Welcome to the Pacific

It is a warm day in San Blas, Mexico, and I am sitting on a surf board waiting for the set to come in. I close my eyes and feel the cool water of the Pacific Ocean surround my body; I let my mind go where it pleases. I think of this trip, of the desert in Baja that seems like forever ago. I think about my friends and what they're doing right now, about my family, about my future. Just as I start to debate whether or not Keanu Reeves took surf lessons for Point Break, I hear a prepubescent Mexican voice screaming, "¡Dale! ¡Dale! ¡Dale!" I open my eyes and quickly realize that my 14 year old Mexican 'surf instructor', Jose, has seen a good wave coming. It is for me. I scramble to turn myself around and then start paddling like hell, Mexican kids still shouting all kinds of commands in my ears, until I feel the weight of the board lifted by the momentum of the ocean underneath. "Levantate!" someone yells, and for a brief second I look towards to shore and realize that I, Patrick Mathay, am riding a wave...until I bury the nose of the board into the water and catapult my Gringo body into the churning foam washing machine beneath me. "Next time try for two seconds," laughs Jose as I paddle back. I smile and dig sand out of my ear. About an hour later I return to our palapa and find Greg drying off in a hammock, sipping on a Corona and staring out to sea. We share a smile that says, So this is our new reality. This is life on the Pacific.

Granted, not every day is filled with surf lessons and snorkle trips. We still average about 60 miles a day on the mainland, which means we still spend the majority of our waking hours wearing bike chamois instead of swim suits.  But we definately aren't in Baja anymore. The most obvious indication of this fact can be found in tropical climate and lush green forests that prevail in this part of Mexico. All around you there is green and water and life, compared to the dry and brittle Baja landscape that seems to be actively looking for new ways to squelch life out, specifically yours. Whats more, the highway that led us all the way from Tijuana to La Paz in Baja, the MEX 1, only rarely presented glimpses of the ocean or opportunities to enjoy it. Compare that to the MEX 200, our new best friend here on the mainland, which hugs the coast from Puerto Vallarta almost to the border with Guatemala, and constantly gives us opportunties to stop and enjoy the water. When our heads hit the pillow at night, more often than not we can hear the ocean.

Fittingly, that is how we made the transition from the barrenness of Baja to the lushness of the mainland- with our heads on pillows. After spending a day and night in the lovely Casa Tuscany Inn in La Paz,  we rode down to the dock near Pichilengue and prepared for the overnight voyage across the Sea of Cortez to one of Mexico's largest ports, Mazatlan- the self-titled Pearl of the Pacific.

Our last moments on land in Baja California.

Though our bikes could have easily fit into our cabin, Baja Ferries insisted that we store them in the car bay for 'safety concerns' (and that we pay a fee for this storage service, of course). So, after leaving the bicycles in what amounted to a make-shift janitor closet next to the stairs, we settled into our cabin and made our way to the mess hall. There, under the fishtank-esque florescent lighting of the dinning room, Greg and I were treated to the tastes and smells of the worst meal we have yet injested on this trip. Cheers to you, Baja Ferries.

Riding for ROMP and the family Dulin

Twelve hours later, we awoke on the dock in Mazatlan and were greeted by Lionne Decker, brother of Max Dulin (Greg's Univeristy of Oregon friend), who promptly took us back to his home and cooked banana nut pancakes to help nurture our traumatized tummies back to health. Over the next 24 hours, we were treated to similar culinary prowess at every meal, and enjoyed the company of the rest of the Decker family- Kristin, Kenya, and Sky- as we swam on the beach, played soccer on golf courses, and shot each other with paintball guns. Plus we are all famous. If you tuned into Sinaloa Channel 7 at 8:30 pm on August 7th, you would have seen a commercial featuring Greg, myself, and the Deckers that a film crew shot that afternoon on the paintball course. Everybody yell ¡Gocha!

And finally, this blog post would be wholly incomplete without the mentioning of the following, for it is of a magnitude not often discussed in this forum. In an unassuming tienda next to the small central plaza of the quaint town of San Blas, Gregory Allen Krupa discovered, at preciscly 10:27 pm on July 30th, 2010, what he proclaimed to be the BEST TACOS HE HAS HAD IN ALL OF HIS LIFE. Greg and I eat tacos almost every day. Sometimes more than once a day. A few times we have had tacos for breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And yet, of all of the taco eating he has done on this trip and beyond, those found in that tienda in San Blas have been declared superior to all others to cross Greg's experienced palate. More blog posts, and tacos, soon to come.
Patrick

Paintball Mexican style