Moving on from Campo Archelon in town, the sun predictably greets us to a deep blue sky and still calm clear waters that entice complete relaxation. Sleeping in a cot under a palapa on the beach front it is tough to imagine how one could wake up in better circumstances.

But we must move on and we roll out of bed. I have inveigled Dave to buy eggs the previous night so cook an omelette and scrounge some coffee out of the pot. I imagine this is how British explorers must have created their own civilised morning with tea and crumpets all the time sticking out like a sore thumb in foreign lands. It works for us and we get on the road well fed. We fill up with gas and I set my sights on Mision San Borja, inland on the route to San Ignacio. The road is rough but spectacular; cacti dwarf our bikes and the road twists like a snake. I am in my element – having had a mountain bike suddenly I have the freedom to defy rugged tracks and gnarly rocks. I run smooth lines but must watch my speed. With every moment of complacency a sharp corner in deep sand challenges the rider to simply stay on the road. The road rises sharply up a ridge and I spot a bike swallowing hollow. The dirt road dips from wear and then juts to reach over a large rock. I slow and standing on my footpegs, run on the very edge of the road around it- Phew! I motor on – my bike is very warm already and I am uncomfortable leaving it idle in the fierce sun. After 300 metres I slow to wait Jon’s headlights in my mirror. I count to ten with a growing concern. 30 seconds more. Nothing. I walk back and the bike is on it´s side near the precipice of the trail.

Jon has hit the hole I managed to avoid. He has passed through this but it knocked his line to the left and towards an uncertain fate at least 2 metres below the roadside. Jon manages to stay on the road but has laid down his bike in doing so. It doesn’t look pretty; his crash bars have bent and there is some leak of fuel on a part I don´t recognise (I was later to discover this related to the California emission reduction system).

I am discouraged but Jon keeps his cool. Ascertaining that the fuel is coming from a loose fitting hose a zip tie staunches the drip. The crash bars are realigned with a gentle boot and Jon will survey the damage out of the sun.

We push on to San Borja. On arrival it does not disappoint. Imposing in white brick, it is a stark contrast to the desert we have ridden through. The mission was founded by Jesuits in 1700 and the existing structure built in 1762. The ruins of the original building remain but it´s replacement is impressive. About 30 metres tall, inside is a cool refuge from a hot sticky day.

We are greeted by Henaro, a friendly, stocky young Mexican whose family have been caretakers of the mission for generations. About my age, it is difficult for me to make conversation with someone who knows exactly what they will be doing with their life. But Henaro is generous with the history and walks us through examples of Jesuit, Franciscan and Dominican remnants (the mission has changed between three orders according to the history of Spanish subjugation of Indians and thirst for gold. This mission was founded by the Jesuits in the middle of a desert oasis. Near a spring they were guaranteed a local population to convert and later enslave for gold and glory. As the Jesuits became more sympathetic to the local Indian populace the landowners and Spanish crown ejected them from the new world in favour of religious orders with a different point of view. This history is approximately mirrored right through Latin America).

Henaro walks us up the bell tower, high enough to wish there was a guardrail and explains the restoration work his family are doing. As we are leaving I avoid a cow pat which he picks up to explain how they harden the bricks mixing the dung with mud to make adobe suitable to bear a load. My Spanish struggles with his explanation but I manage to understand. They grind up the dried dung into a powder which is then blended in before the bricks are fired. To demonstrate Henaro dumps his sneaker into a large cow shit. ¨Oops, this one isn´t dry yet¨. Brilliant.

The day is moving on and we haven´t made much ground or had lunch yet. We motor to a little town of Rosalito. There is no sign marking the approach of town, houses just spring up alongside the dirt. I slow down a little but as I do so have an extremely close call. Two roads merge together with no warning and a truck pulls across without seeing me. I slam on the brakes and move to the right of the truck but he keeps coming across my line andI am running out of road. At last my bike comes to a stop about 2 metres from the Mexicans´ bumper. His passenger saw me and they stop to apologise. I make a nervous joke. After a close call there is not much more to do. I need food.

We eat quickly, aware that we are losing light and have a 2 hour ride yet.

On the road it becomes obvious we are losing light but against my feeling we push on. We only ride for 30 minutes in the dark but it is enough for me to know I don’t like it. Riding the highway by day one passes cows, goats, and horses roaming loose. I don´t like the possibility of meeting one at night.

The campground is full but we are directed to a restaurant which gives us a cabaña for 10 dollars and has two beautiful young children who touch the motorbike and tell us about their school. We go to bed tense from a difficult day but we are glad for a comfortable bed.

Posted on Thursday, February 15th, 2007 at 7:08 pm in Uncategorized, Josh's Journal.
You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.