From Tulum to Bacalar:
The route from Tulum to Bacalar was 135 miles and for some reason, in the scorching Caribbean sun, I decided that I was going to do it in one day. It’s important to note, that my confidence in accomplishing this physical feat was a result of my cycling experience back in the northern USA. In the temperate ecoregion of Wisconsin, my friends and I often peddled more than one hundred miles in a day on bike trips. I felt confident that I was physically capable and the challenge of making it all the way to Bacalar in one push excited me. What I failed to consider was that back home in the midwest, the temperature and climate is different: cooler, slightly less humid and WAY farther from the equator. My body chemistry, of northern European ancestry, is much more acclimated to this. Also, on our bike trips back home, my friends and I have access to a plethora of restaurants, supermarkets, convenience stores, fresh water and other nutrient sources. My body is not yet acclimated to Mexico and I probably should have taken 2-3 days to arrive in Bacalar, but I made the 135-mile voyage that day. I began at 7am and it took me 14 hours of peddling. By the time I arrived I was beyond fatigued. I felt like I had the flu. Fortunately, upon arrival I found a beautiful campsite which offered a full kitchen, showers and clean bathrooms. I spent the next 3 days recuperating, catching up on writing, biking around town and exploring Bacalar. However, I did NOT quite properly recover from my 14-hour day.
My dehydration and exhaustion would catch up to me later in the week. Bacalar is a beautiful little town on the banks of a crystalline lake that is known for having 7 shades of color ranging from turquoise, blue to deep indigo. The lakes beauty has drawn the attention over the years developers who have swiftly built hotels, restaurants and resorts along the lakeshore. Due to this commerce and expansion, I had a difficult time finding any water that wasn’t an average brown-ish green color like the lakes and rivers back home. I enjoyed biking around and exploring the small town, but when I looked for public access to the lake for anyone who just wanted to swim, relax and enjoy its natural beauty, I couldn’t find any.
The owners of the campsite I was staying at owned a resort a few miles away situated directly on the banks of the lake. It was free for any campers to go visit for the day, so I took advantage of it in order to R&R as well as get caught up on writing. Aside from this blog, I am still trying to finish writing my other book THE DICK DIET which I started over a year ago and I have yet to complete.
Bacalar to Nicolas Bravo (44 Miles)
I set off from Bacalar intending to reach a dot on the map labeled “Nicolas Bravo”. It was HOT out and the day only continued to increase in temperature. By 1pm, it is indiscernible whether the sun above you or the asphalt below you is hotter. I felt as though I drank water CONSTANTLY throughout the day, but it was never enough. I hadn’t been biking enough in Mexico long enough to gauge how much water I am sweating out per hour and how much I need to consume in order to stay hydrated. My bike ride was enjoyable that day. It was wild and the road was surrounded by the natural environment. I passed countless unidentifiable wild pieces of roadkill that resembled all varieties of exotic animals I have never seen face to face (and many of the larger and more venomous I hope to NEVER see face to face). By the time I reached Nicolas Bravo, I was exhausted and I hadn’t realized that my body had stopped producing sweat about 2 hours earlier. This was a bad sign. Sweating is an essential cooling mechanism of the body and if you are doing exercise in extreme heat and you stop sweating it is a good indicator that you are beyond dehydrated and in danger of heat stroke.
Immediately upon arrival I was greeted by a few fellas who found me, my bicycle and my journey interesting. One individual, Pablo saw to it right away that I had water and a few cold beers. He looked me up and down, quickly examined me, my bike and my rig and said, “You are going to need more water for your journey and I am going to buy it for you!”. Pablo was smiley and generous and if I could have bottled his friendliness and enthusiasm I could have solved the worlds energy crisis. He owned a ranch about 7km away where he reported working very hard daily. He would finish each day in town to enjoying a few beers with friends. His face, hands and gnarled knuckles told 1,000 stories of hard tasks and intense Yucatan sun. Another gentleman Victor, wanted to practice his English and tell me his story about him previously living in the USA, but returning to Mexico for political reasons. I was enjoying the conversation and infectious energy and, and to my detriment, the beers went down faster than the water did. Within an hour I found myself feeling horrible: woozy, borderline delirious, and desperately in need of a place to lay down. Pablo directed me to a small restaurant near by where I was told I could set up camp. The family which owned the restaurant was more than hospitable and offered to let me set up my tent right on their front porch. It was protected from the rain, I had access to a bathroom, and I would be sleeping on a concrete floor with only a yoga mat between my body and the unforgiving ground.
I was so grateful for the accommodations, however in my state of dehydration, heat stroke and udder exhaustion, nothing could have been more uncomfortable and less restful. I crawled into my tent that night: contorted, writhed, sweated, hallucinated and had terrifying delirious nightmares. I felt extremely cold, like I had an out-of-control fever that wouldn’t break. I was bundled up in my mountaineering sleeping bag rated to -40 degrees, but still I couldn’t stop feeling like I was freezing. By the time I woke up the next day, I had completed sweated through all of my clothing and my sleeping bag. Still feeling awful, I packed up camp, gave my kind hosts an unrequested camp fee for their incredible generosity and peddled off, wondering how far I’d even make it.
Nicolas Bravo to Xpujil (31 Miles)
I set my sights on a dot on the map roughly 30 miles away. It looked to be a sizable town with a few hotels and as the day carried on and the sun got hotter, I realized that I was going to need more than a campsite or hostel bed to recharge. I was going to need to a hotel room and get off the road for a few days. The peddling felt impossible, the sun was intense, and no matter how much water I chugged, my energy felt completely depleted. It took me 5 hours to cycle a distance that would have usually taken me about 2.5-3 hours. I couldn’t make it up any hills without walking my bike and I had to rest in the shade on multiple occasions. I arrived in Xpujil and checked into a hotel which cost $25/night. This is an important price point, since up until now I had exclusively been camping and the few times I paid for a hostel bed or for camp fees it was never more than $7/night. $25 in this gracious little Mexican town bought me a one room palace with a HUGE bed, air conditioning, a swimming pool, a secure place for my bicycle and unimaginably friendly and helpful staff.
I spent the next four days resting, reading, writing, playing guitar and eating a mountain of the most delicious hydrating fruits and vegetables I could find. Fruit markets are abundant in even the smallest and most limited towns in Mexico. Papayas, mangoes, coconuts, avocados, citrus fruits, cucumbers, tomatoes, peaches, kiwis, grapes and sapote are stacked high and spilling out of market bins on the side of the road. After a 4-day R&R I felt rejuvenated and was ready to hop back on the bike. My next stop would be a big beautiful lake on the map: Laguna Silvituc.
My Inner Child at the Wheel
Perhaps riding a bicycle brings out my inner defiant child and that’s why I enjoy it so much. When you’re on a bicycle you obey instincts more than traffic laws. You run red lights, you go the wrong way on one-way streets, you ignore cross walks and sometimes terrify (unintentionally) pedestrians. It is this same inner defiant child which sometimes gets the better of me when it comes to my physical capabilities and limitations. Perhaps this “naive optimism” is a direct result of my background in nutrition and yoga or just the result of pure unbridled enthusiasm. The more miles I complete one day excite me to go just a little farther the next. I keep upping the ante. Increasing the load. Dominating my personal best. It’s as if everything that matters in life lies just beyond the handlebars and it’s only me and the lonely jungle highway to prove it to and share it with.
