pcflvly
Well-known member
I woke early, rebuilt my fire, and watched the people make their way to their work at a campo farther down the road. I ate breakfast, packed my bike, and rode on.
I'd been camped on the river so it was uphill, a long hill, and three quarters of the way up, I met a bird, Robin. He was wearing a striped rasta hat and resting by the road. He'd spent four days hitching from Temaulipas, on the Gulf of Mexico, to where I met him twenty five kilometers from the Pacific.
Robin was my true brother. He gave me the same message that I give to others. Same spirit of freedom and purpose. He also gave me the mota of Temaulipas.
I rode on and the rest of the way was a series of rivers and mountains through a cultivated jungle paradise. It was up and down and I took plenty of rests. I was celebrating that there was much less traffic, enjoying the incredible beauty of the area, and relishing the blessing that Robin had given me as I rode off up the mountain, "fuerte", strength.
Then I arrived at the city, San Blas. The entrance had a large white arch over the street and as I rode under it, a truck pulled over in front of me and out of the back flew Robin. I didn't recognize him at first because he'd lost his hat. We were both aware of the significance that we arrived in the same moment. We talked for a few minutes then agreed to meet later on the beach.
I rode on to find the plaza and to find the restaurant where I had an introduction to Pompis, a longboard surfing champion and the host at Stoner Beach. I also needed tortillas. I found the tortillaria first and they gave me a sample of a fresh baked corn tortilla. I asked for a quarter kilo but before she could package them for me, a man and I struck up a conversation. He wanted the whole story too. She listened and by the time the man left, the tortillas had become free. She said, "gratis" and wouldn't accept any money for them but permitted me to give her gifts.
I rode on to the park at the corner to the beach and met Robin again. I asked him if he was hungry and showed him the stack of still hot tortillas that I had to share. We ate together then, refried beans, onion, and avocado. We smoked together. Brothers.
We walked together towards the beach but I stopped at a little tienda where some men were sitting outside at a table. The American offered me beer. He was hungry for English, an older man who had lived there for two years. I became friends with all the other men. I visited them again later but first I rode down to Stoners Surf Camp.
Stoners Surf Camp is a restaurant on the beach with cabanas to rent and the camping is only fifty pesos a night. The staff are very friendly and share the mota freely but before I camped I rode back to the plaza. I met a wild eyed drunk, the tequila guy. He was younger, but sure to age quickly with his addiction to alcohol. We became friends.
I met the government workers protesting the fact that they hadn't been paid in two months. I asked them a lot of questions and found the information useful for other conversations a bit later.
Then I noticed the San Blas Social Club. The atmosphere was ambient with jazz music on the stereo. There was a light haze of smoke rising from the end of the bar where the proprietor, a perfect double for Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, was having a cigarette. He even had the gravelly voice of Bogart. I ordered a beer and used the WiFi.
When I left the social club, my tequila drunk friend was right at the door and in his hand he held a nugget of mota which he put in my hand. Brothers. He begged me for tequila money a bit later and I required help from another guy who was bilingual to explain that I didn't have much money.
Then I met the guy with the cute little girl. He was a bicyclist also and showed me pictures of his last ride and of a hike that he took in the mountains. He fed me some of the fried bread sold in the stand we were next to. His little girl showed me her bike. She was four.
I rode back to Stoners then. There was an American boy smoking a joint with the older Mexican overnight worker. I joined them. I slept peacefully to the sound of the waves.
I'd been camped on the river so it was uphill, a long hill, and three quarters of the way up, I met a bird, Robin. He was wearing a striped rasta hat and resting by the road. He'd spent four days hitching from Temaulipas, on the Gulf of Mexico, to where I met him twenty five kilometers from the Pacific.
Robin was my true brother. He gave me the same message that I give to others. Same spirit of freedom and purpose. He also gave me the mota of Temaulipas.
I rode on and the rest of the way was a series of rivers and mountains through a cultivated jungle paradise. It was up and down and I took plenty of rests. I was celebrating that there was much less traffic, enjoying the incredible beauty of the area, and relishing the blessing that Robin had given me as I rode off up the mountain, "fuerte", strength.
Then I arrived at the city, San Blas. The entrance had a large white arch over the street and as I rode under it, a truck pulled over in front of me and out of the back flew Robin. I didn't recognize him at first because he'd lost his hat. We were both aware of the significance that we arrived in the same moment. We talked for a few minutes then agreed to meet later on the beach.
I rode on to find the plaza and to find the restaurant where I had an introduction to Pompis, a longboard surfing champion and the host at Stoner Beach. I also needed tortillas. I found the tortillaria first and they gave me a sample of a fresh baked corn tortilla. I asked for a quarter kilo but before she could package them for me, a man and I struck up a conversation. He wanted the whole story too. She listened and by the time the man left, the tortillas had become free. She said, "gratis" and wouldn't accept any money for them but permitted me to give her gifts.
I rode on to the park at the corner to the beach and met Robin again. I asked him if he was hungry and showed him the stack of still hot tortillas that I had to share. We ate together then, refried beans, onion, and avocado. We smoked together. Brothers.
We walked together towards the beach but I stopped at a little tienda where some men were sitting outside at a table. The American offered me beer. He was hungry for English, an older man who had lived there for two years. I became friends with all the other men. I visited them again later but first I rode down to Stoners Surf Camp.
Stoners Surf Camp is a restaurant on the beach with cabanas to rent and the camping is only fifty pesos a night. The staff are very friendly and share the mota freely but before I camped I rode back to the plaza. I met a wild eyed drunk, the tequila guy. He was younger, but sure to age quickly with his addiction to alcohol. We became friends.
I met the government workers protesting the fact that they hadn't been paid in two months. I asked them a lot of questions and found the information useful for other conversations a bit later.
Then I noticed the San Blas Social Club. The atmosphere was ambient with jazz music on the stereo. There was a light haze of smoke rising from the end of the bar where the proprietor, a perfect double for Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, was having a cigarette. He even had the gravelly voice of Bogart. I ordered a beer and used the WiFi.
When I left the social club, my tequila drunk friend was right at the door and in his hand he held a nugget of mota which he put in my hand. Brothers. He begged me for tequila money a bit later and I required help from another guy who was bilingual to explain that I didn't have much money.
Then I met the guy with the cute little girl. He was a bicyclist also and showed me pictures of his last ride and of a hike that he took in the mountains. He fed me some of the fried bread sold in the stand we were next to. His little girl showed me her bike. She was four.
I rode back to Stoners then. There was an American boy smoking a joint with the older Mexican overnight worker. I joined them. I slept peacefully to the sound of the waves.
