Day 7. Oven riding and a special on the noises of Mexico.

9am

Enjoying the intricate edifice of one of the UNESCO site missions of Saint Francis is Landa de Matamoros. Eating again, squatting next to my bike. Ellie, sitting pretty on a large stone church-yard bench, "All these places to sit? And you're squatting there? Like a little egg." 

The mission. 

Agaves and mountains

1:30pm

We headed out of Jalpan after an enormous lunch (beans, rice, egg, chili relleno, gorditas of corn smut, and guanabana drink--all for 70 pesos, $3.50) where the good people were so friendly and helpful, giving us a little brochure map, filling our waters, and offering all sorts of recommendations for places to visit. Their eyes widened, "you're going on bicycle?!" 

We were about to begin what would be the most arduous climb of the trip so far. Only 2000 feet of elevation climbing, but in the heat of an oven. The sun charred the road and the scrubby dry trees had no authority to offer shade. We chugged and sweated and crawled our way up completely exposed. We crawled from tuffet of shade to tuffet of shade. 

"We're kicking ass and getting our asses kicked," I said to Ellie. "That is correct." 

I'm accustomed to the big tree variety of shade, but this afternoon a rock face was the shade type. We pulled off onto the narrow slice between road and rock. Sun block success! I fanned myself with my passport. "This is VERY good shade", I remarked. I documented it with a photo, which, years from now I will wonder, "why did I take this washed-out unremarkable photo of rock?" 

Shade!!! 

We waited there, slightly impressed with ourselves while disgusted by the conditions. We cooled down enough to be handled and looked at each other. Time to continue. We put our helmets back on with gravity, click of straps. Then we both laughed. "It's like these are battle helmets and we're preparing for the return," said Ellie. "Thats EXACTLY what I was thinking," I said, "why are we on the same exact airwave?!" 

A few more hundred feet up: 

Ellie! Sinks! We leaned our bikes outside the white bathrooms of the Pemex gas station. Two sinks. Two of us. Can you imagine the following scene should a lady walk into the Damas Baño just then? Two enormous red gringas, side by side, heads inserted into both sinks. Oi! it was cold! Bien fría! A treatment of our shirts under cold spigots followed, our spines straightened after we put them on and were fortified to continue. 

4:30pm

The town in which we are staying, Ahuactlan de Guadalupe, has the population of a small liberal arts college. It is cupped in all directions in the palm of mountains. An enormous hotel (where we may be the only occupants) offered us another violently neon green room (why?) and I enjoyed watching the town move below us from our third floor perch. 

Our hotel. Guess which room is ours? 

Wide-angle pre-dawn view from that perch early the next day. 

Addendum Special: Sounds of Mexico.
Note: Mexico is generally very noisy. 

1. Roosters crowing. Especially in a city. This feels striking. 

2. Dogs barking. As a cyclist I am conditioned to classify all barking dogs as either annoyances or threats. The beleaguered chained guard dogs bark differently from those running about free. 

3. The giddy shrieks of children playing in the town square in the evening. In every town. It may be roller blading, riding bikes, or commandeering the entire space for a soccer game. The sound of a bag of marbles being jangled. They all sound very happy and expressive about it. 

4. The smart spank of open palm on masa dough, emenating from kitchens. 

5. The grinding squeak of mechanized tortilla making equipment, high-pitched whine. "I would hate that sound, except it means something wonderful", said Ellie. 

6. Music, loudly. At all times. From everywhere. Someone's low riding car passing. Someone's parked car with doors open. The pharmacy, playing reggaeton at 9:30pm, loud enough the whole street can partake. Someone's little house. The lone dude on the town square in the heat of the day, CDs for sale lining the inside of his tent like shingles, blasting his wares. 

7. Birds. The cackling flocks coming into roost in the square in the evening. Clacking parrots from roadside trees. Dawn choruses cacophonous, unseen but occupying all trees in the town.