Spring, 2023
Some decisions are easy to make, even if they are hard to act on, even if it’s hard to adapt when it’s all changed.
My bike was packed into a large cardboard box, hard to carry, making me feel vulnerable as I sat outside my new apartment for an hour while my roommate made his way home to let me in. He seemed chill, a little high. He warned me that he and our other roommate were chronic stoners. I pulled the box into my room. There was a dirty mattress on the floor and a few blankets donated by my roomies. I set the bike up and threw the box in my closet, thinking I'll use it again one day. But it’ll sit there for now.
I took the bike out for a spin, a certified cuerall for any uneasiness. I went to Goys, the burger place where I spent so many sauced evenings with the burger flippin’ boys. Negrowski still works there, the smiley, easy going bike punk who always throws me some free fries. What a guy. I ordered a milkshake and drank it on the ride home. One hand on the brakes, the other with my chilled, dairy-free dessert. When I got home, my friend Paketa was there, he had beer and peanuts, a reference to the late nights we’d spend riding around the city, smoking weed and getting snacks from the Oxxo.
The next day, Sunday, I met up with Miri and took to the center to find some Sheets. I love the bustle, the spastic bustle of a million mexicans trading, buying, eating, yelling, running through traffic. The center is the best. One lady told us that sheets could be found a few blocks down, calle Monterrey, or something like that. They might be closed though. It was Sunday after all. And we got a late start to the day, so people were going home. Another night on my stinky, soiled mattress. I wonder who had slept there before me, and what the stains were. And if they had ever used sheets before.
After getting back from El Centro, I decided to hit the climbing gym. It was only open for another hour, but I could squeeze in a quick sesh. There I met two twin brothers who were practicing their backflips and a guy from Wales, who wore neon blue dreadlocks down past his shoulders. We all practiced our backflips. After the gym closed, one of the brothers invited me to come along while he got a tattoo. The four of us walked east towards Insurgentes, talking about this and that, climbing and work and stuff. I thought we were going to a tattoo studio, but actually it was just their friend’s house. We sat around chatting for a while. Found out that a blue haired guy from Wales is a famous internet personality. I sent a picture to my brother and he said he used to watch his YouTube videos in highschool. Now he mostly does OnlyFans. He talked about his plans to climb up La Estela.
On Monday, I took my blankets to the laundromat. The girl there asked if it was okay to have them back the next day. I said that was fine because I didn’t want her to think that those were my only blankets. It was cold that night. I came back Tuesday and they weren’t quite dry. Wednesday I was busy, so I forgot to pick them up and I was cold again. Thursday I did pick them up and the laundry girl gave me a wide-eyed look as if she knew everything, but I don’t know what gave it away.
Lizzy, a friend from Durham, invited me to a punk show at an anarchist commune in Cuauhtemoc one Friday. I got there a little before Lizzy and checked the place out. The venue looked quiet from the outside, but I saw a punk looking guy walking in where I thought it was supposed to be, so I asked him and he said the music hadn’t quite started yet, but I could come in and get some pulque or party wine. There was a skinny hallway that led into a courtyard with a few broken down cars (No clue how they got there) to the left and a band setting up to the right. Then there was a booth near the back with some t-shirts and anarchy zines. The crowd was definitely pretty far out if you ask me. I’ve never seen so many face tattoos. But people were friendly, very friendly. After chatting with a few folks who I’d seen at other shows, I ran out for a moment to get some beers, making sure to get extra. When I got back, the music had started. I gave away a few beers and watched the rowdy crew of latino punks mosh like animals. Punk sets are funny because they go really short and hard. And when the set stopped, the moshers all circled together in a big hug, laughing and cheering. I remember thinking, I feel safer here, around a bunch of leather clad, tatted, rough looking latinos than I ever would in the pit of a Taylor Swift concert. I started talking with this one guy because he looked like a cyclist, he was wearing Oakly glasses. We talked for a while, smoked some weed, and he invited me to come riding with him on Sunday. There was a crew going from Mexico City to Pachuca, about 100km. I agreed to meet him at La Estela at 7am on Sunday.
My roomies are great, wonderful, nice guys, except they manage to be completely oblivious to one critical aspect of cohabitation: noise. This normally isn’t an issue, but every once in a while, usually a Friday or Saturday night, they will stay up ‘til 6 or 7 in the morning playing music and joking around with their friends. Now, I will never complain about this. I think it’s a good thing to live in a lively house. And I can usually drown out the noise with some ear plugs, but once or twice it has been especially annoying. Like the night before I was supposed to go on the 100km bike ride. My apartment was just about at capacity with drunk fools (again, this isn’t a bad thing, but my patience is waning) and the earplugs weren’t quite doing the trick. There is one wall in between my room and the living room. I didn’t sleep too well that night. And I must have awoken before my 6am alarm. And when I left the apartment at 6:30ish, they were still there hanging out in the living room.
I remember feeling incredibly humbled the day of the bike ride. I probably had the most expensive bike there. Others brought whatever they had: town cruisers, department store mountain bikes, fixies, whatever. And most of them were much older than me, chain smoking spliffs all day. And they still whooped my ass. I was really struggling to keep up. And I only rode the way there, taking the bus back. Some of them rode back as well, another 100km. I will defensively admit that some of my condition had to do with the fact that my roommates kept me up all night, but still…
***
I turned 24 on April 20th, 2023. Made a cake with some friends, had a little beer. Friday, the day after, we had plans to climb El Nevado de Toluca. The plans included getting to the bus station at 8am. But the night before, everyone was up late, so we pushed it back to 9am. And the next morning no one was ready by 9, so we said 9:30. And then Miri had to go home to do something, so we pushed it back to ‘as soon as possible’. By 10:30, Miri was on her way (which actually means she would probably leave her house soon), but Inaki’s dog was coughing really bad and had to go to the vet, so he would be another 30 minutes (which actually means an hour and 30 minutes). So by 12:30, everyone was at the bus station and we had our tickets, ready to go climb a volcano. The bus ride took about 3 hours. It went from CDMX, past Toluca, to the small town of Raices, right near the park entrance. While trying to figure out exactly how to get to the park entrance, we stopped by some guys selling elotes. They informed us that, in fact, the park was closed since 3 pm and we couldn’t go up. Considering the frustration I was feeling that morning with trying to get everyone to the bus station, God dammit. Fior 500 pesos, the elote guy offered to take us up to the park anyway, even though we couldn't climb to the top. We all stuffed into his little car, each with a corn on a stick, and headed up to the park. There we found a sad looking collection of restaurants and picnic tables, all completely empty except for a few stray dogs looking for some grub. We walked around for a second, looking for something to look at while I wondered why I just spent 500 pesos to stand around there for 30 minutes. But then, like magic, it started to hail, hard. We jumped under one of the covered picnic shelters and just sorta laughed at the absurdity of it all. Miri brought a piece of cake her mom made, lit a joint and stuck it in to look like a candle. It was honestly fucking hilarious and nobody cared that we couldn’t climb the volcano. By the time the hail had stopped, it was time to leave. But honestly
The next day, perhaps because I had nothing else to do, perhaps because I still wanted to climb a volcano, I set off to ride my bike to Tepoztlan. The weekend before, Pancho, the owner of the coolest bike shop in Mexico City, invited me to come do the same ride with him and his buddies. I told him I couldn’t go because I had just gone on a huge ride up to el Desierto de Leones and I would be too tired the next day. I sort of regret this because it would have been so sick to ride with them, but also how would I have known? I saw that it was a 50ish mile route and that someone had previously done it in about 3.5 hours, so I wasn’t expecting it to take all day. I even told my friend that I would be back to the city in time to go to his popup shop that afternoon. I left my apartment around one and took some busy roads to get out of the city. The further I went, the lighter the traffic got and the smaller the roads were. The roads also got steeper. Eventually, I could see the city, the buildings were too far to identify, mostly because of the smog, but I could make out downtown from the distance. The map brought me through red brick roads, bustling market streets, soccer fields, steep stretches of hardly identifiable road, farmland, and eventually, to a national park. I didn’t know that this is where I would be riding. Again, I didn’t do any research. But suddenly, the public road stopped, there was a big, movable gate, which was the entrance to Parque Nacional Tepozteco. There was definitely a road, but its shape and form changed all throughout the day. I rode by some farmers napping, taking their siesta in the shade while their sheep grazed. I pushed my bike sometimes, the road was rough and steep. I figured, though, that the incline would end at some point. I could no longer see the top of the mountain. And it did end, I think I cheered when I finally got to go downhill. The ascent lasted about two and a half hours in total. The park, up until that point, was covered in trees, but soon it opened up and I could finally see where I was. The only way I can really describe what I saw is by how I felt. After hours of grinding, finally, I was free. The earth was huge, I was overwhelmed by this feeling of beauty. I remember thinking this is what I am supposed to do. The sensation was almost overwhelming.
The rest of the day just kept on going, you know? I rode around volcanoes, through patches of woods, farms, a couple campers. But mostly the park was empty. The last people I saw were some folks cooking around a fire mid afternoon, but I didn’t see anyone else for the rest of the ride, several hours later. I realized I hadn’t brought any supplies, nothing to fix a flat tire, no jacket in case it rained, no food, not quite enough water either. Anxious thoughts crossed through my head because I still had quite a few miles to cover. I decided to take it easy. Best not to ride too hard and risk getting hurt or overworking myself. The road started to disappear, turning into a path, probably made by the farm animals. The road toughened towards the end. It was several miles of really bumpy rocks. Even on the descent I had to walk a lot. My bike just couldn’t handle it too well. I was daydreaming about having big chunky mountain bike tires under me. It was like I could actually see them there. But the rocking continued and my wrists hurt and my back hurt. I checked the map all too often to see when I would make it to some kind of civilization, presumably with paved roads. But when I did, I felt calm. The sun was setting and I was several thousand feet above the town of Tepoztlan. The descent was mostly peaceful. It was a fast ride, but the earth was quieting down as night filled the valley. A few dogs tried their best at biting my ankles as I rode by, but nobody was quick enough. My brakes were toast by the end, hardly slowing me down. I’d burned through them entirely.
***
In May I flew back to the United States and spent a month traveling around and seeing friends in different cities. so much fun. I’m back in Mexico now, but during my time in the States I latched onto the idea of coming back and driving across the country. Also, my brother brought up the idea of heading to Europe for a few months in the fall, which sounds like a blast. My flight to North Carolina is on July 16th, 2023, two weeks from now.