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Standing on the boardwalk in the city of La Paz, I looked out at the sea that kept me from cycling any further. If I followed the coast south I would reach the ferry terminal with daily timetables between the peninsula and the mainland. If I turned north the boardwalk continued to a marina. I headed towards the marina and put a notice up on the board with the headline Cyclist needs a ride to Mazatlan. I repeated this message in the marina radio and by the morning mingle at the club house, until a sailor took an interest in my hitchhiking thumb. I became part of a sailing crew, together with the captain from Las Vegas, his brother from Texas and the chef from Canada.

Early one morning my bike was secured on deck after scrubbing it shiny and white. The sea was blue and wavy. I was green and seasick. We sailed until dawn before reaching calmer waters. Swordfishes were sweeping above the surface, stingrays were bouncing out of the sea and dolphins swam with us in to the harbour of Topolabampo. We anchored for a few days and explored the land and sea in the area. When it once again was time to sail I was no longer seasick and could fully enjoy the wind and the waves. Our journey across the waters was a true nature experience with whales who rose up in the horizon and turtles who floated past the hull.

Aboard I was learning a new language. It is not called a rope, it is a line with which I tried to follow instructions when bringing out the sail. It is not called a driving seat, it is a cock-pit and from there we steered towards Mazatlan. It is not called kilometer, it is nautical miles and it took us three days to cover the distance. Back on land I change from vessel to vehicle when getting back on the bicycle again. On the saddle I am my own captain. The chart is replaced with a map over the Mexican mainland and I cast off when I hit the kickstand and point my handlebars inland.



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