The Case of the Vanishing Bicycle Chicas

"Muy temprano!" we had told our hotel people, about the time we were going to leave in the morning, so that the gate might be opened for us. 

But apparently "very early" was not specific enough of a communication. What we meant was "5:45am".

And when we woke at that dark and, blessedly, cool hour, we were locked within. All hotels here (all houses and stores even) have a tall gate in addition to regular locked front doors. Motorbikes and cars and hotel guests and whatever else are herded behind that gate and all closed up for the night. 

And this morning we were like thoroughbreds ready to run, eager to take advantage of the cool early morning. Usually riding at First Light is early enough, but why not push it back just a little till Last Dark? Each minute biked in early morning is one less minute biked in a sweltering oven (and those minutes are actually much longer time periods somehow). 

And the mornings are truly magical. The whispy filmy grey dewy start, the moon in it's phase above us, dim mood lighting, birds singing their joyous cacophony. There are no cars. We can buzz along with that delicious feeling of a big empty day stretched before us, just like the road. These early miles are entirely different than the end of day miles. 

Which is all to say, we were very attached to that early start. There was only a bit of decision making between Jen and me then, about how to get what we wanted. 

Neither of us are particularly weak in the Upper Body Department. Our bikes may be heavy steel touring bikes, but we were confident in what we could do. 

So maybe you can guess what happened next. 

I carried a chair over. Stuck a foot between the bars of the gate, lifted a leg up. Grabbed what happened to be the nose on the face of a cement Mayan statue, leveled myself on the upper ledge, and jumped over. Four bike bags and various water bottles were handed across. A small terrible dog barked at us from a nearby balcony. Then Jen lifted her bicycle up over her head, front wheel across, I grabbed it, sprockety mess passed across, "I've got it's weight now!" I confirmed, and back wheel across. I held the bicycle up over my head and then carefully hefted it down. This overhead press exercise was repeated with my bicycle, then Jen climbed adroitly over herself. 

We high-fived and felt very proud of ourselves and laughed in the sweet dark coolness there, imagining what the hotel keepers would think when they finally came to open the gate for us. They'd find our room key left in the door, a random chair moved near the gate, and no trace of bicycle chicas. 

Inchoate 5:45 am light, with hint of headlamp