Look, I’ll still defend the decision. It was logical, planned and made sense, not just because it was mine! Here we were, happily deliberating over the choice of accommodations after riding thru the outskirts and best part of the second largest city in Mexico. Sure, we had hesitated, I had cajoled and it was a zigzagging route we took from the bus station but hey, we made it alive and not only that, had found a decent hotel first-up without the angst or mind-reading normally associated with this assumed simple task. So of course my decision to ride out of town had a sound base, a logical foundation, or had I decided to build on land reclaimed from hope?
The map was OK I guess. Sure it could have been a bit more detailed, it could have shown a route that wasn’t a major arterial road. And yes, I suppose the timing could have been improved to avoid the morning rush hour. But these thoughts were not part of my deliberations as we bumped our way thru the cobblestoned streets of the centro-historico. More intent was I to avoid the sudden lurch forward or braking of passenger busses that seemed to shadow our early progress. Then there were the street signs, carefully memorized no more than 10 minutes earlier, their strange sounding names fleeing my mind like colourful birds through a cage door making it necessary to look at the map another 30 more times.
And then the map was wrong. Who would have thought that my map reading skills while riding a bicycle through foreign, peak-hour city traffic would have uncovered years of cartographic error? To the $5 compass our hopes now rested, the street name may not have matched the map but it was going in the right direction. As chief map holder and fall guy I knew that to lead was to instill confidence. “Hey, its heading south west, lets take it” and “Getting a bit lost is part of the adventure” may not be in the “Guiding For Dummies” book but it seemed to work the trick.
Now however was not the time to be distracted as we tentatively weaved our way between busloads of alighting factory workers, over laden trucks and a traffic system that more closely resembled the video game ´´Frogger´´ from my youth than the sort of orderly process I recalled from my driving exam. Still pretending to know the way I spotted the sign to our destination, its lane a mere 5 away from ours. Without consultation or warning I signaled the change and only one kilometer later realized my folly. For now we were caught in the fast lane of a 4 lane highway out of town. Now bikes are a great way of getting around, environmentally friendly, healthy, you know the rest. But one thing they are not, is found in the fast lane!
A nervous, neck-wrenching 10 minutes followed, my credibility was now not only in question but on the brink of complete collapse. And to think that there was a way out with my navigation skills still well regarded was dealt a mortal blow as we reverted to the pedestrian overpass to regain our rightful place on the road.
And what a place it was. A road side verge so cracked, pot-hold and narrow as to make the white line only a part of our imagination. Our tenuous , wholly-focused existence to stay upright and alive challenged by every truck, car and bus. Exhaust brakes building intensity to its inevitable climax of thunder and noxious fumes as we hugged this imaginary line, hoping the next frustrated Mexican driver would see our over-burdened bicycles.
A quick stop at the gas station and a few tears later, it was time to come clean. This would not rate as one of my better decisions, but, just as shocking, we realized there was no way out, this hellish, noisy and suffocating ride would have to continue.
So what, it didn’t make the top five best rides, heck it might even go down as one of the worst, but I’ll still defend my decision, `cause it made a great story!
