put attention neither on pleasure or pain but between these

Not wanting to repeat the lousy riding into Coatzacoalcos, i took a ferry across the bay to Allende, leaving Coatzacoalcos behind figuring i would ride out the coast . . . well, i ended up on a four lane highway in crappy shape with entire lanes collapsing down the hillside. But that's what you get when you ask directions. After, a few hours i escaped onto local roads into the town of La Venta headed for the coast. A busy town with loads of pedicabs (all independent), Olmec ruins (closed), and petroleum. The entire coast is dominated by the state controlled petroleum industry. I stopped for some great ceviche and beers, then provisioned to go camp.La Venta was on a narrow ridge and i dropped down into lagoons rich with bird life around 4:30pm ... beautiful but not good camping prospects. I ended up on the back side of a petroleum pumping station the was raised up about 8 feet. Flat, dry, out of sight, back rest, sun was just going down, perfect . . . then the mosquitoes came out. Growing up in N.H. where black flies are the state bird, I am not a bug wimp but this was akin one of the seven plagues of Armageddon. I set up my tent hanging off the ledge, crawl in, and proceed to kill those that rode in with me - my hands are covered in blood, presumably mine. I decided not to cook and ate old pastries and cracked a beer. Not much else to do after the beer is gone so i went to sleep. Only to be woken by the patter of rain on my face. So back out into the swarm to set up the fly in the dark and rain and try not to fall off the ledge into muddy cow shit 8 feet below. I decided to get my cycling computer to check the time and see how long this misery would last and . . . it is gone. Good riddance . . . but wait, no!, i need it for navigation. Oh well, back to killing mosquitoes for 10 minutes then finally sleep. I awake to asses the damage, pull a burrowing tick out of myself, make cold instant coffee, and go look for my computer. I find it and as much as i hate it - whew. Things have to get better (unless i contracted dengue fever, of course) - caffeinated, i notice pretty birds and pack things up.

On the road i pedal for the coast appreciating the overcast skies and cooler temps. I anticipate small fishing communities and strictly local traffic on little used roads, ha!, if i only knew how little used or how little road.

On the Sanchez Magellanes bridge, i stood around with another guy watching fishermen casting nets off the bridge, generally, netting fish with each cast. He noted the unsettled weather offshore in the gulf and i remarked how it was driving the fish into the laguna making for good fishing. He, also, warned me not to lean too hard on the deteriorating concrete rail.





This scorpion fish is not destined for the pot and gets to go free. I was vehemently warned do not touch!
I met the first person to assume i was pedaling to Argentina. He was older, a weathered 60 something, and approached me in the Magellanes plaza while i looked at the laguna and maps. He confirmed my directions and stated that i was headed for the end of South America. He was completely enthused and could not stop smiling about it and neither could I. I feel women scold me without a word for shirking, young men wonder where is my car, but some men in their 50's and onward . . . they know this is it. Those are my thoughts as i ate my papaya on the beach.The sky over the Gulf of Mexico is darkening and the wind is starting to pick up so i figure it is time to go. The road is flat along the narrow spit of land with the gulf and laguna visible at once to either side. The wind is quartering across my rear so i should make good time. Then the road disappears . . . why did nobody mention this to me? There is a road of sorts that people are using that winds through the coconut groves past shacks but it is deep soft sand. Coconut fronds and halved coconut husks are laid down in tracks to provide some support for tires but they do not help narrow bike tires on a my 100 pound rig.To say that pushing a loaded touring bike along through sand dunes is work only begins to explain it. The back of my right leg became hamburger from the repeated pedal strikes. I thought of an old ski partner, Micheal Hartrick, who ripped his bicep off while climbing, made a weird bulge, wondered if i could do the same. Pushing, lifting, plowing through sand.
The road or remains of the road would pop out of the coconut groves onto beautiful beaches where i receive a sand blasting. Sand gets into all kinds of funny and not so funny places. On the upside there were no bugs, i developed some new riding skills in soft sand, it only lasted 30 kilometers or so, and it never really rained just spat . . . very salty.
Overall, the day was strangely beautiful and i rather enjoyed the perversity of it all. It was nothing that was going to kill me. I finished my day hammering on the pedals for 35km into Paraiso just for the sheer joy being able to.