I wanted to get up really early so that I would have plenty of time if I decided to make it to San Ignacio. But, even in my quiet hotel room I tossed and turned and didn't fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning. I woke up at 7:09, the same time I have been waking up almost every day of this trip it seems (before Guerrero Negro it was 6:09, but I'm in the next time zone over now).
I stopped at the cafe near my hotel to get some breakfast, and while waiting Chris and later Mike stopped in as well. They, and Jack, were staying in a hotel close to mine and we frequently bumped into each other during yesterday's off day. That was one reason why I wanted to try for San Ignacio instead of stopping in Vizcaino which is the usual next leg of this very popular bike route and where they were planning to stay. I needed to break away from their group, not because I didn't like their company but because I enjoyed it so much. That was changing the whole nature of the experience I was after, namely a solo bike trip.
I did manage to make it to San Ignacio, after my longest and most difficult day of the trip so far. It wasn't challenging at all topographically, but the sun was so damn hot and unrelenting. There was no shade on the road for the entire run, except for one or two tiny road cuts, and I was really dragging when I finally arrived.
The road out of Guerrero Negro is to the southeast, which at this time of year is directly into the sun.
Ulysses is heading north from La Paz, and was just breaking camp when I spotted him. We exchanged route and restaurant tips. I warned him of the goatheads in Chapala and he warned me of a place up ahead where he had 10(!) flats.
Victor Hugo ("after the poet") made me a couple of quesadillas and convinced me to continue onto San Ignacio, 40 miles away. He said he had biked it in 4 hours, and so did I as it turns out.
Julia, his daughter, came running up with news that the car had broken down.
Mrs. Victor Hugo arrived shortly thereafter, thoroughly pissed, so I slipped away.
Finally getting close!
That volcano in the distance figures in so many San Ignacio photos that it is almost a cliche. I decided to be original and photograph it from this angle.
I try to avoid the expat run establishments that cater to gringos, with the menus in English and prices in dollars. But, seeing how I'd already bitten that apple with my yurt, I decided to eat the whole thing and took Terry and Gary up on their invitation for a ride into town to their daughter's restaurant.
Damn good pizza.
