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Saddle
Sure Dust,
sweat and suicidal chickens are part of a Mexican mountain-biking holiday,
but when it comes to sampling a culture at close quarters, SIMON WILLIS would
opt for two wheels over two legs every time. Chickens
were an unexpected hazard. With all the cactus thorns lying around I thought
we'd suffer a few punctures, and imagined we'd be chased by the occasional
guard dog, startled by a group of mountain bikers rolling into town. But not
once did I envisage falling foul of the local fowl. It is not easy to slalom
a fast moving, fat tyre bicycle through an equally fast moving blur of beaks
and feathers, especially when they attack from the side. In tiny Mexican
village after village we wondered, why did the chickens chose the precise
moment of our arrival to cross the road? Had word been sent down the trail
that sweaty cycling Gringos were rolling into town, so be sure to open the
chicken coup? Quite possibly. The
locals thought our whole adventure hilarious. Organised
mountain bike holidays have become the favourite way for adventurous folks to
visit far off places. It is the new type of trekking, two wheeled rather than
two legged. The bike trekker can cover much greater distances, enjoying more
views, meeting more people, and in short, experiencing much more in a single
day. Bulging calf and thigh muscles are not essential, since anyone fit
enough to tackle a trek can switch to a saddle, although it's worth doing
some practice pedalling at home if only to toughen up the backside. And
unlike trekking, should it all get too much then it's easy to jump in the
support truck. "Mexico
is great for mountain biking", announced the youngest of our three
guides, Inieo Vallarta, as our rusting Dodge fought its way out of Mexico
City. "We have big mountains, volcanoes, giant cactus forests, and flat,
open plains. And we're going to ride them all". Six of us had signed up
for this holiday, on which we'd travel in a sweeping arc from the capital
down to the South coast. We couldn't cycle the huge distance involved, so the
truck would carry us from one of Mexico's amazing landscapes to another,
where we'd climb on our bikes and spend all day exploring. Large groups
usually use hired coaches and public transport, but our team of nine managed
to squeeze into one vehicle and drive in something close to-comfort. Four
wheel drive back up is the essential difference between these two types of
trekking. In some countries it's a jeep type truck, in others it's a lorry,
but in every case, the vehicle carries all the heavy gear between overnight
stops. It's a mixed blessing. On the one hand there's no feeling of
exploiting the porters who have to haul luggage and tents between campsites,
but that means less money goes into the local economy. What's more, those
riding at the rear of the group can get fed up of having a noisy engine
roaring away just behind their back wheel. Destinations
are also dictated by this machine. There's no point riding off into the
wilderness if the support truck can't get there too. Trekking companies,
which wanted to diversify into mountain bike holidays, quickly realised it
involved much more than pedalling long established trekking routes, like the
Annapurna Sanctuary or Everest Base Camp. Most of these are totally unsuitable for bikes. So in they
have completely re-thought, not only the routes, but also the countries in
which they operate. Morocco and Spain are now favourites with two wheel
trekkers with Mexico quickly gaining in popularity. Our
Mexico ride began with a tough climb through a forest onto the shoulder of a
volcano. It shouldn't have been too tiring, but the heat combined with an
altitude of over ten thousand feet, to leave us sweating and fighting for
breath. Hot and sticky, we dived into a fast, narrow descent and encountered what
would become a feature of Mexican mountain biking - dust. Not the normal sort
of dust which puffs up from the back wheel when you jam on the anchor; this
dust lay as deep as snow. It obscured even the biggest boulders, drifted into
corners, and billowed into dense clouds in which it was impossible to breath,
let alone see which way to steer. Emerging
in Tepoztlan, we instantly became the focus of every ones attention as we
rode through the market. We waved heroically, assuming the locals were
impressed that we'd ridden over the volcano. It was not until I looked in the
mirror that I understood why they'd been staring. The black volcanic dust had
adhered to my sweat, and formed a crisp crust which covered my legs, shorts,
shirt and especially my face. I had two blanched circles around each eye
where my sunglasses had been. I
looked like a panda that had been mugged. My
clothes stood upright by themselves in the corner of the hotel room, while I
tried to shower off the grime, but only succeeded in blocking the plug hole.
Instead I jumped into the swimming pool and thrashed about for an hour. As I
emerged, Inieo flashed his wide Mexican grin and exclaimed in mock horror,
"But you're White!!" You'll
notice I mention the words 'Hotel' and 'Pool'. Such words rarely appear on
normal trekking itineraries where the closest one gets to a shower is a basin
of warm water outside the tent. However, such luxuries are more likely on a
mountain bike trek, simply because you usually travel closer to civilisation.
You're also much more likely to need them. Mountain biking is a much, much
dirtier, sweaty business than hiking, and even the most rugged outdoors type
welcome the occasional chance to clean up and collapse into a proper bed. In
ten days cycling, we were scheduled to camp for just three nights and,
although I enjoy tent life, that really was quite enough. And yet,
these were the times I felt closest to Mexico. The Dodge had deposited us far
from the hotels of tourist trail and we'd then spent the day riding even
deeper into the Sierra Madre mountains, arriving in the small but quietly
prosperous village of San Fernando. After the bruising heat of the parched
Mexican plains, it was sheer delight to escape into the cool green shade of
this steep sided valley. Ignacio Gomez, our head guide, explained that the
Spaniards had brought the first people into these mountains to work the gold
and silver mines. As we rode along the river bank, past a group of children
bathing naked in the slow moving water, he explained "Today the village
makes leather", and pointed through the trees to a man up to his knees
in water, furiously working a hide. "They're not rich", said
Ignacio, "but they're certainly not poor". That
night, a campfire had been lit foolishly close to our nylon tents, making
sleep too dangerous to contemplate, so we sat with the locals until the
flames began fade. My Spanish improved with every mouthful of mescal, and I
found myself talking to the leather tanner, trying to explain where we were
headed and why we chose to go there by bike. Thinking back, I doubt I
succeeded, but then, I'm not sure I really knew myself. Mexico is
not a typical adventure holiday destination. At first glance, it doesn't seem
as intrinsically exotic as the Karakoram or the Andes, but I've rarely packed
as much into a three week holiday, which combined stunning tourist sights
with spectacularly remote areas. From sightseeing in Mexico City, to visiting
ancient mountain top temples in Oaxaca, to surfing at Puerto Escondido, we
did all the usual stuff - and then the bikes allowed us to escape and meet
Mexico face to face, up close and personal. They took
us to places visitors never go: too far from local bus routes for the hippy
backpackers; too rough for adventurers in rental cars; and simply too far
from anywhere for hikers on foot. Our cycles negotiated old, barely passable
roads through forests of giant cactus, into dusty villages where the typical
family run-about had a hoof at each corner, and where people hadn't seen a
white face in years. This felt further off the beaten track than most treks
in Nepal. It was
while I was chatting with the leather tanner in San Fernando, gradually
succumbing to the mescal, that I had realised two wheel trekking is doing
great things for our relationship with the rest of the world, entirely by
accident. You could describe this phenomenon as 'reverse cultural
imperialism', but what it boils down to is giving the locals a damn good
laugh. For years, trekkers and
other tourist types have strolled around far off mountain ranges, carrying
little more than cameras and expensive goretex jackets, relying on locals to
do all the hard work. As a result, these people have been in awe, if not of
us then, of our spending power. Mountain
biking blows our cool. We wipe away all first world pretensions with our
sweat, and choke the air of false superiority with a lung full of dust. The
locals thought we were strange, now they know we're crazy, because there's no
way they'd do anything this daft. And then they smile. And then they pass the
mescal. A
version of this article first appeared in Sunday Times 5 July 1998. Simon Willis travelled as a guest of
Exodus Biking Adventures Equipment The
climate will largely determine what equipment you'll need, and the tour company
will provide a detailed list, but the following items are essential. * Helmet.
Most companies insist that clients wear a helmet when riding. * Cycle
specific clothing. Whether it's a shirt, jacket or shorts, it's worth having
equipment which is right for the job. For example, jackets made for cyclists
are usually more breathable than those designed for hikers, and are cut with
longer backs which don't ride up when bent over handlebars. Shorts have
padding which reduces the bottom bashing. Baggy cycle shorts rather than the
tight lycra variety are recommended by some companies for trips outside
Europe as they're less likely to offend local people. * Cycle
gloves. Hanging onto the handlebars, the hands take quite a battering and
padded gloves offer some protection. If you buy a pair with a cut-away back,
don't forget to put sun cream on this sensitive skin. *
Sunglasses. As well as keeping out the ultra violet rays, they protect
against dust, grit and insects. Make sure the lenses are shatterproof. * Water
bottle / bladder. On most trips, large quantities of water are essential to
avoid dehydration. Water bottles are fine, but mounted on the frame of the
bike, the spouts quickly get coated in dirt and dust. Drinking bladders hold
more liquid, and are carried on the back in small rucksacks, with a tube
coming over the shoulder from which you can suck a mouthful without stopping. *
Daypacks / bum bags. Large bum bags can hold all that's needed for a day's
mountain bike trekking. However, few can carry a drinking bladder, and I find
the waist strap digs into my stomach after a few days, particularly if I'm
carrying the weight of a camera. Berghaus make an excellent mountain bike
rucksack called the Nitro (for stockists tel: 0191 415 0200) which is
designed to pull the weight close the body but still leave enough room for
air to circulate and sweat to escape. Flying with a Bike There are
many ways of packing a bike to go on an aircraft. Some cyclists use no
packaging at all and just turn the handle bars in line with the bike and take
off the pedals. Others use specially made bike bags. However, most bike
trekking companies say it's best to pack the bike in a large, cardboard bike
box. New cycles are delivered to bike shops in these boxes which are then
thrown away. This is
the packing advice given by Exodus: * Remove
pedals & deflate tyres * Remove
front wheel. Remove quick release from front wheel and tape to bike frame.
Place a fork brace (available from cycle shop) in front fork. * Loosen
allen bolt on stem and take out handlebar & stem, leaving it attached by
the cables. On some bikes it is better just to remove the handlebar. * Remove
the seat post * Place
bike in box (you may have to have the fork facing backwards) * Put in
seat post, pedals etc. Make sure they are attached to something and cannot
fall out of the box, which might get ripped * Pad the
handlebar and place it on the chain side of the bike * Place
front wheel on the non chain side of the bike * Seal
box and mark it clearly with name, address, destination and "Fragile,
Handle With Care". Your
local shop might pack your bike for a charge of around £5, but you'll have to
do it for the return journey, so you may as well learn. the bike
in a large, cardboard bike box. New cycles are delivered to bike shops in
these boxes which are then thrown away. This is
the packing advice given by Exodus: * Remove
pedals & deflate tyres * Remove
front wheel. Remove quick release from front wheel and tape to bike frame.
Place a fork brace (available from cycle shop) in front fork. * Loosen
allen bolt on stem and take out handlebar & stem, leaving it attached by
the cables. On some bikes it is better just to remove the handlebar. * Remove
the seat post * Place
bike in box (you may have to have the fork facing backwards) * Put in
seat post, pedals etc. Make sure they are attached to something and cannot
fall out of the box, which might get ripped * Pad the
handlebar and place it on the chain side of the bike * Place
front wheel on the non chain side of the bike * Seal box
and mark it clearly with name, address, destination and "Fragile, Handle
With Care". Your local
shop might pack your bike for a charge of around £5, but you'll have to do it
for the return journey, so you may as well learn. |
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