It’s been a while since I offered an update on my life. For those of you still interested in what I’ve been up to, I’ll quash that interest here and now. It’s been a fun two months though, believe me.

Last I left you, I was in Mexico City in that shady hotel room with my bike shipped off and all of my belongings stuffed into a small backpack. I borded a bus for Oaxaca (pronounced wuh-HA-kuh) and intended to travel further south by conventional means. Well, I got to Oaxaca and cheked into my hostel. Oaxaca is a beautiful city, and the hostel was nice and clean and full of nice and clean people. But something was amiss. I found it impossible to make an attempt at befriending the fellow travelers sharing the space I was in. I went to bed after reading for a bit, not having said a word to anyone all day except the girl at the bus ticket desk and the girl at the hostel front desk. I woke up the next morning feeling the same way, so I headed into downtown Oaxaca to see the sights. When I got to the centro, I realized I had no desire to see anything around me. I went into the cathedral and then had to abruptly leave when my stomach told me it had something it needed to do very soon, and that I needed privacy in order to do it. It was no big surprise- for the past couple of days I had to be careful not to venture too far from the men’s room. I rushed back to my hostel and fixed my problem, and then laid down to read the Lonely Planet guide for the places I was looking to visit next. I knew this would reinvigorate my excitement for traveling. An hour and a half later, I was not the least bit excited. So I called up my friend Bruno, whom I visited in Albany, NY but has since moved to Houston, TX. I asked him to pick me up from the Houston airport the following evening and he agreed, so I booked a flight to Houston, and was on the plane less than 24 hours later.

This was two months ago. Looking back now, I’ve got no regrets ending that part of my trip when I did. If I had gone on any further without any excitement it would have only given me unenjoyable experiences, tainting my nothing-but-positive memories about the whole trip. Ironically, as soon as I flew into Houston life got fun and exciting again. I’m convinced the whole issue stemmed from my lack of conversational Spanish skills. I couldn’t make friends, and that’s not the sort of lifestyle I like. Do I wish I had gone on further? Considering the situation I was in, absolutely not. I wish I had been excited at the end of the trip like I was at the beginning. If that were the case, I would have found a way to keep going, even without money. But no, I’ve got no regrets. And although I was without a bike from then on, my trip was still far from over.

In Houston I had a great time catching up with friends and enjoying the pleasures of American comfort foods. Unfortunately, it was another week before I could ingest anything without running immediately to the men’s room. I must have eaten something I shouldn’t have at some point in Mexico. Anyways, I didn’t have any plan for what I would do next. I flew to Houston on a whim and decided I would figure things out as they came. Luckily while there, Bruno helped me find an online ad for a job which was right up my alley. A website which collects and organizes parking info for cities around the country had posted an ad looking for an organized person with a bicycle to ride around town and take photos and collect parking lot/garage information for use on their website. I soon found out that they had posted this same ad in a number of cities around the country, and a brilliant idea came to me. I emailed the people who posted the ad and explained my situation, and thought I might be of use to them in multiple cities. They weren’t offering to cover travel or lodging expenses, but at this point I had a lot of friends around the country who I wanted to pay a visit to. If I could travel to a different city each week and work during the day and visit with friends in the evening, it would help me get back on my feet financially, satisfy my still-active travel bug, and help me see friends that I haven’t seen in a while. Luckily, the company thought this would benefit them quite a bit as well, and gave me a list of cities around the country they needed rates collected for, and told me I could pick whichever ones suited me.

So from Houston, I took a bus to Dallas and stayed for a week with my friends John and Gaby, both of whom I went to RIT with. I borrowed John’s bike and spent my days seeing the city of Dallas, which I had never seen. While there I got to ride a motorcycle for the first time, only further convincing me that I need to buy one when I settle down somewhere. We also had a chance to go to a Dallas Stars hockey game with seats right on the glass, next to the penalty box! From Dallas I went to Baltimore, working the city during the day and staying with my friends Matt and Brandon at night, who are fellow RIT electrical engineering alumni. Unfortunately, my last night in Baltimore, I was running to catch up to the two of them when I jumped down a small flight of three or four stairs. I landed wrong, and tore my ACL. I knew with certainty what had happened at the moment of impact, with the pain of an ACL tear still fresh in my memory from the first time. The next morning, I took a train to Buffalo, mitigating the pain with copious amounts of ibuprophen, and briefly saw my family when I got there.

In Buffalo I had just enough time to pack some cold-weather clothes in another bag before I jumped on a Denver-bound plane, which I had already booked so that I could work while in Denver. Because of my knee, I was in no shape to work, so I let my employers know that any plans of us working together in the immediate future had to be put off the table. I was bummed for a number of reasons. Obviously I was in a lot of pain, but that was the least of my concerns. I now had no source of income. Worse than that, I knew that I would need surgery and time to recover afterward, and that it would be months before I was able to run or jump or climb, or do any of the generally fun activites I enjoy. Things that I had been looking forward to getting back into for the last few months on the road. Oh yeah, and it was fairly pointless to apply for jobs knowing that I couldn’t start until after I have surgery and can walk around comfortably. Oh well, though, there wasn’t anything I could do. I got the knee checked out by a doctor while in Denver, and an MRI confirmed what I had already known. My ACL was torn. It could have been a lot worse though, at least the pain went away sooner this time, and I had health insurance, unlike wen I injured it before.

So now I was in Denver with little to do. I was staying with my cousin Elise like I did when I visited Denver on my trip, and I ventured out a few times to see other friends, like Adim from RIT, who was my partner in crime when we crashed a Denver Cruisers pirate-themed bike ride back in September. We spent an evening with Anthony and April, who had gotten engaged since I had seen them last, during that infamous Great American Beer Fest weekend! Lauren and I are attending their wedding in about a month, so it was especially nice to be able to congratulate them in person! Speaking of Lauren, she had been in Thailand and Cambodia since I had seen her in Puerto Vallarta. She was flying back to the US soon, arriving in Seattle the day before Valentine’s Day. Flights from Denver to Seattle were conveniently cheap, so I flew to Seattle and saw the city for the first time. After a lunch with my friend Renee whom I hadn’t seen since I was about ten years old, I met up with Tom and Kristen, who you’ll remember only if you’ve been keeping track of my progress since I started. I stayed with them at Kristen’s mother’s house (Hi Francine!) in May. I met Lauren at the airport when she landed and we checked out Seattle briefly before heading to Portland, where her parents live.

This is actually a pretty big deal for me, since at the start of the trip I was three years into an as-then successful plan to be without any serious relationships until I was thirty years old, and now here I was about to meet her parents. It’s funny how things can change. The Big Meet went well, as her parents seemed to like me well enough. We (brew)toured Portland, another city I had never been to, before Lauren and I flew to Colorado. We stayed in Fort Collins for a couple of days, which felt like coming home for me, and went to Breckenridge to see some more friends before flying to Buffalo. I had planned for months to be in Buffalo this week, since my dad was having a fairly important surgery. To those who were wondering, the surgery went well, and dad is recovering. The long-term outlook is also pretty positive. I thank you (and pops does too) for your thoughts and prayers along the way. We got my car back on the road, which allowed Lauren and I to embark on an epic road trip which we had been planning to do since I had made the decision to come back to the US. The road trip has taken us to New York City, New Jersey, DC, New Haven, and now Boston. We’ve got friends and family in a lot of places, so every stop is a reunion to some degree. From here we’re heading to the Pittsburgh area, Rochester, and then back to Buffalo, where we’ll hitch up a trailer full of my crap and head further west. We’ll make stops to see friends both new and old along the way before hitting the brakes in Fort Collins, where I’ll get knee surgery and look for a real job while Lauren gets more clinical hours under her belt in preparation for applying to vet school.

So all in all, life is good apart from the whole knee thing. If I’ve ever met you, beware that I may call you up at random and demand we catch up over a cold one. However, in keeping with my preferred way of life, I can’t give you much warning because I like to be as spontaneous as yeast in a Belgian brewhouse. Sorry, that was pretty beer-geeky. Suffice to say I’m pretty spur-of-the-moment.

This is my sign-off with certainty. Life has been good, is good, and will always be good if I let it. Keep an eye out for a book down the road, and feel free to get your hopes up that I may do something crazy again in the future. Although depending on how long I can keep Lauren believing that I’m not a boring schlub, the next one might not be solo. I mean, come on, you didn’t think I would give up my single-till-thirty plan for someone if I couldn’t convince them to ride around the world with me, did you?

See you down the road,

Jesse

Today, January 13, 2011 marks the end of a very exciting chapter in my life. It may come as a surprise to many, and an unwelcome one for some, but today I shipped my bike back to the US, and boarded a bus to leave Mexico City. Luckily, the end of one chapter means the beginning of the next, since this autobiography-in-the-making is far from over. While my trusty two-wheeled steed that carried me 6,930 miles over the course of 243 days heads north, I am heading south, equipped with nothing but what I was able to stuff in my daypack, the same one I brought to school every day since the eighth grade. I, like most Mexicans, see no reason to fix something that isn’t broken, nor replace something that can be fixed. But enough about my third-world tendencies. Let’s talk about the past, present, and future.

Two weeks ago, a time which now seems more like two months ago, I wrote from Guanajuato on New Year’s day. Oddly, when I think about the day I entered Mexico two months ago, it seems more like two weeks ago. New Year’s day was low-key, as it should be. The only particularly interesting thing was a stop in a cafe down the street from our hostel, and my first experience with what a new drink. It was liquid and chocolate based, though I don’t know what to call it. This stuff was to hot chocolate what proper espresso is to drip coffee. It was hot, dark, thick, and began caressing my olfactory senses with the semi-sweet goodness of dark-as-night chocolate as soon as it was placed in front of me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to order some sort of cookie to dip in it. I had some flaky pastry with me left over from the morning, so I tried the dip, with excellent results. Then I drank the rest in a series of slow, savory sips. I don’t mean to wax poetic about an ounce of hot chocolate, but it was probably the most incredible sensory experience I’ve had in two weeks or more.

On the morning of January 2nd, Jules, Megs, Russ, Lorely, Pedro, and myself all began pedaling in the direction on San Miguel de Allende. We knew nothing about the town except that it was a relatively short distance away, was supposed to be charming, and had a huge gringo population. The latter fact was interesting considering its location far inland. I was used to seeing many Americans and Canadians escaping the northern winters alng the coast, and those who used to escape the winters seasonally and now call a house near the water a permanent home. Heading inland had meant far fewer tourists and far more fun. Not that I’ve got anything against you, my fellow whities, just preachin’ the truth. San Miguel was in fact very charming, with a most beautiful church next to a bustling town square, as is the norm in every town I’ve been in since leaving the coast. There were in fact many gringos, but I came to find out that rather than visit and never leave, many of them were born here, the baby-boomer children of a large population of Americans who moved here during World War II for various reasons. Unfortunately, the usual socioeconomic division between people of different skin tones was only more obvious here. Despite the fact that the vast majority of Mexicans are of mixed indigenous and European heritage, those with lighter skin are generally better off socially and financially than their dark-skinned compatriots. There are exceptions, of course, but nearly every old man or woman I’ve seen begging in the streets every day (and that’s quite a few) has been darker than me. In San Miguel, there were a number of fancy cafes and art galleries, populated entirely by people with European facial structure and skin-tones. The offspring of aforementioned Americans. While it didn’t necessarily detract from the attraction of the town itself, it did make us all feel like we were in a very different place from the towns we’ve been in, and didn’t have any desire to linger for more than a day.

When we got on the road again, we pointed our forks to Queretaro. None of us had any expectations of the place, except that there was supposed to be cheap lodging, and it was between where we were and where we were going. Once we got within city limits, however, things got very fun. It is commonplace in Mexico for us bike tourers to get encouragement from drivers and people we pass by. I can’t honestly think of a single time when a car honked its horn in any manner other than a friendly one. It’s a pleasant change from the US where we’re seen as little more than a nuisance on the road. In Queretaro, however, people were extra friendly. Maybe it was because we were getting closer to Mexico City, and more people spoke and were eager to practice English- a phenomenon that became more apparent as we got closer- but twice we were stopped by friendly motorists. The first time the occupants of the truck got out and gave us each bottles of water, encouraging us forward. The second was an older man who pulled over simply to talk to us and ask where we were coming from and where we were going. We felt like heroes, to be honest, and it was quite nice. In town we did in fact find very cheap lodging, at a YMCA-type place that had dormitories with beds that could be had for about $4. I hadn’t slept well the night before, so opted to take a nap in the early evening while the others explored. Apparently it’s a beautiful city with many fun squares.

The next day took us over some horrible, shoulderless, interstate-like roads for about 35 miles before we decided to call it quits in the town of San Juan del Rio. Because this was the only road into Mexico City from where we were, we opted to get a bus for the remaining sixty miles. There is no fun in, and no point to, riding in fear of your life for hours on end. The six of us squeezed into a small hotel room, making the cost per person about what it was the previous night, and some of us shared some beers. I’m happy to report I’ve found my favorite Mexican beer outside of the microbrew in Baja that I may have failed to mention. It’s called Noche Bueno, and it’s only available around Christmastime. It’s a dark bock, which in the US would be mediocre, but compared to the crappy Mexican beer I’ve been drinking for two months, it’s heavenly! I slept deeply that night, thanks in part to the Noche Bueno (which translates to “good night”), and we rose early to catch our buses into the city. We (sans Pedro, who opted to sleep in) managed to cram our five bikes in the luggage area of the bus, and have an enjoyable, nappable ride into one of the largest cities in the world.

After unloading our bikes and getting our bearings, we headed to the “centro,” or center of town. Ciudad de Mexico (Mexico City) has a particularly interesting centro, as its centerpiece is a huge open square, the third largest in the world in fact (after Tieneman Square and Red Square), referred to as the Zocalo. We sent Lorely and Megs on a mission to find us the cheapest lodging around while Russ, Jules, and I lounged near the Zocalo. In the end we stayed at the Hotel Tuxpan, which is quite simply the most horrendous place I’ve ever stayed. Upon opening the door, I was blasted in the face with the chewy-thick scents of cheap cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. The ceiling of the entire room was covered with a giant mirror. The toilet had no seat, and had a stuck float, so was prone to leaking water all over the bathroom. The upside was that there was a TV. Unfortunately, it was stuck on a channel showing only porn, and the picture was screwed up to boot. I’m quite sure I’m the first person to stay in that room in a long time who wasn’t paying by the hour. But considering the MX$110 per night charge (about US$8.50), it was worth it. I stayed there five nights before leaving, although helped the stale smoke situation by purchasing a bunch of violet-scented incense on the street for ten pesos.

For the next few days we explored the wonders of Mexico City, surrounded by the holiday spirit, which officially lasts until Three Kings’ Day on January 6th, but unofficially kept up much longer. We spent our first day looking for a place to buy tickets to the soccer match on Sunday, something we were all looking forward to. Despite the Ticketmaster website being very straightforward about where it had locations in the city and which ones sold tickets for the soccer games, all three of the locations we went to said they couldn’t help us. After running around all day, we gave up and decided to head to the stadium the next day to buy them directly at the box office. So that’s what we did. After securing our tickets, we went to the former home of famed Mexican artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, which is now a museum dedicated to them. Following that, we went to a Luche Libre match. For those not in the know, Luche Libre is the Mexican version of American professional wrestling; that is, it’s fake and built around a story, but can be entertaining to watch. To be honest, I disdain American wrestling, but fully enjoyed the Mexican version.

There was much time spent in various museums around town, which were all conveniently located within a fifteen minute walk of our hotel. The government palace was one of the most ornately-decorated buildings I’ve ever set foot in, and it was also adorned with some awesome Diego Rivera murals. The Palacio Bella Artes had more murals and works of art from various Mexican artists. The Museum of National Art had a lot of art, in various styles and from various time periods, fittingly all from Meican artists. The ruins of an Aztec Temple were discovered in the 1970′s, across the street from the giant cathedral which abutts the Zocalo. I checked out that site and the museum as well, which was moderately interesting. The ruins had been dismantled by the Spanish in the 16th century, presumably to build their own buildings, possibly including the cathedral.

The soccer game was quite a bit of fun, even though the Club America Aguilas (eagles) that we were all cheering for lost to the team from Pachuca. I bought a jersey while there as a souvenir, also thinking since it’s synthetic it’ll be good for traveling in. The game took place in Aztec Stadium, which is the largest stadium in Latin America (5th largest, period.) and holds 105,000 fans. The stands were nearly empty, but the raucousness of the fans that were there made up for it completely. Very few people weren’t wearing the Aguilas’ blue-and-yellow, and their energy put even Buffalo Bills fans to shame.

The last thing worth noting was the ruins of Teotehuacan, an ancient city dating from pre-Jesus times. It had two gigantic pyramids, and Jules, Megs, and I were able to climb to the top of the larger one. The site had been disused since the 16th century, but there were still hundreds of building foundations and pyramid foundations around. The museum on site was interesting too, and it was helpful that everything was in both Spanish and English.

The rest of the group was planning on leaving town the day following our visit to Teotehuacan, so we decided we wanted to do something special for dinner. “Something special” to a bunch of penny-pinching bike tourers such as ourselves meant cheap and crappy chinese food, since none of us felt like having cheap and mediocre tacos again. In fact, the night before, I think one of the cheap tacos I ate screwed my system up. My stomach has not agreed with me since Tuesday, so for the last three days now I’ve limited my solid food intake in an effort to keep from running to the men’s room every half hour. What a way to end the trip.

Yeah, you heard right, end my trip. Sort of. The day everyone else left, I went to Mail Boxes Etc and spent a few hours packing my bike appropriately to ship back to the US. I won’t get into the headaches involved in that one, and please don’t ask. Suffice it to say that I checked into a hostel that night and reunited with Pedro and Aaron, and then returned the next morning to MBE to finish the shipping job. I then made my way to the bus station and bought a ticket to Oaxaca, carrying nothing with me that doesn’t fit into the small backpack I’ve been carrying this trip, and have had and used regularly since I was thirteen.

So that brings us to the present. I’m at a hostel in Oaxaca. In the words of the legendary Ron Burgundy, “I’m a glass box of emotion.” Well, okay, that’s not really true, but it’s been stuck in my head all day. To tell the truth, though, I am very torn. For two-and-a-half years now, every decision I’ve made has been with this trip in mind. It was what drove me. Now I’m done, at least with the biking part. I had expected to be gone at least a few months longer. I expected to travel a few thousand miles further. I couldn’t have expected to have as much fun as I did though, and that’s what I’m trying to focus on. Those that didn’t fully understand my intentions may see this as falling short of my goals. It’s not, but at this point there’s no use explaining. It’s true, I wish I had gone further and experienced more. There were plenty of things I was looking forward to- sipping coffee in Cartagena, Colombia; eating guinea pigs in Peru; staying a few nights in the Galapagos; seeing the worlds largest salt flat in Bolivia. But the thing is, I’ll be able to do those things later. The South American continent isn’t going anywhere, and I’m by no means done traveling. Just out of money, that’s all. But even if I had the money to continue further, I don’t think I would. There are some family issues that I don’t care to delve into that mean I feel the need to be in Buffalo in about a month’s time. Am I saying this is the reason I’m stopping? No, but it’s a contributing factor. So is money. And as much as I hate to admit it, this “Lauren” girl plays a part, too. It would be nice to see her more than once every couple of months. It’s the confluence of all three things that’s making me want to stop for now. If it were just two, any two, I’d probably continue. But it’s not, so deal.

The good news for those living vicariously through me is that I’m not done. Not quite done with this trip, and far from being done with this adventure. By “this trip” I mean my time south of the border. By “this adventure” I mean life. Because I’ve learned that there’s no reason enjoying life has to be reserved for special occassions when time permits. Life should be enjoyed every day. That means different things to different people, and to be honest I don’t yet know what it means for me. But if there is one thing I’ve become certain of over the last eight months, it’s that I’m going to lead a happy life. Maybe I’ll be an engineer. Maybe I’ll be a bartender (I can hear you cringing, dad!), or maybe I’ll busk on the street with a harmonica. Or maybe I’ll win the lottery. Maybe I’ll write a best-seller. Or be contacted by the Travel Channel to host a new TV show. Who knows. All I know is that I’m looking forward to whatever lies ahead, because I’m going to enjoy it.

I happen to think I know what lies ahead in the immediate future. I’m in Oaxaca now, and I have intentions of continuing my southbound travels for about the next month or so. I’d like to make it down to Costa Rica in that time, but nothing’s certain. Assuming I do get there, I’d like to have some friends come down for a long weekend and celebrate life with me, after which I’ll fly back to my family in Buffalo. I’ll hang out there for a couple weeks, and then the fun will continue for a bit. I’m planning on moving to Fort Collins, Colorado, since I loved it so much while I was there (Seriously, go back and read that one if you haven’t already). But I have belongings scattered about the northeast in Buffalo, Boston, and New York (Kurt, I think the suit I wore to the wedding in August is under your futon). So I’m going to get my car up and running, put my girl in the passenger seat, and we’re going to road-trip from Boston to Fort Collins, retracing some of my path and visiting friends (both new and old) along the way! Then I work on settling into the “real world, ” an adventure whose story will unfold in due time. If you happen to know anybody in the Fort Collins area looking to hire somebody with a Master’s in Electrical Engineering and a hell of a story, please put me in touch!

Whether this will be my last post here is yet to be determined. I don’t see my travels from here on being website worthy, simply because I no longer see myself as doing something particularly unique. We’ll see. I have come to enjoy writing and putting it out there for the public. But maybe the writing I do from here out will be meant for the pages of a book.

So, after eight of the most exciting months anyone has ever had, I can honestly say I took the “Argentina or Bust” to it’s literal conclusion. I didn’t hit Argentina, but I did go bust. I love you all, and I’ll see you down the road!

To be frank, I don’t feel much like writing today, but I do want to share my aventures, for I’ve been in some really incredible places! Lucky for you, this one may be short.

I took a bus from Puerto Vallarta to Aguascalientes, which is a few hundred miles away and up in the highlands of central Mexico. My bus got in at 3am, and I couldn’t find any lodging, so I spent my first night there on a park bench. I checked into Hostal Posada the next afternoon, which is run by a really friendly couple,.Philip and Paola. My friends decided they were going to spend Christmas in the town they were at, Zacatecas, so I took a bus up there. We had a great Christmas Eve dinner where everyone cooked different dishes, and I made grilled kebabs. The roof terrace of the hostel in Zacatecas had an amazing view of the incredibly gorgeous city, and it made the perfect backdrop for a holiday dinner with the only friends I have around here. In addition to Jules, Megs, Russ, and Lorely whom I met in La Paz, the group was now joined by Pedro, who began biking in Vancouver, and Aaron, who started in Alaska.

From Zacatecas the group rode to Aguascalientes, and I met them there after taking the bus. We explored the town for a few days, including a trip to the “Museum of the Dead.” From there the ride took us (sans Aaron) through Leon, which is a big, industrial city, and fairly uninteresting in my opinion, to Guanajuato. Guanajuato is one of the most beautiful cities I’ve been to, ever, and was a great place for us to spend New Year’s Eve, which we celebrated with white russians on the roof of the Hostel before descending into the town square to eat twelve grapes in the first twelve seconds of the new year, per Mexican tradition.

Along the way my laptop broke, so I had to replace it, and I realized far too late that I had left my ATM card in the machine in Aguascalientes. Oh, and my seatpost clamp bolt broke, which was another huge pain. All these problems are solved now, however, and life is good. We’re heading out for Mexico City tomorrow, and the ride should take about a week or so.

I’ve traveled quite a few miles by bus in the last month, and I’ve realized I like it. After looking at the ol’ bank account, its time to start considering what to do with my time before my money runs out, which won’t be too long from now. After much, much consideration, I’ve decided that when I get to Mexico City I’m going to ship my bike back to the US, buy a backpack, and do the traveling for the rest of my journey by foot, bus, and thumb. This will let me see more of Central America before I run out of cash, because if I stuck to the bike, I would doubtfully get very far out of Mexico. I’ve learned that this change in my trip is going to be met by a variety of responses, but that’s okay. It’s something I’ve thought long and hard about, and when I bring everything back to my real purpose, having as much fun as possible, it was an obvious choice. If you don’t like it, that’s too bad! Remember, it’s never been about biking, and it’s never been about Argentina.

For now, I’m going to head out again into the gorgeous city of Guanajuato and take some photos. I’ll check back in with you later! Feliz Año Nuevo!

Greetings from sunny Puerto Vallarta! I’ve spent my days since I checked in last mostly lounging on various beaches, interspersed with some riding, and a bit of surfing. My equipment seems to have taken a disliking to this trip, because since I’ve written last a good number of things have broken. The biggest heartbreak is my kickstand, and I doubt I’ll be able to find a replacement in stores, so I’ll need a bit of ingenuity to make something that works. My tent now has a quarter-sized hole in the floor, but I should be able to patch it. My tent bag also has a big rip in it, but it’s not a big deal. My thermarest has a slow leak, but I’ve still been sleeping okay. My cotton shorts tore through in a very unfortunate place, but I bought some new ones today. My synthetic shorts just lost the pocket I keep my wallet in. I noticed this fact first when I put my wallet in said pocket and then heard it hit the floor. As a result of more than fifteen years of keeping my wallet in the same pocket, it’s happened at least once every day since. My biking sandals have had some of the stiching come out in the heel, so now they’re uncomfortable to walk very far in. And my gloves have a few rips in them. But, apart from the kickstand, anything that’s not in perfect shape can either be easily replaced or used without too much trouble as-is.

The days after leaving Mazatlan were fairly uneventful. When I left the hotel, I rode about sixty miles and ended my day by rolling out my bag in an arroyo near the town of El Rosario. I can’t remember anything worth mentioning that day or the following one, when I ended in Acoponeta. That is, apart from some nagging knee pain. It had started the day before I was in La Paz most recently, and I thought it had gone, but apparently not. I realized my saddle kept slipping down after I raised it, which I think was the cause of the problem. I’m going to keep and eye on it and continue my ibuprofen regimen in the hopes it works out. Anyways, Acoponeta was a neat little town, and I decided to book a cheap (MEX$140) room at a hotel in celebration of my seven-month mark since leaving Montreal. I also found the first beer in Mexico that I actually enjoy, an almost-dark brew called Bohemia Obscura. I headed out the following morning, rode all day, and camped by the road. Again, nothing to report. Riding the following morning brought me to the small fishing village of San Blas.

I had decided to take a rest day in San Blas to get a little surfing in, since it’s home to the Stoners surf break, among others. There was a surf camp right by the break that allowed me to rent a spot to pitch my tent with facilities for two nights and rent a board for 180 Pesos, or about 15 bucks. The surfing was not bad, but I had been given a foam board from the rental, so every time I would catch a wave and try to make my turn, my feet would slip off the slick surface. There’s no wax on the soft-top boards. It was a very relaxing 48 hours that I spent there, and I had a chance to call some family members and catch up.

From San Blas I was headed for Puerto Vallarta, with an interim stop at the fishing town of La Penita. I had picked it out because it was right on the beach. Not only do I like beaches, but from what I understand, the beaches are all property of the Mexican government, and open to public use, including camping. I was in the middle of town, so I waited until after the sun went down to roll out my bag on the sand. When I woke up the next morning, there were a few people walking dogs or going for their morning jog along the water. In the US, if my homeless self slept on the beach, the beach-goers would give me a wide berth and avoid eye contact. Here in Mexico, everyone smiled and greeted me with a “Buenos dias!” It was pretty fun, and I didn’t feel nearly as out-of-place as I had expected. Just as I was done packing my things and getting ready to hit the road, I was stopped by Anne and Dave, who did a quick interview with me for the local paper. After chatting with them, I hit the road for Puerto Vallarta.

On the last stretch of road I was stopped by Nancy, who pulled onto the shoulder and waved me down. She offered me a place to stay for the evening, but I failed in following the simple directions she gave me to her house. I checked into the Oasis Hostel instead, which was where I had planned to stay before Nancy stopped me anyways. I made some friends at the hostel and was introduced to the most incredible taco stand I could imagine. I fell asleep instead of hitting the town with my new friends from the hostel, but woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back to sleep, probably due to an afternoon coffee I had. The following day I went to the beach with Karl and Tassa, two friends from the hostel, before checking into a different hotel and dropping off my bags.

With my bike empty, it felt like a total rocket, despite the fact that it still weighed over sixty pounds. I rode the speedy little devil to the airport and picked up Lauren, who was paying me a visit for a few days before she heads to Thailand for a couple months. We had an adrenaline-fueled ride in Mexican traffic back to the hotel, and garnered quite a few strange looks from people we passed by. Dinner that night was at an Italian place in town, and I was really excited to find I could get a calzone with anything inside that I wanted. I was a little disappointed when my mozzerella, blue, pepperoni, bacon, and ham calzone had a raw sausage instead of pepperoni, and a single, completely raw strip of bacon. Once I removed the inedibles, it was a glorified ham and cheese sandwich. Oh well.

The next three days involved Lauren and I taking the buses to the surf town of Sayulita, and hanging out on the beach. We rented a surfboard for a day and I attempted to teach Lauren to surf, but with limited success. The waves weren’t really conducive, and I’ve got zero experience in teaching people how to surf. Part of that could have to do with the fact that I’m not a very good surfer myself. I took the board out and caught a few waves, but unfortunately the waves were breaking at a place with a rocky bottom, and the tide was out. I ended up getting a good number of small cuts on my hands, feet, and arms. I lost some blood, but everything should heal in a couple days. It was worth it, anyways.

Today Lauren and I said our goodbyes and she headed out. I checked into the same hostel as before, and was happy to see some of the same faces here to greet me. Tonight is a lunar eclipse, so I’m going to grab a beer and head to the roof of the hostel to watch some of it!

Hasta luego y Feliz Navidad!

I was bummed when I left the hotel where I had stayed in Cabo, and where I had sat to type my last update. I was leaving the place where I had shared great times with great friends, and I didn’t have any great friends on the horizon. I’ve been bummed in the past when leaving places where I had a lot of good friends, or had made a lot of new ones. I was bummed to leave Boston, bummed to leave Chicago, and bummed to leave a lot of places in Colorado. It’s really just part of the traveling gig. But I’ve certainly learned that all it takes is one good person to come along and wipe away all of the sad feelings and remind me that I’m on an adventure, and what’s up ahead is as exciting as what’s behind. Unfortunately, I’m in Mexico. In Mexico people speak Spanish. Mi Espanol no es bueno (My Spanish is not good), so it’s difficult to make deep connections with people as I’ve mentioned before. Luckily, the next best thing to people, in my opinion, is the beach. So I set off from Cabo San Lucas eastward, looking for the first beach that looked like the sort of place I could live for a few days while I wait for my package to arrive at the hotel. On the way out of town I passed a Wal-Mart, so I stopped in to get a few days’ supply of food and potable water so I wouldn’t have to leave the beach.

Deep down, however, I knew that stewing in my own thoughts on an isolated beach wouldn’t help me kick the melancholy that had set in. This was a little more severe than in times past, because I have no close friends on the road ahead, and I knew it would be a while before my Spanish was good enough to make new ones. It reminded me of the fact that this trip really is about the people I meet. So for anyone reading this because I bumped into you somewhere along the way, however briefly, thanks for making this such an excellent and enjoyable adventure for me. Anyways, when I came out of Wal-Mart, there was a man admiring my bike. This has happened many times before, some of which were in Mexico, so my Spanish was at least good enough to handle the questions that always come up in this situation. To my surprise, this very Mexican-looking guy spoke perfect, unaccented English. I soon found out that Carlos was born in Mexico, but raised in southern California, and moved to Cabo about twelve years ago. I explained that I was looking for a beach to live on for a couple of days to kill time, and Carlos invited me to stay with him. I took him up on the offer, but told him it would only be for a day or two, and that I would really enjoy the company on Thanksgiving.

I ended up staying with him for an entire week, which we spent watching a lot of movies and eating delicious food. I haven’t really been able to watch many movies since the trip began, and Carlos was good company, so I was more than happy to kick back in front of the TV. There were a lot of personal things which I’d rather not get into, but suffice to say that Carlos was in poor health, and at one point had been told by doctors that he had less than a year to live. We’re both fairly confident at this point that he can stretch that year into quite a bit more, but imagine the change in perspective on life that gives you! Carlos also happens to be the exact same age as my father, who also has some health problems that I won’t get into. It was an interesting coincidence, but I made nothing more of it. I was just excited to have someone come by in my time of most need and break me out of my emotional slump.

One night Carlos and I were watching a movie, as we did every night. This night it was “I am Sam.” In it, Sean Penn plays a mentally challenged father whose daughter gets taken away by the courts. At one point in the movie, Carlos says to me, “That happened to me once.” Thinking he was talking about some small event in the movie, I jokingly replied, “What? Get your kid taken away because you’re retarded?” My eyes were still fixed on the screen, since it’s a powerful movie, and Carlos replied, “No, get my daughter taken away because the courts said I was unstable.” I was surprised, to say the least, because in the few days that we’d known each other we’d talked about a lot of things, and he had never mentioned a daughter. I looked at him and could see his eyes had welled up a bit. This was obviously a sensitive subject, since he hadn’t talked about it before, so I just put my foot in my mouth and watched the movie. Carlos mentioned quickly that he had a daughter who was now twenty-four who was taken away from him, and who he’s being trying to reconnect with for some time now, to no avail. That was pretty much all that was said for the next day and a half on the subject, because I didn’t want to bring it up. But it was on my mind all the while. As soon as he had said that, I knew I had to try and help some way. Carlos was the exact age of my father, with deteriorating health. I was the exact age of his daughter who he hadn’t seen. I just didn’t know what I could possibly do.

The day I was about to leave, the subject came up again. I found out that Carlos’ lawyer had been in contact with his daughter, and that the ball was pretty much in her court for getting in touch with him. That made it easier for me. I wrote a letter to Carlos’ daughter, hoping to dispel any fear she had about reconnecting. I explained how he saved me on Thanksgiving, bringing me back to my usual self. I explained how I had gotten to know him, and how he’s a good guy. I’ve found I’ve become a decent judge of character over the last seven months. I gave the letter to Carlos and told him that I would send it when he wanted me to, and no sooner. But it obviously had to come from me. After that, I packed up my things and headed out of town, feeling good that I may have just committed my biggest good deed yet. I pedaled through San Jose del Cabo, and into the desert. I had intended to reach La Paz in two days to catch the ferry to the mainland, but then found out the next ferry wasn’t until three days hence, so I had no reason not to take my time. I set up camp early, and had a phenomenally serene evening cooking my dinner over a campfire and watching the stars come out. I put on some calm music and fell asleep just outside my tent looking up at the sky counting shooting stars. I was up to four before the sandman came and ushered me into the nocturnal world of my dreams.

When I woke up the next morning, something very, very strange happened. I couldn’t explain why or how it happened, but I just didn’t feel like doing this trip anymore. It wasn’t that I was lonely- I’m pretty self-sufficient in that regard, and with the exceptions of leaving towns with a lot of friends like I mentioned, I haven’t yet felt lonely on this trip. I wasn’t missing my friends and family too much (which is different than being lonely). The day before had been a good one, and the night before was excellent. I had slept well. While my legs were a bit sore from riding hills after such a long break (two weeks is the longest I’ve been in one place since this trip started!), it was a good kind of sore. I wasn’t thinking about all the other things I could be doing instead of traveling. I just wasn’t excited. The thought of biking to Argentina, or even any further than I already had just didn’t interest me. But the other wierd part was that nothing seemed to spark my interest. Not the life I could have if I stopped, and not any possible path that I could take on this trip. It was puzzling and unsettling, to say the least. But that morning I really didn’t have much of a choice. I was in the middle of the desert and couldn’t just sit there. Besides, being stationary didn’t appeal to me either. I thought if I just got back on the road and got the blood pumping and endorfins flowing, things would take care of themselves. Getting on the bike has a nice way of doing that. But twenty miles down the road, things weren’t any better. I looked at the map and saw that the road I was on would be going along the beach far enough away to make for a good stopping point. Maybe a nice night on the beach would solve things. I got to the beach just outside of a small town called Los Barriles, and rolled my bike to a palapa (thatched-roof hut) a few meters from the water. I cooked some pasta for dinner and listened to some music while enjoying the pristine beach, interspersing with a bit of studying Spanish. The perfect evening, really. I slept directly under the stars, doing the music-while-counting-shooting-stars thing, but this time only made it to three. I wished on each one of them.

The next morning I didn’t feel any different. I was starting to get a little worried, because I wasn’t ready to end my trip. I just wasn’t excited about continuing. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, as they say. I had some breakfast in town and rode a hilly ride to La Paz, arriving at the hotel I stayed in last time I was there. It was a Saturday this time, and so there were more people mulling about. A friendly group of English-speakers seated at a round table with big beers in front of them greeted me as I walked by. I stashed my bike in my room, washed my face, and walked out to join them. To my very big and very pleasant surprise, there were six of them there, and they were all traveling great distances by bike. There was Aidan, an Irishman who had left from him home in London about two-and-a-half years ago, and had been cycling and riding a motorcycle around the world ever since. Considering my current lack of motivation, I was incredibly impressed at his ability to go for so long. There was also Steve, a guy about my age who left his home in Alaska and was finishing his trip a few days later in Los Cabos. Then there was Russ and Lorely, a pair from Bath, England who were cycling from Alaska, heading for Argentina. Jules and Megs, from Perth, Australia, were doing the same thing, but had started separately. After not seeing a single cycle-tourist since Wim at the Grand Canyon, I was amazed to see everyone in the same place! They also had a better heads-up on the ferry situation, informing me that there was a lesser-known ferry that was cheaper and provided dinner and breakfast, with the tradeoff of fewer amenities. But I didn’t need no stinkin’ amenities. Aidan was waiting in La Paz for parts, and Steve was ending his trip, but Jules, Megs, Russ, and Lorely were all taking the ferry on Monday. I decided to kick it with them and take the ferry across, grateful for the company of any English-speakers at this point, and especially like-minded bike tourers!

We hung around La Paz, a city which I was fairly familiar with at that point. The highlight was hitting the night market and eating food from nearly every one of the street vendors. I started with a hand-made corn dog, and followed it by elote, which literally translates as corncob, but was sweet corn served in a cup with cheese and mayo (which I skipped) and hot chili sauce. Excellence. Next was a slice (or two) of pizza with ham, pineapple, and cherries on it. Then I grabbed some candy from a guy who was selling it in bulk out of a wheelbarrow (very common). I munched on some minty hard candy and candy-covered chocolate things until I found a bacon-wrapped hot dog. After a bag of churros, I was stuffed. For a while, that is.

Monday came, and the five of us taking ther ferry loaded up our bikes, said goodbye to Aidan and Steve, and headed ten miles out of town to the ferry terminal. We eventually boarded the ferry, which was mostly full of semi-trucks and smaller cargo-carriers. Even my humongous bike was dwarfed in size by everything else around. Huge trucks on a huge boat with huge equipment on it. It was interesting. I got tired shortly after the sun went down, as usual, so I spread out my sleeping bag on the upper deck of the ferry, under the stars, where there was very little people traffic. Watching the stars from the deck of a big boat very far from land is a cool experience, for those not prone to motion sickness. The boat rocks, but gently enough that you often can’t feel it. Laying down and looking up, the boat seems stationary, and it’s as if the canvas of stars above is actually doing the rocking. Pretty awesome.

When I woke up with the sun the next morning, something was different. I had been cured of whatever it was that had me uninspired recently. I was so absolutely excited to continue. I don’t know if it was the new cycling friends I had made, who I plan to meet up with for Christmas and then cycle with for a while, or the change of scenery in going to mainland mexico, or the encouragement from my friends and family, or something else, but I was back to (and still am) my old self again! We disembarked in Mazatlan and headed for a cheap hotel that was recommended to us. For 150 pesos (about 12 dollars) I get a spacious private room with bathroom and shower, and most excellently, hot water! It’s the little things in life that I’ve learned to appreciate these days.

I’m sitting in my bed after being here in Mazatlan for a little over 24 hours. My compadres and I have explored a good bit of the city, especially the food offerings. I’ll probably spend my afternoon reading at the beach, or maybe just sitting around the hotel, or maybe something else entirely. My friends are going to head inland and make a four-day uphill ride to a town called Durango, while I head down the coast to Puerto Vallarta to meet up with Lauren, who’s paying me another visit before heading to Thailand for two months to volunteer at an animal sanctuary. From there I’m going to meet up with the new crew and hopefully spend Christmas with them in some small, fun town. I’ll let you know later.

Another quick note: after seven months of resisting, I’ve given in to the many people who have asked for a way to donate money on this site. I’ve added a button on the contact page. If you want to send me money, you can do it there, but I’m not asking for it. I’m not giving it to charitable causes, let’s be clear. I’ve realized that my chances of making it to Argentina with the money I’ve got are slim-to-none. But remember, this was never about Argentina in the first place. My mission of having the absolute time of my life and making new friends and experiencing new things has already been accomplished. If I had to stop tomorrow, it would be without regrets. If you do choose to help me financially to get me a little further down the road, I thank you genuinely.

Hasta luego y feliz navidad!

When I last checked in, I was in a cheap, awful-by-American-standards-but-excellent-by-mine hotel. I left there and went to Todos Santos, which I was told was a really cool place by a few people, including my friend Lee, whom I met on RAGBRAI and visited in Sonoma recently. He’s got a friend in Todos Santos, Perla, who offered to give me a place to stay. I arrived in town and tried to find her, but ran into her roommate, Jessie, instead. Jessie runs a wood-fired pizza joint in the small town, and I ate some as I had a drink and chatted with her and some of the other patrons. When the night at the pizzeria had wound down, I joined Jessie and a few others for a wine tasting nearby, where I met Perla and a bunch of other fun people. The night went from wine-tasting to tequila-drinking, and ended up going late. It was quite a bit of fun, and made for a good solid sleep, something I always appreciate! I’ve been having a craving every morning for huevos con chorizo (typical Mexican breakfast of eggs scrambled with sausage, served with beans and tortillas) so I grabbed some before finding Jessie and Perla and thanking them and saying goodbye.

I was headed back to where I was the previous day, La Paz. The Baja 1000 (Baja Mil as it’s called here) was ending in the wee hours of the following morning, and I wanted to be there to see it. I arrived in La Paz around sunset, after stopping at a hardware store (ferreteria) to buy a machete for chopping firewood and various utilitarian tasks. I made my way to the finish line of the race, which was being prepped for the racers that would begin to cross in about six hours. I followed the course back about five miles, where it became a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I saw some people near the road looking like they were planning on camping out, just like I was, so they could watch the race. I asked them if the Baja Mil came through here and they told me it did. I found a flat spot, rolled out my sleeping bag, and ate some food I had. I then fell asleep, hoping to wake up around 4am, which was roughly the time the moon was setting and the finishers should start to come through. The moon setting was important because the tail end of the Leonids meteor shower would be occurring, and I could think of no better way to start the day than to watch the worlds biggest desert rally race while watching shooting stars.

I woke up about two hours after I fell asleep, and found myself surrounded by a sea of people, cars, and bonfires. It was as if I had fallen asleep in the middle of the parking lot at Ralph Wilson Stadium in Buffalo and woke up in the middle of a Sunday morning Buffalo Bills tailgate. The music was blasting and the beer was flowing. Not very conducive to a great night’s sleep, but it was still a pretty fun thing to be in the middle of. Not that I got out of my sleeping bag, though. I rolled over and fell back to sleep, waking up throughout the night for obvious reasons. I did wake up around 4am, and stared at the sky for quite some time. I never saw any shooting stars, though, mostly on account of the lights coming from the city. Falling back to sleep again, I woke up just before sunrise and packed my things. I watched a number of dirtbikes, trucks, and ATV’s come by, and got a little more dejected every time one came by that wasn’t the Desert Assassins’ #16 trophy truck. I was really cheering for them after all the hospitality they had shown me! Unfortunately a number of vehicles came by, and by 1pm none of them had been the DA. I spent the morning chatting with people and racers near the finish line, and felt like quite a celebrity, especially seeing that more people wanted to take a picture with me than with the scantily-clad girls that were there to promote various products. I checked in with the race tracker trailer, and found out that the DA were still about an hour out. I had friends waiting for me in Cabo, so I had to get a move on. I got on the bike and rolled out of town.

I stopped near a gas station at the edge of town and made a “Cabo S Lucas” sign out of cardboard I had found. I held it up, and within two minutes a guy named Patricio in a pickup truck helped me load the bike into the bed and gave me a lift to Todos Santos, which is about halfway between La Paz and Cabo San Lucas. I was hitchhiking because I simply didnt have time to see the finish of the race, bike 100 miles to Cabo, and be there around the time when my friends arrived. I had to pick two, so I picked the Baja Mil and my friends. In Todos Santos I held up my sign again and after a while got picked up by Rafael and Oscar, who drove me all the way to my hotel.

I had no way to contact my friends at the hotel, but knew they would be there well before my eventual arrival. I wheeled my bike through the Hotel Finisterra lobby, and parked it behind the hotel, in an area overlooking the pools. I looked down and saw my friends, in the first place I looked (for good reason)- the hot tub. I went back inside, threw my swim trunks on in the bathroom, and went back out near the pool. I quietly got in, and then swam right up next to the hot tub before jumping up and surprising everyone with my bearded presence. I got in the jacuzzi and drank a beer while catching up, and had generally a grand old time. The highlight of the night, apart from my ruiniting with friends, was shaving my beard. Yes, I cut it all off. It was getting out of control. People started looking at me funny. With the help of Kurt, Lauren, and Rich, I was a normal-looking human being again in no time. We then headed into downtown Cabo San Lucas in search of a bite to eat before calling it a night. I was meeting six friends in Cabo. There was Dave, whom I have known since middle school, and Rich, his roommate since college. Kurt was there, whom I lived with all through college. I had seen the three of them when I had flown to New York for Lindsay’s wedding in August. Then there were Lauren, Ashley, and Molly. Ashley was a friend of Lauren’s whom I had met once before. Molly was a friend of Lauren and Ashley, but I hadn’t met her. Lauren was a girl I met in Fort Collins. Without getting into the sappy details, we had seen a lot of each other while I was in Colorado, and had began “dating” before I left the state. Obviously the definition of dating is a little different for me, given my current situiation, than most, but we’re enjoying things and making them work. I saw her again in Las Vegas, and now in Cabo. You can think I’m silly for committing to a girl in the middle of my grand adventure, but you’ll just have to take my word for it that I know myself really well at this point, and I’m perfectly happy being single, and I wouldn’t commit to a girl who I may not see for the next year unless she was very, very worth it. This one is. Sorry ladies!

The next couple of days mainly involved lounging on the beach or near the pool with a beer or tequila in hand. The guys were only around for the weekend, so from Monday afternoon on it was just me and the girls, to the jealousy of many of the Mexican guys who whistled and hollered at us wherever we went. We took a glass-bottom boat tour around the bay, which was quite a bit of fun, and then the next day went sportfishing. The four of us and our captain Victor spent the morning on a small boat hoping a big fish would want to take a nibble at the bait and lures we had in the water. The fishing was quiet, but we did see quite a few whales, some dolphins, seals, and some big rays that were jumping a few feet out of the water. At one point I looked off the port side and saw what I thought was a dolphin. It looked about the same size, or maybe a bit smaller, and had a dorsal fin prominently sticking up out of the water. I pointed it out, but then noticed its tail was also sticking out of the water, moving side to side. I had though dolphins tails moved up and down for propulsion, and I mentioned it to Victor, our captain, asking him what it was. Victor immediately got excited, saying “That’s a marlin!” He jumped into action, turning to boat and adjusting our speed to help our chances of catching it. It swam faster than we were going, though, and was soon ahead of us. My heart was racing at the thought of catching a marlin, and when I looked back from the escaping marlin towards Victor, it raced even faster. Victor was holding one of the fishing poles, which was bent at a severe angle, and reeling as hard as he could. “We’ve got one!” he said. Soon I was in the fighting chair, reeling in and doing battle with a seven-foot long striped marlin that weighed as much as the girls on the boat with me. We took turns fighting, and after about twenty minutes, Victor had the fighting fish alongside the boat, asking what we wanted to do with it. I explained we were hoping to eat it for dinner, and he reached for a baseball bat… Soon we were posing for pictures in the boat. We headed back to the marina, since our trip was at its time limit anyways. We took the fish to the fillet station and brought a few big chunks back to the hotel to put in the freezer, giving the rest to Victor. We ate like royalty that night, having an all-you-can-eat marlin feast at one of the local restaurants which cook any catch you bring in.

The next morning we all went horseback riding. Askley and Molly both own horses and know what they’re doing, so they were given big steeds. Lauren and I don’t, although she knows how to ride a horse better than I do. I don’t think we conveyed this properly, because she was given a horse that had to be led on a leash the whole time. I was on the smallest horse of the bunch, and it coughed, tripped, and farted canstantly thoughout our hour-long trip. We all had fun though, and got to spot some more whales a few hundred yards off the beach. That afternoon involved a good mexican breakfast, and more lounging around at the beach. A perfect day, really. We had more marlin for dinner, prepared at another restaurant nearby. After some post-dinner drinks we came back to make for an early night. That was yesterday, and the girls had to catch a flight this morning, so nobody wanted to oversleep.

I’m in a bar at the hotel we had dined at a couple times in the last week, trying to figure out what I want to do. I have to come back here to the hotel in a few days, because the guys accidentally took my keys and USB drive with them to New York. They’ve mailed it to the hotel here, but it’ll be a few days. I’m not about to spend the money to stay here without having the company to enjoy it with like I have for the last week. I called the family and wished them happy thanksgiving, and now I’m thinking I may head down the road and find a beach to live on for a few days. I don’t really know, but I’ll be back up in La Paz (for my third time) shortly after I receive my package. I’ll catch a ferry from there to Mazatlan, on the mainland, and continue my adventure. We’ll see what happens. Ciao!