Baja 43

It rained off and on all night. I worried that I might wake up in puddles, or a mud pit. But no, the ground was still solid under my floppy mattress in the morning. It was sprinkling, just enough to be super annoying. I hate packing in the rain.

I figured the ride into Ciudad Constitucion would be easy enough. On the map, it was all straight lines. Well traveled dirt roads. I rode by long rows of agriculture, a few orange groves, some tattered plastic greenhouses. I went by a small busy quarry, and for the next few miles I shared the road with great big trucks, sand and gravel blowing off the back. I could feel the sand sticking to my sunscreened face.

Just outside of town, I came to the cemetery. The tombs were painted cheerful pastel colors. It looked like a tiny house town. I rode through a great big hole in the surrounding brick wall and wandered the paths.

In town, I saw another loaded mountain bike outside a tortilla store. I met another rider, Pat from Seattle. We rode into town and found a reasonable hotel. I spent a few hours draping my wet gear around the room. Then Pat and I walked around visiting taco stands, both of us going, “blah blah blah, bike bike bike.” At the plaza we saw a parade of collector cars. A beauty queen waved at traffic from a truck bed. Pat said that Anthony Bourdain was into finding local car shows when he traveled. I bet Bourdain would have approved of our taco eating, especially when one taco guy slipped Pat a piece of cooked tongue.