard that Shanti and Mayama had just passed Vallarta and were camped at a beach called Tenacatita, about 100 miles south!  And of course we were going to catch them!
So we tore ourselves away from Casa de Clandestino, and hit the cobblestone road.  We rode out of town through the ancient neighborhood, along the cobblestone streets winding up the mountain side, narrow, twisting paths lined with walls covered in green vines or houses built with such color and character as to make you believe you could be anywhere in the ancient world.  Once out of the city and onto the Mex 200, the road was rolling bliss with jungle to our left and the ocean to our right.  Sunny, blue skies, cool breeze, no crazy drivers, it was awesome!

We rode a few hours, then hitched an hour, then rode a few more hours and camped at the only grassy knoll in Mexico, and it was at a Pemex station!  The guard invited us before we even thought about it.  He was great.  The next morning a canadian picked us up and dropped us just a few miles from Tenacatita.  As we were riding through the papaya fields, a little old man with white hair and super dark skin passed us up on his red motor scooter.  He stopped and waited for us to catch up.  His name was Chuy, and he told us that he had a special place, just for us, to camp right on the beach.  Cheap and beautiful he kept insisting.  Go through town, he told us, all the way to the other side, and straight up over the dirt road to the other side.  He’ll keep an eye out for us.  Yeah, we remembered that one.

So we rode that last few miles in, and found Shanti and Mayama’s campground.  As we rode around the corner and saw Mayama standing next to her van, she looked up at us and stared in bewilderment.  She actually thought we were mexicans riding around, and its not until we stopped and got off our bikes and were hugging her did she realize it was us!  The look on her face was classic.  I will always remember it.  She yelled “Shanti!  Shanti!” and funny enough, he thought that the circus was in town, seriously.  He had heard our bike bells from inside the van, and remembered a circus troop that they had seen last year, and thought they had returned.  I don’t think he was disappointed.  They fed us a great veggie meal, by the likes of which we hadn’t eaten in weeks, and as evening came in, we set out to find Chuy.  And just like he said, he had the perfect place for us.  At the end of a peninsula, with a coral reef and mellow beach on one side, then over the hill behind it a black and white sand beach with deep emerald green and blue water, a bit more powerful than the reef side, then out beyond the rocks up the coast a hike, the open pacific beach with massive waves crashing down to the beach.  There was a ridge that was up above the small village of RVs, that looked out over both the coral and the black sand beach that Chuy saved for us.  When we asked him how much it was to camp there, he asked US how much we wanted to pay!  We said 40 pesos ($4) a night, and in the end, he never did take our money!  He was loving life too much, and saw that we were doing the same, and wanted nothing to do with money.  We stayed there for 4 days, over Christmas, and swam in the waters, played music with Chuy and the crew from Québec, ate meals with people all over the campground, and just chilled out in the sand under the sun.

We met the Québec crew the second day we were there, and really connected with them.  There was a family, Steve, his wife Joseé, and their 11 year old daughter Émilie, and then Oly and his girlfriend Rachel.  Oly and Steve work together building platforms and slack lines in the tops of trees, a race track and trail that has become quite the sport in Canada.  They drove down in their van and were camping at a ridge just across from ours.  We ate meals together, learned spanish, english and french together, and I taught Émilie to play dice.  She’s hooked!!  And we were counting in english at first, then in spanish, so now she can count in 3 languages.  They were such awesome people.  They’re on basically the same route as us, down to Oaxaca, up to Chiapas, then north home, so we will undoubtedly see them again.  We rode out of Tenacatita to La Manzanilla, where Shanti and Mayama had left for the day before us.  So we decided to hang out here for a few more days and sell some CDs and check out the beach scene.  In the same camp site as them, we met Louie and Julie, and their 2 kids Lilo and Luna, from Québec also.  They have also fed us very well, all the vegetarian goodies that we can’t find in Mexico, like mung beans, brown rice, and pomegranate!  Tonight at a gallery that just opened up a week ago there is a mediterranean dinner with afro-brazilian drumming and dancing.  Louie will be drumming with them.  Hello!  I’m so there.  Julie also fire dances, as well as creates absolutely amazing artwork with watercolor, acrylic and pens on canvas, rocks, or whatever surface needs some color.  She also carves avocado pits with lotus flowers and designs like this, and does macramé pieces like bottle holders with shells hanging all around, and makes jewelry, and cooks like a pro, and oh yeah, did I mention her kids are only 7 and 3???  She’s my hero!  I love her!  And get this:  her son has his own portfolio of artwork.  And let me tell you, its out of this world.  Watercolor, crayons, pens, the best art I’ve ever seen from a person his age.  Abstract, 3-demensional, symmetrical, colorful.  Incredible!

Beyond our stay here in La Manzanilla, all we know is that we want to get to Chacahua for an extended stay, then onto San Cristobal De Las Casa and Palenque for another extended stay, then to Leo, Lucy, and Pancho’s in Huajuapan De Leon in northern Oaxaca.  How we get there and when, who knows!!!  We’ll inevitably end up hitching some more, and definitely riding some more.  Until then…………..

What’s the best way to get to Rosarito you ask?  Well, its simple really. 

You get yourself into Tijuana, make sure your batteries are charged for your headlamps, and buy a canary.  Then locate the entrance to a particularly large underground tunnel (most likely located inside a run-down, boarded-up bullet-hewn mansion once belonging to a famous gangster).  Bikes will fit, don’t worry.  Keep that canary in the front to test the oxygen situation.  Now this tunnel will take you about 20 miles right into Rosarito.  In fact, when you exit the tunnel, you will be directly across the street from the Hostel Del Alamo in Al Capone’s old house!  How convenient.  So this is Al Capone’s tunnel he built back in the day for drug running.  I’m sure you can find the other end in Tijuana somewhere, no problem.  We would have taken it, if only we had known sooner!  :-)  Consider yourselves lucky to have this information before hand! 

So Jesse and I just crossed the border the old fashioned way, by bicycle!  On the freeway!  Not only did we have to avoid getting hit by cars and trucks, we had to avoid hitting the people walking on the freeway too!  Ahh, back in Mexico, where anything goes!  But we’ve been in Rosarito waiting out a rainstorm for a few days now.  We crossed the border with no problem, then hauled ass out of Tijuana straight into Rosarito.  The ride was everything we expected.  No bike lanes or sharing the road around here! 

Last sunday Jesse and I hopped a train from LA to San Diego, stayed at Enoch’s house, loaded up on equipment, then crossed the border wednesday.  We jumped ahead of the rest of the crew by about a week.  Mainly because Jesse and I needed some time to ourselves.  We’ve also been scoping out places and faces for the crew, and sharing our findings.  The “advance team” that Enoch always talked about!  Him and his damn military training, ok OK you were right!  It is awfully handy to get the feel of a place in person before a whole motley crew rolls up and takes the place over! 

So as soon as the rain lets up, we’ll get back on the road, to La Mision, then Ensenada, then…the bottom of Baja!  Do you know any sweet spots in Baja?  Leave us a message at the end of this here blog and let us know about it!  This is our fist time here, and apparently summer is a much better time to be here than winter!  South!  We need to get south!!!

More new photos —> Click the Flickr widget or just search “getoffyourgass” at flickr.com.

I’d like to thank Lara for pointing out that I’m no longer in the “cute 20’s”, but I’m now in the “sexy 30’s.” Sweet! I’ve got a great birthday story for you…

So a couple months back, during the Clif Bar Tour, we ate at one of the buffets in Vegas, and I found a new love in the dessert display. KEY LIME CHEESECAKE! So ever since then, I had said that all I wanted for my 30th birthday was a key lime cheesecake. So there we were, rolling over, around, and through the mountain side of the pacific coast highway 1, with nary a bake shop to be found. 4 days deep into this mountain side ride, I never expected to see a cake of any sort, let alone a key lime cheesecake! But Jesse and I stopped at a little sea-side cafe and had a beautiful, bountiful lunch, with a free gargantuan sized hunk of chocolate fudge cake, and all 3 employees sang happy birthday to me! It was so great! (With half the cake saved to be eaten with almond butter on the next days ride!)

The rest of the crew were all just riding at their own pace, as we were, so we didn’t see much of anyone until we met up that night at the camp site in San Simeon. After the fire was blazing hot, Arielle had the idea to pass a candle around, and everyone could take a few moments to share what they were thankful for. Health and good weather were at the top of everyone’s lists. I was also grateful for the time that day to think about each and every one of my friends and family that I could be sharing my birthday with, so even though you all weren’t there with me physically, you were there with me mentally and spiritually. Suddenly Kipchoge disappears and reappears from the darkness with a flat heavy box with a candle sticking out of it. Everyone starts to sing “happy birthday!” and I look in the box to what appears to be a some kind of cake! Of course I’m in complete denial that it could possibly be KEY LIME CHEESECAKE and I just look around at everyone dumb founded. I ask “what is that!?!?” and they say “one guess! one guess!” I take the box in my hands, and its so heavy I almost think its an ice cream cake, but that would be even more absurd than the cheesecake. But they would only give me one guess, and I was right! It really was a full-on fantastically flavorful absolutely delectable KEY LIME CHEESECAKE!

The crew had tried phone call after phone call after phone call to any town in the vicinity between Big Sur and Cambria to try to order this cheesecake, and nothing would work! They had finally given up, resorted just to get a cup of coffee at a little cafe in Ragged Point, and get back on the road. When, by the graces of the birthday gods, there in the cafe, was a slice of cheesecake! They asked about it, and the guy “just happened to have a whole key lime cheesecake in the freezer.” Perfect to strap to the back of a bike for a few hours. Whoa. Unbelievable. So yeah, we ate the cheesecake and roasted marshmallows and drank hot chocolate that night around the fire after riding about 30 miles down the coast. Another epic day during the Pleasant Revolution…

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…on the road from San Francisco…

First, there was Millbrae. Then, Page Mill Road. Next, Struggle Mountain, but wait. There’s more.

Let’s start at Millbrae, a road as steep as Lombard in San Fran, but not as crooked, and ALOT longer. Over a mile anyway. I could barely get up enough motion to stand on the pedals to climb the damn thing. Then we road for 15-20 miles or so along an awesome bike trail following the reservoir the whole way into Stanford University. A total of about 30 miles that day (Sunday). We camped at the Synergy Co-Op and played a show for the residents. Everyone was so welcoming, they cooked a huge dinner for all of us AND them (there’s about 30 house mates), and let us raid their bulk bins for breakfast in the morning without even looking at us funny. So we got on the road right on time — translation: 4 hours late, as per usual — and tackled Page Mill Road and Stuggle Mountain, a semi-professional bike route through the Santa Cruz mountains.

Spandex-clad, 5-pound-bike-weighing, been-training-for-years cyclists were passing our 120-pound-xtra-long-bike-having-motley-crew calling us “hazards!” and shouting “passing on your left!” And of course there was people like the woman in the gold Cadillac DRIVING DOWN the mountain, who stopped in the middle of the road to let us know we were all CRAZY! Page Mill is somewhere over 8 miles, no shoulder, with switch-back after switch-back. Now, when I was coming up the hill on the dirt road out of the Yuba River canyon, it was extremely difficult for me. The most difficult physical thing I’ve even done. But I never had a doubt that I would make it to the top. But I’ll have to admit, Page Mill Road gave me serious doubts. I was the last one out of 16 people, and thanks to walkie-talkie communications, I knew that the front of the group was not only past the top - wherever the hell that was - but they were down the road a good 6 miles ahead of me. Lara and Joey were pretty close in front of me, to my fortune, because low-and-behold: flat tire!!! No spare, no pump, nothing!, since my xtracycle bags got rummaged through in San Fran when it was locked up outside a friend’s house. So Lara and Joey came to my rescue! We got that mutha fixed, and we were back on the road, now in total darkness, (with bike lights, don’t worry), when we suddenly road up to a place that Joey had been to a Halloween party at. We stopped, and Mark took us in and made us tea and showed us around while we caught our breath. By now, Jesse and Jeff were worried about us, and they road back to help us!! I was beating myself up pretty bad for being the “runt of the litter,” the last in line, and Jesse just hugged me for the next 10 minutes until I calmed down. So the five of us had a pow-wow, deciding whether to camp at this community of houses that Joan Baez used to live at! (and who gave it the name “Stuggle Mountain”) or to catch up to the rest of the group. Well, at this point, I wasn’t dead yet, so I’d keep trying until I was. And we were off! We made it the remaining 2 miles or so to the top, then took the 7 mile decent into the state park where everyone was camping. There was a toasty fire, and Kipchoge made us hot cheesy pasta that was we all ate with our titanium sporks. Heaven that meal was, I’ll tell you what. That day was a triumph over any other day so far. Until the next morning, that is.

We wake up, have a great circle stretch, everyone’s just happy as a clam that we made it over the mountain, only to find out that our route forward has a small kink: there’s no more bridge!!! We’d be damned if we were all going to do the 7 mile climb back up the way we came. So we loaded our bikes, road the mile to the ravine, unloaded our bikes, carried them across the river on tree trunks and planks of wood, then hiked back for our stuff, then reloaded, and finally got on the road. Our destination: Green Oak Creek Ranch.

Arielle and Joey (from Shake Your Peace!) have lived and worked at this organic farm for a few seasons now, and it was such a great thing for them to be returning to their home, and the rest of us being welcomed in like we family! This place was one of the most magnificent nooks we’re even going to see in California. Right off of Highway 1, with the beach as their front yard, and the mountains as their back yard. We followed a dirt road up a bit of a hill into the trees, and suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a gigantic meadow, completely surrounded by trees, some a hundred feet tall, with planted plots of land surrounding a grassy circle in the middle, complete with tee pee. There was a straw-bail kitchen to one side, a composting toilet to the other, a yert at the bottom, a yert to the side, next to the farm house, and an upper yert at the base of the mountain in back. There was an incredible herb garden, and a winter vegetable garden that we harvested the next morning and have been eating from for days now. And then there was Hunter.

Now, this was Tuesday night, and heard that we would be able to participate in a group dinner. We had no idea that this young man, Hunter, who was serving us each individually, preparing our plates for us, memorizing each of our names and chatting with us while he worked, had been preparing this meal for 5 DAYS! It was a round of Armenian, Turkish, and Hungarian delicacies, including dolmas, hummus, rice, lentil soup, an eggplant dish who’s name translates to “the Priest fainted” and more. It was the kindest, most intentionally positive gift that any of us had seen in way too long. We love you Hunter! So needless to say, leaving Green Oak Creek Ranch the next morning was emotionally and spiritually trying for us all.

So we find ourselves in Santa Cruz, playing a show at the bike church after hanging out at the farmer’s market. The show ended about 11:00, and we had no where to stay! Many people had said they could take a few of us here and there, but its an uphill ride, or it was miles back the way we came, until Joshua came to our rescue saying that we could all cram into his back yard, and he only lived a block away! Turns out it was a garden paradise, Santa Cruz style. We went to sleep in all the nooks and crannies around the yard, and woke up to a hell of a surprise, including raccoons and chickens eating our food, a black dog, a white cat, a yellow walking over us in bed saying hello. I woke up to a huge plump ripe tomato in my face, then rolled over to see a deep blue sky through the grandest fig tree! Of course, there was the night before, after the show…

A group of us, after setting up our sleeping gear at Joshua’s, headed back down the block to The Poet and the Patriot, an Irish pub. Enoch (one of the newest dummers, who rode out from North San Juan with us, but quit by San Fran ) met back up with us and was buying the drinks, so we had a few, then bar-hopped to the Red Room. It was the most hysterical walk I’ve ever been on! (We didn’t want to take the loaded bikes with us). So I suddenly realize that the eight of us are walking down the street, in a group, as if we were on our bikes! Right down the middle of the road, two by two, letting the cars drive around us, calling out directions to each other “left turn!” “straight ahead!” Too funny. So we all got smashed on the rounds of Patron shots that Enoch kept buying, then stumbled back to Joshua’s compound and passed out. So now you know. We drink, we smoke, we wear street clothes to bike in, we are not your average bicycle athletes!!! But It was great to finally hang out with each other in a way that wasn’t just strenuous physical achievement.

The next day, I’d guess it to be Thursday, we did an easy 15-mile ride out from Santa Cruz to Aptos, where Enoch had rented a house on the beach for the week. He was still recovering from riding with us that first week! So we crashed there with him, cooked a bunch of food in the bad ass kitchen, and headed out with high spirits to Monterey Bay. That night we were at the peace rally being held at the Presidio, an army base. This is a 3-day event, put on by the Peace and Justice Center. The people were awesome! Young and old, rich and poor. Everyone is camping out there on the grass. We powered our set with the bikes, as well as the lights for them. They loved it! Otherwise they would have to use a gas generator, and we just couldn’t have that! It was a fun show, followed by a cruiser ride with the new Soul System, powered by Kipchoge’s bike through one of the P/A speakers. Spencer and Deb Lindsay, who interviewed the Ninjas on the radio before the rally, invited us to camp at their house. And they had a fire-heated hot tub! YEAH! So now we’ve got 4 days to make it the 300+ miles to San Luis Obispo for a show on Tuesday. Wish us luck and good weather! It’s off to Eslan, Big Sur, and to SLO…

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After reading this, click on the photos at right–> I’ve uploaded a bunch from the last week!

Picture yourself at the bottom of a super steep windy mountain road. Stretch the road out to about 15 miles, rip off the asphalt and give it a few seasons of being washed out . Now throw a bike under your ass, and load your xtracycle with, oh say, a bass guitar and P/A speaker, or tons of camera equipment, or an adolescent youth perhaps. And while you’re at it, let’s make it 1:00 in the morning and let the darkness and cold wet air surround you. Never mind the fact that you haven’t been on a bike in years. Don’t pay attention to your heart beating so hard that the inside of your chest feels bruised. Just disregard the other people in your crew passing you up, holding full conversations with each other like they were sitting on a couch at home, while you’re afraid of falling off your bike because your legs are so weak. Let me know when you get to the top, after you catch your breath and get some feeling back in your ass. Welcome to day one of the Pleasant Revolution.

So in actuality, day one was actually combined with day two, because we got to the Yuba River at 4:00 am, slept a couple hours, and climbed out of the river canyon on the other side into Nevada City. So in total, it was about 25 miles, probably 15 of it uphill, and half of that on gravel/dirt. Weeeeeeee!!!! So yes, I got my ass kicked, but we all made it, about 17 of us all together. Some band members played for a bit at the Peaceful Valley Farm Supply, then we all gathered at SunSound Studios in Grass Valley to jam and camp out for that second night.

Mike at SunSound was an amazing host. Everyone let loose that night. At the end, an amazing chanting session emanated from the words “You can’t help nobody ’till you help yourself!…” The studio kitchen was encircled with bodies in percussive states of all sorts, the lights were low, the vocal tones were haunting. There were definitely some spirits gathered from all around to join in on that one. Incredible!!!

We headed out of Grass Valley for Rudolf Steiner College in Fair Oaks, and played and camped in their main hall - amazing acoustics in this place! - and reeled in a fiddle player named Maisie. She’s rockin’ with Shake Your Peace, for as long as they can keep her around. Then to Davis where the gang played at the Delta of Venus. Both days rides were 30-40 miles, but mostly flat and on the most magnificent bike trails in northern Cali. We stayed at the Domes on the UC Davis campus, so fun! Everyone there completely opened up their domes and their homes and their hearts to us. We stayed inside the domes themselves with our dome-roommates, and cooked and ate at the potluck dinners, and sang ridiculous songs around their fire pit, and fixed/frankensteined our bikes at their bike church. Thank you DOMESTERS! We got two good days in there, then we all split up and got ourselves into the city of San Francisco by various ways. Jesse and I are staying with Joel, a once-upon-a-time-ninja drummer (from the Clif Bar tour) so we took the train all the way in to meet up with him.

We’ve got a pedal-powered-pic-o-nic Saturday, a critical mass ride up to the park on the hill, then a human-powered concert to follow. After that, we head out to Palo Alto, Santa Cruz, and on down the coast!! Woot Woot! It’s funny how I thought I would have so much more time and energy to write, and update the sites for the tour, and do all this stuff, but for now, packing up, riding 6-8 hours a day, landing, eating, setting up and playing a show, then camping somewhere leaves no room for anything else. Maybe later on in the game it will get easier… keep you posted on that one!

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Guess what? We’re still here!!! So the bike tour was postponed for 2 weeks, for many reasons. So Jesse and I have hunkered down at Little Horse Ranch (love those Burch’s!) and have been riding, collecting gear, and doing yoga in preperation for our new departure date of November 1st! So the kick-off show you thought you all missed will actually be on Halloween night, Wednesday, up on the ridge. (I’ll post directions at the end for you). You are all invited, and we’d love to see you!

The next day we’ll set out for the Yuba river where we’ll have a campfire concert, then Friday the 2nd, at 2 pm the Ninjas are playing at Peaceful Valley Farm Supply in Grass Valley. The next scheduled show is in Davis at Delta of Venus, Tuesday the 6th. Time TBA. Meanwhile, we’re anxiously awaiting the arrival of goods from our sponsors, and hoping the great weather will hold out! (Anyone who can send some good voodoo to mother nature for us, please do!)

OK, directions to the ridge:

From Oroville:

HWY 162 to Forbestown Road, RIGHT

Through Forbestown, to Challenge Cut-Off Road, RIGHT

Through Brownsville, past Eagles Market, to Frenchtown Road, LEFT

Runs into Marysville Road, LEFT at ‘T’

Over Bulard’s Bar Reservoir, to stop sign at HWY 49, turn RIGHT toward North San Juan

7 miles into town, just past Toki’s and the Brass Rail,

29085, on the left, large white buildings with an Xtracycle on the roof.

The full address is:

29085 CA-49

North San Juan CA 95960

See you there!!!

So by now we’ve got you all shaking with anticipation about our EPIC ADVENTURE. So now that we’ve broken it to the parents and utility companies, I suppose it’s high time to let everyone in on the secret.

The short story: We’ve joined a band called the GINGER NINJAS - www.gingerninjas.com. The Fuzz Train (Jesse) is playing bass, por supuesto, and I, Charlemagne–note the silent ‘g’ !!– (Sherilyn) am signed on as documentor, photographer, recorder, radio assistant, percussionist, web manager, and general road warrior.

We are leaving around the 22nd of September, 2007, for an initial 3-week university tour sponsored by Clif Bar. We return around the 13th of October. Then the 18th of October, 2007, we leave on the Pleasant Revolution Tour - www.pleasantrevolution.net. The general direction of the tour will take us from North San Juan, CA, USA into the Yucatan of Mexico. We’re going mostly by Pacific Coast routes, into Baja, across to Mazatlan, then south from there. And we’re doing it on bikes. Yes, as in BICYCLES - ¡BICICLETAS! “XTRACYCLEs” to be extact - www.xtracycle.com. We’ll probably be on this second leg of the tour for about 4-6 months. And from there, who knows!  South America perhaps?  But be assured, we’ll keep you posted.