Dawn

I woke before my alarm at 4:40am, and decided to roll with this and rally earlier than I ever have before. I felt new from a good night's sleep, and settling into the transition into solitude, and a little concerned about the 30 miles of nothing road with headwind to traverse before the first town. Leaving at 5:25am felt like absconding in the middle of the night, to quietly unlatch the hotel gate and set off in the thick blackness. 

The street lights saw me through the small beach town and this meant I could safely negotiate toppes. 

At this hour I felt chilly, and was wearing my unattractive overshirt and a pair of knee warmers, which I had made for myself by slitting open the toes on my single pair of socks. Very dignified (ha). I also had a wonderfully bright tail light and a barely worthwhile headlight. 

It was fisherman's hour on the bridge over the lagoon; I wondered what they thought as a bizarre gringa biked past them over the dark water and then crossed out of the realm of street lights. We all wished each other good morning. And then it was the pitch darkness of the moonless mangroves. Because I had rode this road yesterday, I knew it was straight and pothole-less and trustworthy. And so thereunto I cruised. 

Frogs, which I hadn't heard in the daytime, chirped in a dense quiet chorus from the invisible swamp on either side of me. My tires hummed on the velvet road. I was riding due east, the earth spinning into the dawn and me pedaling fiercely towards it. It was breathlessly still out there, no wind. I am learning I can save myself the grief of headwind and undue heat by beating them awake. 

The faintest duffy pinprick of light appeared, like from the end of a tunnel, between the mangroves. I was zipping along at a glorious 15 mph and felt the buzz of how magnificent it was to ride in this kind of mood lighting. It was meditative and exhilarating together to move in the imperceptibly diminishing darkness. I've never stayed up all night to watch the sunrise, but it was amazing to witness it while pumping myself full of endorphins. 

And the birds! After fisherman's hour came bird watcher's hour. Parrots hacked their uncultured song, a flamingo flew over me and gave me chills, and a Baltimore oreo sang a thick warble of a thing I've never heard before. 

The light grew to a faraway gentle grey-orange glow at the end of my road tunnel. And then more and more day occurred, until it was normal lighting, as if nothing magic had ever happened back there. 

And I got over the entirety of that long empty road before the wind set in and the sun began her flogging. Twenty-eight miles before 8am. Now, I am a morning person, but this level of earliness was more tremendous than I had ever dreamed of. I felt so happy. After 10am the slogging began, with the sun and the wind, but I had the taste of those delicious early miles still on my tongue. 

And I was able to get through the gross dusty exhausty mess of outer Merida, and into my sweet hostel by lunchtime, for an afternoon of latte, art museum, and city wandering. 

5:46am

5:53am

6:07am

6:52am

I found what I think was an abandoned hacienda (an agave plant fibre plantation). Like visiting ruins or a museum without paying a ticket. 

Slogging time has begun. I like bikes because if needed you can carry them where a car can't go. Like over highway barriers.

A little bike path (ciclopista) on the side of the highway through the gritty industry area.