aaronjmaier: dispatches of a bicycle hobo: November 2005

Domingo en el Desierto

It is Sunday, and the sun hangs high in the clear blue sky of Baja California. With a belly full of tacos carne asada I head back into the desert heading south to Santa Rosalia, wishing there was more time to type, at least enough to do justice to the beauty that I have encountered in the past nine days in this wonderful place. Hasta pronto amigos. Viva Mexico.

A Letter Home from Mexico

Papa Bear,

Sorry I have not phoned recently. All is going well. Tough going, but well. I find myself now in El Rosario, four days south of Tijuana. The beautiful ride through California spoiled me just a little, but I am digging the challenges of riding through Old Mexico on a bicycle. Erica lasted for a week - through Los Angeles down the line to Ensenada - with us on the road before it got the best of her. She mailed the bike back to her friend in LA and took a bus to the mainland. We were kind of bummed when she left our merry band, but all things for a reason, as they like to say.

The last three days have been quite tough. Matt and Karl both have pretty serious cases Morocco Belly and bathroom stops are frequent as a result. In order to reach Mexico City by December 20th we must average 110km per day - excluding the day we will lose due to the ferry ride from La Paz to Mazatlan. This translates to somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy to eighty miles per day if we want to stay ahead of curve, as to spend some time on the beach in Puerto Vallerta.

Karl blew 4 flats since crossing the Mexico line, but somehow the fates have been good to me and I have only had to replace one shot set of pedals with crunchy bearings that were making a loud and ominous "crunkah" sound with every dust-clod revolution - where are the good folks from Timken when you need them? We have been traveling on Mex 1 south, or la carretera, as the highway is known here in Baja California - "Grande Para Ti" as the government billboards proclaim. The highway is dangerous at times - with long stretches of barren windswept mesa interspersed with heavy traffic, thick dust and smoke hanging in the air, deep unmarked sewer grates and potholes, and all-terrain vehicles of all types. There are quite a few semis traveling with us and there is no shoulder to speak of, yet the drivers in Mexico treat bikers with a type of respect and caution unheard of amongst the gringos locos in California.

It is mad down here, but beautiful all the same. Beautiful in its madness. I am enjoying every moment of the ride and looking forward to returning to Queretaro to visit la senora Margarita who was my adoptive mother in Mexico and taught me much during my last visit. Tell everybody I am doing well and miss them heaps. Looking forward to seeing you para la navidad ....dad. Sorry that was predictable. Missing you much. Love, Aaron.

The Devil's Burrito

The Devil's Burrito
Originally uploaded by hobofabby.

Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge

Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge
Originally uploaded by hobofabby.

A Day in Santa Cruz

A Day in Santa Cruz
Originally uploaded by hobofabby.

Fellow Comrades in Big Sur

Fellow Comrades in Big Sur
Originally uploaded by hobofabby.

Pink Bikes and Pretty Girls

Matt was still in Malibu getting his nuts examined. The kid and I took off down the PCH not knowing where we were going, where we were sleeping that night, or if we would ever see our friend again. We rode south through the teeming hordes of sun bleached surfers and spandex clad bikers of Venice Beach in search of our place in the sun.

I wanted to ride straight through Los Angeles - its streets clogged with canary yellow Hummers and Botox injected Paris Hiltonites displaying miniscule canine accessories as if they were Prada hand bags - but the fates decided otherwise. Weaving through the madness of Venice looking for a hostel that may or may not have beds for us - it turned out my brother's writer buddy in Hollywood moved back to Cleveland and we wouldn't have a place to crash in town - we passed two pretty girls on bubble gum pink cruisers.

"That's a slick ride you have there" I said with a smile, as the Saskatoon Kid and I bobbed and weaved our way past the two. Little did I know at the time that such a fleeting exchange would so enrich my life. Just before reaching the Vencie Beach Hostel I looked back to see the Kid grinning ear to ear as he leaned against his overloaded touring bike chatting it up with the two beautiful girls we passed just moments before.

To be continued...

Viva Los Angeles

A brisk wind cuts from the southeast through a chrystal-blue sky. It is a sunny day - a good day for riding - and the LA plan is now up in the air. The plan was to hug the coast and blow through town by sunset and set up shop somewhere near Huntington Beach for the night. Plans, like the winds, have a way of changing. Enter the poision oak.

Three nights ago we wanted to climb a mountain. In wine country. Santa Barbara County, you've all seen Sideways. It was a tough climb. We stashed the bikes in the bush along Santa Rosa Road and started the climb to the top of the mountain with with the hopes of being rewarded at the end of the trek with a stunning 360 view of Santa Barbara wine country. Dark - the sage brush got thick and the track sodden with mud and we stopped. In the thick bramble just short of the summit we made a makeshift camp and wrapped our cheese in tortillas and told stories; awaiting the brilliant sunrise to follow.

Back in Malibu. Three days later and I have a little poision oak on my hands and feet from the trek into the Santa Barbara hills. Matt is not so lucky. The poision oak has spread over his legs and is making its way north. North to a difficult region for irritation for cyclists. We parted ways this morning over coffee as he went to search for the mirage of reasonably priced medical care in the desert of corporate health care institutions that prey upon the uninsured in the most expensive zip code of the country with the most overpriced medical care in the world.

I, however, have remained fortunate and experienced a limited reaction - to this point - to the poision oak. For the time being I'll have to hang out in LA and wait for my buddy's yarbles to mend so we can get back on the road and make like Hernan Cortes - minus the genocide - and conquor Mexico on bicycle.

Now I am looking for a place to stay in LA. At the Pepperdine University library - beats the hell out of the public library - and trying to round up some sort of quarters for the evening. I used to know a couple of pretty girls that moved out here from Ohio, but their old numbers don't work any more. So I'm looking for a writer buddy of my brother's who is living out here - working on a cure for cancer, or something - with a place in Hollywood. Viva Los Angeles.

One Week Until Mexico

The clock is ticking. Only eight minutes and twenty-one seconds remaining on my overpriced coffee shop internet access - Southside Cafe in Lompoc, Cee-Aye. Just purchased a flight from Mexico City to Columbus, Ohio sheduled to depart at 9:05 am on December 21. South from Tiajuana through Baja California to La Paz. It is in La Paz where three hobos on bicycles plan to travel by ferry to the mainland city of Mazatlan before making for the central mountains with stops in Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende. South from there to DF. Districto Federal. One week until Mexico.

California Sunrise

A sunset ride into Monterey.
A cross standing in front of a devil's orange sky,
hills dotted with million-dollar warts.
All of the miles,
all of the days
fade from memory.
And suddenly return.
In the golden glow of a Big Sur Sun.
Days, fading into years,
into a lifetime,
in front of your eyes in the bright California sunrise.

Rose Colored Glasses

Rose Colored Glasses
Originally uploaded by aaronjmaier.

The Zinfandel was flowing like wine at Roshambo, and the sun was setting fast upon us as we made our way through the golden vines of Sonoma, yet we had still not found the perfect grape.