Cycling serenity
There are moments on the bicycle when the only sound present is the rhythm of my pedal strokes. When the pavement is smooth and the wind is with me it feels as if I am floating. The chain, the legs and the wheels are joined in movement. Everything else is still. Sturdy cactuses are standing on the same sand where the desert mountains rests their bodies. The road sweeps past the cactuses and travels over the mountain pass. In the evenings the American accountant and me follow a turn-off or tire tracks in the sand to find a camp before dark. The sunsets make a serene evening performance before a curtain of stars drops down for the night accompanied by silence. As morning arrives, the sun serves as an alarm clock of light that guide us back to the road.
Sometimes the road returns to the coast. At first to the Pacific side in the west and eventually to the Sea of Cortez in the east. In between there is an oasis where I pick dates from the ground and swim until the desert heat is washed off my skin. More water awaits in the Sea of Cortez. We sleep on beaches and cycle with views of the water. On Christmas we take a boat to an uninhabited island and celebrate a white holiday where the snow flakes are exchanged for white grains of sand. And even if it is not a traditional Christmas it certainly is a silent night, holy night. Where all is calm, all is bright.
The serenity is occasionally interrupted in Baja California. By the worrying sound of a rattlesnake in the sand. By the sudden crack of my back tire on a rough road. Or by the wild tourist buzz in Cabo San Lucas. There, the serenity was endangered. The beaches were filled with beer-buckets and body-shots. The classic rock formations by Lands End where concealed by jet skis, luxury yachts and cruise ships. The only stillness to be found was privatised. Huge hotels reserved de untouched beaches for those who could pay for a piece of peacefulness for the last days of the year. For us however, the end of 2009 was a lot louder. The clink-clink of champagne glasses on a roof terrace with a panoramic view. The crackle-crackle from the fireworks above the skyline in front of us. The duns-duns of a lively techno dance floor by the waterfront. The giggle-giggle in English, Swedish and Spansih. And the rattle-rattle of apartment keys that was not heard until the early january morning.
The Mexican peninsula ended down in Cabo San Lucas and so did the journey for the American accountant. I returned on my own to the silence of the desert and peaceful part of the coast before heading for a harbour to cross over to the mainland. And now I am waiting here in the city of La Paz, which means stillness, serenity and peace.
