Antigua Guatemala [10 days, 120 miles, 36 hours of Spanish]

Hola! Spanish lessons have paid off - we're going to get work as professional translators as we're now up to native-speaker standard. The last few days have been a real strain - really! - going back to school was a monumental shock to our system...four hours of spanish each day, with Luis (a great laugh and a superb teacher) doing a brilliant job of intensively educating two dimwitted English guys.  Homework (and yes, we did do it) every night, with a test for the first part of each afternoon seems to have done the trick...we can now understand people shouting at us, even though shouting back is a slow, painful and halting mixture of mangled pronunciation and verb conjugation. Antigua is a gorgeous town, nestling in the valley between three volcanos (all infested with bandits, and only one "working" - boo hiss).  The uneven cobbled strees are laid out in a one-way grid pattern (making finding our way between the launderette, hostel and bar brilliantly simple) and the architecture is superbly colonial, the old Spanish old govermnent headquarters elegantly arching along one side of the tree-lined central square, famous for a fountain that has - well - check out the pictures. The main parts of town feel comfortable and friendly, the latter impression only slightly cracked by the tens of security guards dotted around (especially at night) toting worringly well-worn shotguns and banoliers of shells.  Restaurants and bars abound, although are well hidden, sometimes the only clue being a small sign tacked to the wall outside - unfortunately the bars are currently the subject of a paperwork dispute between the rich Antiguan families and the licensing departments, the short story being an "official" 11pm close and a 1am "unoffical" close. The last few days have slid comfortably past, mornings spent in cafes over breakfast watching the world go by, afternoons spent sitting on the red-tiled veranda of the spanish school, Luis patiently covering the basics of spanish grammar, evenings in local bars drinking beer (punctuated by sporadic but ear-splitting explosions of fireworks - why? - we don't know!).  Definitely a place to come for a holiday (or even permanently!).  We did manage to escape the hectic pace of life for a cold and longer-than-expected trip out to Lake Atitlan, a lake formed by a collapsed volcanic cone - watching the mist burn off in the midday sun, small villages clinging to the steep shores was a worthwhile reward for an uncomfortable journey westwars through (allegedly) bandit-infested country. Three extra days of Spanish and we're at saturation point...current plan is to leave for Honduras, Utila and cheap diving on Tuesday (I think it's Tuesday, days aren't really important!) 1st August, hopefully arriving there around the 3rd, after a northwards dash via Puerto Barrios (map time) and over the Honduran border.

Frontera - Antigua Guatemala [2 days, 213 miles]

The unwelcome chore of pulling on our somewhat cumbersome riding gear was made even less pleasant as the kit was still warmly wet from the previous day's deluge - yuck.  On the bikes and shuffling uncomfortably around the seat as the damp soaked through, we set off towards Guatemala City - well, Antigua Guatemala to be exact, which sits (very inconviently) on the western side of the capital.  Clouds sulking with rain threatened an encore of the previous day as we wound through the verdant hills, the dense vegetation probably the cause of the worrying rainclouds. Ducking between sunny patches, we wound up through the hills, eventually losing our nerve and pulling over to pull on waterproof jackets.  As we unclipped bungees and re-arranged luggage, a local guy in front of whose house we'd stopped came over and rattled on at us in Spanish.  Ensuring that he knew we weren't american (always useful), we struck up a conversation in (very) bad spanish accompanied by mimes and actions good enough to get us a place in a Broadway musical.  He was fascinated by our trip over from the UK, so we dug out one of our London postcards depicting typical london scenes (for londoners, that's Tower Bridge, Beefeaters and London Buses, not pigeons, beggars or vomiting drunks on a saturday night) and handed one to him.  He immediately ran inside and produced two pictures - one of the local village, and another of himself looking VERY dapper in Antigua Guatemala a few years previously.  We tucked both safely away in a pannier, tactfully refraining from commenting on the profusion of grey hairs and wrinkles that it seemed he got free with his two daughters...who grinned with delight as they clambered onto the bikes and pressed, twiddled pulled every button, lever and switch in sight.  Obligatory photos and handshakes later, we waved goodbye to Patrick and headed for the Guatemalan capital. A few hours later, we were approaching being completely and utterly lost in yet another miracle of urban traffic planning.  There must be some kind of black market in road signs - maybe they're melted down to make mopeds - because it's more probable to find a culturally-aware American tourist than a useful and timely direction sign.  Ridiculous.  Anyway, after a couple - make that several - actually, make that many - U-turns, we found the what looked like approximately the right road and left the diesel fug stewing on the horizon.  Guatemala City would be incredible if one could see any of it through the smog, as it's draped across the slopes of several steep hills and has a veritable cobweb of bridges and gantries bridging the numerous valleys. Dropping some 1500ft and Will's lovely Oakleys (they fell off Matt's pannier and Will made sure both wheels crunched straight over them)  we entered Antigua, yet again victims of a sub-tropical drenching, and learnt a valuable lesson.  Cobbled  streets are cute, photogenic and very authentic...but are the invention of the devil when wet and on motorcycles.  Wobbling like a pair of intoxicated penny-farthing racers along the streets, we found probably the most expensive hotel in the city and checked in for the night - the joys of having worked before coming travelling.  No air-con (boo hiss) - but we didn't need it (hooray!) as the temperature in Antigua seems to be verging on the perfect. Bleary-eyed from excess sleep, we stumbled out into the picturesque streets of the ex-capital city, apparently discarded in favour of Guatemala City after one too many earthquakes demolished a fair portion of the town.  Navigational genius got us to a laundry ($10 to wash all our dirty clothes - brilliant!) and then to a couple of hostels.  Sadly the first, the "Jungle Hostel" (it's got a couple of oversized plants in the front garden) couldn't put us up for more than one night as Americans were invading (a familiar story).  Another, much quieter hostel had more than enough room - empty except for Caroline and Phoebe, two English girls also learning spanish in Antigua - so, despite there not being a kitchen or internet access (survival essentials), we signed up for about $5 a night each.  The landlady seemed to have been trained by the Fort Knox security team, doors locking behind us at every opportunity - not great when you're trying to get back in from the local bar at 2am - but very good for the bikes, safely tucked up in the courtyard after a motocross entry through the door and across the hall, Will's back tyre doing a sterling job of polishing the flagstones  on the way across. We realised that approxmiately three words of Spanish between us, despite our miming talents, aren't going to get us that far...so we signed up for five days of Spanish courses...sound advice from an English girl at the hostel being to sign up for afternoon lessons so you can get over the hangover and avoid the afternoon rain...  Four hours a day fo five days came in at $120 for both of us...bargain! We're planning to stay here for a minimum of five days, mainly to get fluent in spanish but also to relax...200+ miles a day for the last couple fo weeks has been a bit of a killer!  It'll be nice to unload the bikes and know that the mess we've artistically spread around the room can stay for a few days at least...

Belize City - Guatemala border - Tikal - Frontera [2 days, 335 miles]

Slightly disillusioned with Belize City, we headed for the western border with Guatemala, arriving around 11am due to some faffing plus the 100-mile ride to get there. Concerns about massive delays were allayed when we saw the three-vehicle queue...exit stamp and fee for Belize paid - they want you to PAY to LEAVE the country?! - we headed for the Guatemala entrance and mountains of paperwork.  Scooting from window to window, signing forms, explaining that yes, we're ENGLISH, not american ("Soy Ingles, no Americano" - easy!!), trying to work out if we were being conned or not (we weren't), we eventually stuffed the sheaf of doubtless necessary paperwork into a convenient pocket and rode across the border into Guatemala, only an hour and about 15 miles of walking later.  First impressions of Guatemala - the roads are diabolical. The road from the border to the nearest town was a minefield of unsurfaced, potholed road - dusty, probably very bad for the tires but good for a maximum of 20mph...oh joy. Although technically challenging, these roads are incredibly tiring to ride as they demand 100% concentration, meaning we saw practically none of the gorgeous Guatamalean country/jungle-side. Apparently the traffic department just did that for fun, because in a few miles the tarmac resumed, concentration dropped to normal levels and we sped along through lush verdant fields and hills, a stark contrast to the dusty Baja desert we'd been ploughing through only a few weeks previously. Thankfully Guatemala has seen sense and provided gaps in the centre of speedbumps especially for us - hooray!  Winding roads and rolling green hills accompanied us to a small cluster of hotels and resturants near Tikal (another ancient Maya site) where we stopped for the night at a hotel right on a massive lake, ready for the horribly early start the next morning (leaving at 5.30am!) to visit the nearby ruins.  The opening bars of "The Key, The Secret" (Urban Cookie Collective, 1996(?) - in case you were wondering) woke us about an hour later (or so it felt). The ongoing confusion over timezones fooled us again, Matt realising that the 5am alarm actually meant 6am, so we were late - well, that's what we thought until a seriously unhappy night-watchman blearily informed us that is was actually 4am. Oops.  Waking up AGAIN an hour later - having to wake up early is bad enough, having to do it TWICE is downright unpleasant - we stuffed minimal kit into a backpack and rode the bikes up to the gates to Tikal National Park (50 quetzals (about 7 dollars) each for entrance).  The National Park is massive (over 200 square miles!) and has been designated a UNESCO(?) World Heritage and Cultural site - at least I think that's what the guide said - it was 6am when he gave us the "Facts and Figures" lecture so you will have to forgive the occasional memory lapses...and is incredible. In stark contrast to the sanitized restoration of Teotihuacan (seems so long ago now!!) and Chichen Itza, Tikal is buried deep in the dense Guatemalan jungle and much of the site is still untouched and unnrestored - partly because the site is so vast and also because the flora and fauna is equally as protected as the Mayan ruins, so the archaeologists are obliged to strike a clever balance. It gives a great idea of how the site was when it was discovered, massive trees cracking the limestone slabs and carelessly digesting pillars and altars. We felt like the original explorers as, Indiana-Jones style, we pushed our way along twisting paths through the dense jungle as we moved from area to area in the reserve. We were fortunate enough to see a family of racoon-like mammals, complete with babies, crossing the trail (eliciting "oohs" and "aaahs" from the girls in the tour group!), and a family of monkeys swinging delicately through the branches overhead. Distant screams from the howler monkeys accompanied us as we sweatily climbed rickety wooden ladders to the top of Temple IV, the tallest pyramid on the site. The sticky ascent rewarded us with incredible views across a sea of sub-tropical forest to where the tops of the other temples extended crumbling crests through the surface. The guide (Juan - a superbly knowledgable and enthusiastic guy who gave us our best guided tour by far) - also pointed out the green bulge of a still-hidden acropolis, apparently used in the 4th (i.e. first) Star wars movie.  Five hours, four more pyramids and many mosquitos later we were completely Maya-d out, heads bursting with information and bodies protesting from the 10km walk around the colossal site. Back to the hotel, bikes loaded, the first stop was a beautiful town called Flores, and its nearby twin Santa Elena, around which Matt walked in the dusty heat to find an ATM that would give us money as we were seriously low on cash and petrol. An guard complete with shotgun stood at the door - "Nice gun" said Will..."Is it loaded?" "Do you want to find out?" he grinned, friendly smile accompanied with a not-so-inviting pointed shotgun, which would have made for a superb photo had we remembered the camera (and not been shot!).  Mission accomplished, we eventually extricated ourselves from the convoluted one-way systems and headed south for Frontera (get the map!!), through gorgeous Guatemalan scenery that necessiated a couple of photo stops. Crossing a plain some 30km from Frontera, to our left a towering, moody grey storm front rolled inexorably towards a low range of hills - from the bikes, it looked like a fish-eye view of the prow of a ship headed for a reef...as the first strands of the raincloud slipped through the hills, and the storm front curledd slowly upwards on the thermals, we rounded the hills to be confronted on the far side by the bulging mass of the storm rolling over the hills and wetly heading directly for us...throwing (almost) all caution to the winds, we legged (well, wheeled) it for the safety of a hotel, racing the oncoming storm...and losing badly. Raindrops like waterbombs saturated us in seconds, the sheer force of the downpour creating a mist of splashes that crawled foggily across the road surface. The storm soon got bored and moved off, leaving us attempting to dry out in the (thankfully) warm air as we pulled into Frontera. Will's eagle eyes spotted a lakeside hotel - stricly incorrect, as the entire hotel, restaurant and bar was built on wooden pilings about a foot ABOVE the lake - which provided welcome, if not entirely solid, shelter from another downpour for the night.

Chetumal - Belize border - Belize City [1 day, 217 miles]

We'd been recommended to get to borders early to avoid lorry queues and endless waits, so we did just that, arriving at the Mexico-Belize border at about 9.30.  Contrary to our expectations, the officals were efficient and very friendly, stamping our passports with surprising speed and a conversation about "soccer".  Will's wasn't properly completed the first time - remedied by the customs lady yelling across to her colleague "Hey!  Mike!  This is your stamp!  You've done it wrong! Can you fill this out properly, please?!" - informality, brilliant.  they also saved us a fair wedge of cash, giving us a transit visa for the bikes through the country instead of making us go through the whole painful import process.  One hour later were across the border, somewhat surprised at the speed and simplicity! Belize is one of only four English-speaking countried in the Americas, thanks to us helping get rid of the filthy Spaniards in the 1800s - resulting in superb English (spoken with a very Caribbean accent) both at the border and throughout the country.  Spanish is also widespread, but English is the official language - which means signs are in English and distances are in miles - result!  We felt like we'd earned a reprieve from wrestling with our fumbling spanish when people started conversations in a familiar language. Even a few miles inside the border, the change in country and culture is evident.  The countryside is greener and people seem to take care of their houses and gardens, to the point of mowing the lawns!  People seem far more laid back - arriving at a toll bridge, the toll booth guy noticed that getting change would be a pain for us so just waved us across - "Straight through, man!" - excellent! Belize City feels familiar and comfortable, a mix of Spanish and Caribbean, worn wooden houses with peeling paint, dusty roads and the ubiquitous thud of reggae music.  One forgets that the country is tiny, with few major roads and even fewer major settlements - it's only when you arrive in a capital city, drive through it in five minutes and are able to stop outside the (unguarded) president's house that you realise how small it actually is!  A comfortable hotel gave us a base from which to wander the capital - which we gradually realised had a strangely edgy feel to it...not quite the easygoing Caribbean  city we'd initially thought - beggars are more prevalent than we'd noticed, and wandering into some of the less touristy parts of the town brought glances and looks that intimated that we weren't perhaps as welcome as we'd thought.  Plans to stay a few days were revised once we realised that the city didn't have a great deal to see and do and that prices for diving (etc) were dramatically hiked to take advantage of what tourist trade existed.  Next stop...Guatemala.

Around Playa del Carmen, Hurricane Emily, Playa del Carmen - Chetumal [2 days, 200 miles]

Right...back to the blog...where were we?  Ah yes...a random hotel in Playa del Carmen. Foregoing the luxury of an air-conditioned hotel for the cheaper delights of a hostel, we moved our kit five blocks west to the edgily-named "Urban Hostel".  Concrete floors, straw roof and stifling heat greeted us, although we did have a tiny room to ourselves in which to store our kit mountain.  Dark from  lack of windows, muggy from the heat (and probably the poorly-located tumble dryer) - the joys of a hostel...!  However, at $10 a night it's cheap, which is a major benefit - since we've entered the Tourist Zone, meal prices have doubled...bring back $5 dinners! After a couple of hours in a net cafe, we headed for the beach...having learnt our lesson in Veracruz, we reserved judgement on the place for...well...about ten minutes...Playa Del Carmen is stunning.  White sand, blue seas, just enough breeze to convince you (incorrectly!) that you're not burning...ideal! We like this town (in case you hadn't already guessed that one...) - the temperature's great, not too scorchingly hot or humid, it's got a good choice of restaurants, it's clean and we don't stick out like sore thumbs...there's more europeans around!  We also feel like we're cheating, 'cos we don't have mangle our way through a dinner order in broken Spanish...although it's nice to be able to chat in English, there's no feeling of accomplishment when dinner arrives...ah well...I guess we'll be able to live with it! After buying some oil for the bikes - oil change day tomorrow - we grabbed some food and headed for bed.  People still talking about the hurricane...apparently it's due to hit tomorrow (sunday), and people are leaving the hostel 'cos it's likely to flood and the roof isn't particularly well attached...!  Should we stay or should we go? We'll decide tomorrow (before they raise the parking rates). First night in the hostel was HOT - thank god for the fan we got with the private room!  Next morning we peeled ourselves out of bed and headed for some waste ground we'd spotted the previous day to subtly change the bike oil.  The weather was clouding, and people were leaving Playa del Carmen in droves.  Even the receptionist guy at the hostel was packing up...gulp...  Locals are nailing plywood sheets over their  windows to protect them from winds and debris during the hurricane, and we saw a couple of truckloads of Marines heading into town to help out with crowd control and the inevitable clear-up if the hurricane hits.  We've decided to leave the hostel and head for a nearby hotel, which has the twin advantages of being above sea level and not having a roof made out of straw.  Two of the guys from the hostel haven't got anywhere to stay so we've (charitably) rented them floor space for the evening.  After laying in stocks of water and junk food, we headed for the beach to watch the storm kick off :) The waves were building minute by minute, the normally placid sea chweing angrily at the beach, and the gentle breeze we'd felt the day before had definitely graduated to Wind status, with honours.  Police arrived and cleared the beach, sending people back to hotels.  Back on the main street, all but one shop had closed, so we picked up bread and more water and headed up to the hotel to meet Joel and Steve who were sharing the room. Annoyed at the didactic manner of the police, the four of us attempted to get back onto the beach to watch the hurricane.  Officals in yellow raincoats thwarted our best efforts so we headed south onto the private beaches where we secured an ideal spot on a sea wall in a disused poolside bar in a "condo" complex and watched (from a safe height) the waves hurling themselves against the concrete front with increasing fury as the sky bruised and darkened out to sea. After a disappointing start, at about 8pm (after numerous requests from security guards to go home!) the storm really got going.  The wind actually howled round us, driving the rain horizontally and bullet-like into our faces.  When the gusting wind could support us leaning into it, we decided enough was enough and headed back to the hotel to sit out the worst of the storm.  Apparently the eye of the hurricane was due to hit about 30km south of us...hopefully the damage wouldn't be too bad! We awoke to a Hollywood-like aftermath.  Shin-deep pools of floodwater filled the streets, SUV's swishing through the puddles.  Piles of dark-green palm tree debris lay haphazardly scattered across streets, buildings and cars, the parent trunks torn from their rootings and tossed like cabers across cars and houses.  Glass from windows, punched through by the howling winds, lay in glittering shards across the pavements and streets, leaving gaping holes into rooms.  Canvas signs and roofs hung randomly draped over trees and roofs, shredded and torn from their mountings by the gales, and through this scene of almost biblical carnage stepped the residents, examining the damage with a resigned and philosophical air, whilst troops hacked at the littered trees with machetes as the clearup operations began. We felt bizarre walking around, almost voyeristic...there's something disturbing about watching people picking over the ruins of a house, garage or business after something like this. Realising that there was NO way this mess would get cleared up any time soon (electricity and water both still being out) we packed up and headed out.  Paradise City would take a long time to get back to normal. A light aircraft planted vertically into a hangar testified to the ferocity of the storm as we headed out, the XTs making light work of the debris that lay everywhere.  We were headed for Chetumal, 200 miles south. Telegraph and power poles, either snapped in two or at the very least bent over to drunken angles, lined the roads as we rode along.  Roadside trees had been uprooted and the jungle bore raw scars where the winds has proved too strong for the vegetation.  Worst of all, the calmed breeze occasionally carried the stench of sewage, reminding us that people were still trapped in the various resorts and villas along the coast with no water or power, without the easy means that we had of escaping the disaster zone.  The canopy of a petrol station, torn from the mountings and hurled to the ground, made for a graphic photo as we headed for Chetumal on an otherwise uneventful ride to a hotel and bed.   

Campeche - Piste, Chichen Itza, Pista - Cancun - Playa del Carmen [2 days, 377 miles]

Another early start (very keen!) got us on the road for 9am. This was<BR>probably going to be a long day, as we planned to ride from Campeche,<BR>via Merida, to somewhere near Valladolid (get the map! get the map!)<BR>for the night. This would be a convenient starting point for a tour<BR>of Chichen Itza, an ancient Mayan archaelogical site, the following<BR>morning and the subsequent (short!) 100km ride into Cancun in the<BR>afternoon.<BR><BR>The early start and good, although uninteresting, roads meant we made<BR>Merida just before lunch. A food (crisps, biscuits and Gatorade!) and<BR>fuel (petrol...) stop got us through Merida and out the other side,<BR>unfortunately on the wrong road, although this turned out to be a more<BR>scenic and lesuirely ride parallel to the hectic 180 Highway we'd been<BR>aiming for. Signs for Chichen Itza began sprouting by the side of the<BR>road and we pulled into an ageing, lurid turquoise motel in a village<BR>called Piste, a stone's throw from Chichen Itza about 2pm. Will's<BR>lapse into a snoring coma postponed plans for an afternoon tour of<BR>Chichen Itza, fortunately so, as the heavens opened, thunder rolled<BR>and most of the world's fresh water supplies drenched the area. When<BR>the floods had subsided, we had an almost mosquito-free dinner in a<BR>local restaurant and headed for bed. The more-than-helpful owner<BR>helped us secure the bikes, blocking them in with his car - such a<BR>contrast with the attitude at the snotty, upmarket hotel at which I'd<BR>enquired for a room...although to be fair, a day's biking doesn't<BR>result in the neatest of appearances!<BR><BR>Back on the bikes the next day, sans panniers making them feel a LOT<BR>faster - and thinner! - we headed for Chichen Itza. Initially<BR>baulking at the prices - the few weeks we've spent in rural Mexico has<BR>made us seriously tight with money! - we coughed up 190pesos, about<BR>19USD, for entry to the site. Our experiences at Teotihuacan - i.e.<BR>knowing slightly less than not very much about the history - convinced<BR>us that a guided tour would be the best idea...so, somewhat<BR>snobbishly eschewing a group tour, we opted for our own guide, at the<BR>astronomical cost of 480pesos, about 24GBP. This proved to be a great<BR>investment, as Willy, our sun-wrinkled 57-year guide, knew everything<BR>and more about the site, was married to a Mayan princess - COOL! - and<BR>was a great laugh too.<BR><BR>Chichen Itza is an ancient Mayan city, parts dating back to 400AD with<BR>the main pyramid, probably the most impressive part, constructed in<BR>900AD. Discovered in the late 1800s, several of the most impressive<BR>buildings have been restored - i.e. rebuilt with the original bricks. <BR>The highlights are the main pyramid, the ball court, the observatory<BR>and the temple of the warriors.<BR><BR>The site is incredible, and having a guide to bring to life the<BR>buildings and culture really helped - well worth the extra cash. It's<BR>difficult wandering round these big sites on our own as once the<BR>impact of the majestic buildings has worn off we can't but help feel a<BR>little lost! Having Willy there to describe the purpose of the many<BR>buldings was great.<BR><BR>The main pyramid dominates the site, and although not as initially<BR>domniating as the structures at Teotihuacan in terms of size, they are<BR>far more impressive as they describe the Mayan culture and were used<BR>as giant calculators for harvest seasons. All the dimensions are<BR>significant - although one gets a bit sceptical of the convenience<BR>with which the numbers fit - number of steps up the sides is<BR>significant (4 sides, 91 steps a side - days in a Mayan year; number<BR>of levels = number of months in Mayan year). Best of all, on equinox<BR>days, the setting sun casts a diamondback shadow down one side of the<BR>pyramid ending in a stone snake head at the base of the<BR>steps...supposedly this told the Maya when to start and stop<BR>harvesting. In th 1980's, a few thousand people turned up to watch<BR>the snake appear...last year nearly 50,000 turned up!<BR><BR>More plausible, and arguably more impressive still, is the<BR>Observatory, where the Mayan astromomers studied the stars. <BR>Accurately aligned with astronomical north, this allowed the Mayan<BR>farmers to use a spohisticated harvesting schedule to increase their<BR>productivity.<BR><BR>The ball court, the site where the "league finals" were held once a<BR>year, is incredible. Parallel walls four metres high and more than<BR>seventy metres long formed the bounds of the echoing playing area,<BR>decorated with intricate carvings, with a vertical ring midway along<BR>and over three metres off the ground forming the goal through which<BR>two teams of seven would try to punt a heavy, baseball-sized ball. <BR>The winning team's captain would be decapitated, apparently an<BR>enviable fate as it circumvented the otherwise laborious process of<BR>reincarnation - or so the Maya believed - makes today's<BR>man-of-the-match award look a bit tame!<BR><BR>Although the number of human sacrifices was a lot less than is<BR>thought, the Maya did actually sacrifice warriors to their main god,<BR>the Rain God. Gruesome stories of pyramidal stones used to break<BR>spines and still-pumping hearts placed on altars gave the Temple of<BR>the Warriors a sinister edge - carvings on all each side of the square<BR>columns at the front of the temple indicate four sacrificed<BR>warriors...and there are 1500 columns spread over three acres of<BR>jungle! These columns formed the supports for the roof of the local<BR>market too...mildly disturbing when you're buying your sunday turkey I<BR>guess!<BR><BR>Two hours later, we were knackered and brimming with Mayan knowledge. <BR>TIme to hit the road and head for Cancun...many, many dead butterflies<BR>later we pulled into the resort, drove through the main hotel zone and<BR>headed directly for Playa del Carmen instead. Cancun is a massive<BR>commercialised district, with endless repititions of the<BR>hotel/beach/cheesy bar formula to keep the mindless Americans happy -<BR>yuck. Gambling on Playa del Carmen being better, we headed 30km south<BR>along the dual carriageway fenced with adverts for "Real Estate",<BR>Burger King (best advert yet - "Just Do Eat" - classic) and everything<BR>else faux-american. Grim.<BR><BR>The gamble paid off, Playa del Carmen proving a much smaller and more<BR>hospitable town. A hotel with a swimming pool designed specifically<BR>for grimy bikers was a handy place to dump the gear (in the room, not<BR>the swimming pool...) and lock the bikes before heading out to 5th Avenue,<BR>the main restaurant bar area in PdC. A bewildering array of<BR>restaurants and small bars totally confused us, accustomed as we are<BR>to a single choice of eatery in the towns we've stayed in until now,<BR>but we battled through, finishing with some ice-cold Coronas in a late<BR>bar before piling into bed, air-conditioning reducing the temperature<BR>to approximately absolute zero :)<BR><BR>We should have a few days here to relax, change the oil in the bikes<BR>and build ourselves up on food that ISN'T tacos/tortillas/etc for a<BR>change...the plan is to head for the Belize border, 200km to the<BR>south, on the 19th or 20th...wait for the next update!  

Ciudad del Carmen - Campeche [1 day, 139 miles]

One of our shortest days yet saw us riding along a superb coastal road, destination Campeche.  Pelicans divebombed the clear, green-blue waters  of the Mexican Gulf to our left in search of unlucky fish as we cruised along the gently winding tarmac.  We'd had a choice of two routes - as usual, a bit of a no-brainer...either the new main toll road - a dual-carriageway running inland, or the old main road - a single carriageway route running 10 metres from the sea along the coast.  I guess that locals, long tired of the superb coastal views, would take the faster toll roads...but with a 55mph crusing speed and time to spare, the coastal route suits us down to the ground. Having read up (briefly) on the history of Campeche at an internet cafe (turbulent - bearing the brunt of sea-borne attacks by the English (oops), French, Dutch and pirates for many years until the King got properly annoyed and impressively fortified the town), it was easy to imagine pirate galleons, bristling with cannon dropping anchor in the clear blue waters of the many concealed inlets and bays approaching Campeche.  It was even easier when some creative navigation by Matt led to a fortified redoubt overlooking the city on a small hill - one of six armed positions protecting the city and harbour from marauders. A town centre hotel, apparently established in 1939 and currently undergoing what appears to be the first redecoration, was home for the night, bikes locked, covered and alarmed outside.  Campeche is a picturesque town, old pastel painted houses in neat rows sit shoulder to shoulder with parts of the ancient town, old churches and the cathedral bracketing the main square that's overlooked by an impressive  mayoral (I think) building.  Sections of the old city walls form monuments to the besiged past of the area, now mostly broken down as peace descended and the industrialisation began.  The city "feels" really nice - which sounds bizarre but means a lot - it's funny 'cos we can usually work out whether we like a place within five minutes of entering the city limits!  Campeche felt friendly, a bustling market where we weren't hassled by hawkers and dinner in a busy but unhurried cafe heightening the impression.  Nice place, recommended! 

Cardenas - Ciudad del Carmen, around Ciudad del Carmen [2 days, 221 miles]

Despite still recovering from the ride the previous evening, we got up early and headed off before the heat of the day kicked in.  We wound our way north from Cardenas to the coast, along roads littered with speedbumps that remind you to slow down with a violent jolt, not a gentle UK-style bump. These things are the bane of our lives, as the road authorities seem to delight in dotting them every 20m through villages or laying them slap bang in the middle of a dead straight road, cunningly concealed in the mottled shadow underneath a lone roadside tree...normally just as our heavily-laden bikes have hauled themselves up to cruising speed.  Hitting one of these at 50mph is a teeth-loosening experience as you desperately grab a fistful of brake, give up and clatter over the lump, panniers rattling and suspension grounding out as you hang on for grim death to avoid parting company with the bike, wincing as the frame, pannier racks and suspension take another beating. Sods.  The soupy smog blanketing Mexico City must be due in no small part to these speedbumps, as they force cars and lorries to slow to a crawl, heave themselves over and then accelerate hard through 1st and 2nd to the next one in a gouting cloud of dense, black, oily, stinking diesel fumes. Anyway...enough about speedbumps.  They're there for a reason, children. The only other point of interest was crossing two huge bridges, both of which had very impressive names.  Mexican bridges all have names...every single one.  Even when there's not a single directional road sign for ages and ages, every bridge has a name.  Bigger bridges have bigger names...a little bridge across...well...nothing, really, in the desert might be called "Puento de Morillo", or even "Puento de Morillo II" if it's really junior.  The two big bridges we crossed were called something like "Puento de Maximillan Guillarmo los Amores dos QUinta" (I made that up, but you get the picture) which gives you an idea of how far up the bridge pecking order they were. One spanned an estuary in an almost pyramidal shape, and must have been about 600m across...superb views of the mangrove inlets and winding rivers for miles.  The other took joined two mainland spurs, leading us into Ciudad del Carmen...the bridge was bizarre, stretching for probably a kilometer across the intervening water at about two metres above the surface with a hump at the far end so that ships could pass underneath.  Very similar to one near Seattle.  Evidence of the previous crossing means lay slowly rusting and sinking to our right as we crested the hump...three ancient car ferries, probably from biblical times judging by the amount of rust, decayed slowly at a disused dock. Ciudad Del Carmen is a quiet seaside town, and although we'd been told it was a pretty happening place, we couldn't find anything...well...happening.  Dinner at the same restaurant twice kinda sums it up, although on the second day we did manage to get our less than wholesome washing done for us by a very helpful chap for the equivalent of 2.50GBP each.  Bargain!  Eight hours later Matt ventured heroically across town in a torrential downpour and tropical thunderstorm to fetch our neatly dried and pressed clean clothes. It was very nice to have some time off to calm down, wander round the town, check out a couple of local markets and sort out washing, email etc, even if it was just a single day.  Roll on Cancun, when we have a bit longer in one place!  

Veracruz - Cardenas [1 day, 320 miles]

Delayed by stomach cramps, laziness, and the first part of ScarFace that we´d missed, we left the air-conditioned room late and headed out of Veracruz - rubbish place, not going there again.  It was seriously hot, so promising "sensible riding" we relegated the bike jackets to the back of the bike and rode in t-shirts - sooooooo much better...lovely and cool...ahhh...apart from the whiplash sting of a 60mph insect hitting bare flesh. The road climbed gently through the now-green hills - funny to think that not long ago we were riding through desert! - in this part of Mexico the climate is much more humid and so there´s a lot more flora and fauna around.  Both sides of the road are thick with lush green vegetation - palm trees, banana trees and dense green undergrowth - and occasionally lizards, disturbed from their sunbed, skitter across the road in front of us.  Most impressively, butterflies are everywhere - imagine the humid butterfly house at the zoo and you´ll be close - every shape and size, wandering delicately out of the trees and fluttering fatalistically into the road, where they´re either swept upwards on a slipstream rollercoaster or collected, with a faint "pooffff", by our visors.  Sad, and probably very symbolic, somewhere along the line. We were aiming for the large and unpronouncable city of Coatzacoalcos, decided that big places = theft (and crap traffic systems) and so changed our minds and headed for the smaller town of Agua Dulce, fondly imagining quaint hotels with hand-washed bedsheets and...well, we weren´t, but you get the picture.  It´s not a very nice place...at all.  If you want any more info, look in the dictionary (English, preferably) under "grotty".  One textbook U-turn later and we were heading for Coatzacckkklllrrrrsss again - it´s now about 7pm, and it´s getting dark - which turned out to be our second mistake, as after five miles of petrol/gas/kerosene fumes we realised we´d ridden into the epitomy of the industrial town, probably Mexico´s biggest live-in refinery, and if we didn´t run away we were going to develop a serious oil habit.  Filling up at one of the numerous, yet ironically expensive, nearby fuel stations, we turned round AGAIN - getting good at these U-turns - and headed for Cardenas, 114km (about 70 miles for those not yet metricised) away - it was now about 8pm and dark...very, very dark. Unlike Mexican shops and petrol stations, Mexican wildlife (no sombreros) doesn´t stop at night, so we found ourselves riding at 50mph through dark that was very full of Big Flying Things.  These bounced off visors with a solid WHUMP, which shouldn´t be confused with the standard "pooffff" of a butterfly - these moths (etc) were big.  Added to the challenege of dealing with unmarked roads, slow lorries and impatient (and probably drunk) Mexicans, and in all seriousness we doubted we´d survive the first twenty miles.  Thankfully the road markings came out of hiding, the traffic calmed down and after fifty more miles of bug-eyed staring into the rushing blackness ahead a hotel sign appeared...result!  The free coke (liquid) was more welcome than champagne and we piled into bed about 10.30...what a nightmare...we are NEVER riding at night again!

Texacoco - Teotihuacan - Perote - Veracruz [2 days, 308 miles]

Stepping gingerly round the shores of the lake leaking out of the shower room, we packed our gear, loaded the panniers and headed off to Teotihuacan - apparently one of the must-see "attractions" if you´re near Mexico City.  After the hideous nightmare of Mexico City the previous day, we´d almost decided to not bother with it and head straight for Veracruz - which, in hindsight, would have been a major mistake! The site is signposted from a fair distance away - the fact that there are any signposts at all is a miracle - and fairly easy to find (that is, we didn´t end up in Mexico City or Delhi by accident).  The pyramids are visible a mile or so before you get to the site proper, access to which cost us 13USD for both of us plus parking... Teotihuacan is utterly incredible.  Based around a central avenue - "Avenue de los Muertos", or "Avenue of the Dead" - sounds more impressive in Spanish, I must say - two pyramids tower over the remains of temples and buildings that line the main street.  Beating aside the hawkers offering us obsidian knives ("ideal for the mother-in-law" said the salesman, miming a slit throat - classic) we sweated our way to the base of the Pyramid of the Moon which stands at the far (and I mean FAR) end of the main avenue.  Climbing steep steps at 7500ft altitude would challenge even the most hardened aerobics nut, although the view from the top was awesome. Somewhat obviously, it´s hard to imagine what the place would have looked like in 400BC when it was a thriving city, although the fact that it would have been fantastically impressive goes without saying.  It´s hard to tell where the "real" Teotihuacan ends and the restored version begins - a lot of work has been done on stonework and pointing on some of the ruins and stairs - which we found quite frustrating.  What is easy to imagine is the feeling of power that the kings, or temple priests, or whoever was standing on the main temple platform must have had as they looked out over the thousands of people crammed into the square below, awaiting the imminent sacrifice on the central altar...pretty primitive and frightening to say the least. The geometry of the city is, for want of a better word, spooky.  How the architects of the time lined up the massive constructions into a road 4km long and dead (pun intended) straight is anyone´s guess...and all the stairs are level, despite being built on a hill...and the pyramids and the square in front of the Pyramid of the Moon are square too, despite being about 500ft across...  Divine guidance or a good protractor, I reckon... Obligatory tourist snaps taken - yes, the one looking down the central avenue from the dark side of the Moon - and some pretty arty ones (though I do say so myself), we clambered down the pyramid, back into our bike gear and about 100 miles down the road to Veracruz, across some of the most desolate bits of Mexico we´ve yet seen.  This part was a 60mph thrash against a heavy side-wind - more like a gale, really - across ten miles of utterly flat marshland bounded on all sides by ominous grey mountains.  Lorries thundered past in the opposite direction - we were both genuinely glad to be alive on the other side.  We bailed for the nearest motel just outside Perote - 20USD got us a room and some serious fly-squashing action - the room was swarming with the damn things.  Asphyxiation by means of removing bike boots and socks didn´t work, so a notebook and a packet of postcards were pressed into action - an hour later, and the walls and ceiling resembled Garibaldi biscuits.  Next stop - Veracruz. The next day, 100 miles and two hours saw us in the sweltering heat of Veracruz - a short day for a change.  For the last few days we´ve been running at a minimum of 5000ft altitude, meaning much cooler temperatures and vastly decreased performance of the bikes due to the thin air.  From the motel, we dropped from 7500ft to sea-level...all our air-tight containers have amusing dents in them from the pressure change.  More concerning was the temperature...we´d woken up at about 15C...it was now twenty degrees hotter! After booking into the hotel, we headed for food and the beach, which looked really nice - sea lapping at the shore, Mexican families (no sombreros) in the sea and eating at the cafes - how deceiving appearances can be.  The sand turned out to be mud, populated by wasps and hawkers (no, I don´t want a t-shirt...no, I don´t want chewing gum...no, I don´t want my hair plaited...no, I don´t want a wooden yacht) and cafes turned out to be the Mexican equivalent of a Nigerian email scam - lunch was about 40USD - FORTY BL**DY DOLLARS! - but came with free stomach problems, which kicked in later that evening as we watched Scarface with Spanish subtitles in between loo trips...lovely.   

Mazatlan - Guadalajara - Mexico City - Volcano Popocatapetl [5 days, 1277 miles]

The next morning we awoke to the rich aroma of petrol and DEET, anddecided it was best to hit the road and get some fresh air. So we bid farewell to our boudoir, and headed 300miles south to Mazatlan, wherethe Ferry should have delivered us. Lunch consisted of makeshift hamsandwiches and copious gatorade of the most lurid blue colour from apetrol station, while we giggled at the mexican equivelent of "MrKipling", interestingly named "Bimbo".Matt’s bike waited till the sun was at it’s highest, and shadefurthest from the dusty track before dropping a pannier rail nut,leaving a swinging indicator as evidence of it’s glory. By the time wewere on the road again, we were caked in dusty sweat. It’s theselittle roads that seem to take us to the most interesting placesthough. Everybody is pretty self sufficent, living off the land, likea mini eco-system. I stopped by a truck with a flat tyre to see if heneeded a hand, preparing myself for some frantic miming and gesturing(on my part!), and before I had a chance to butcher his beautifullanguage, the Mexican came out with "Hey dude, what’s up? where yagoing? ...." English crops up from the least expected places - andbefore we knew it he was inviting us back to his place. If we didn’thave a place to be that night, we would have gratefully accepted anyreason to get out of the heat...Found a lovely motel on the sea front in Mazatlan. Ground floor, couldpark our bikes outside, air con, pannier carrying distance of 7metres- perfect. Mazatlan is without doubt, the Southend of Mexico. Thatevening, bazzed up beetles and what look like golf caddies cruised upand down the front... The only difference is that the policing is atad more intimidating, with an officer lazily resting his M16 muzzleon the car window as they watched on.... Most disconcerting. There wasa good atmosphere around the place and after a few Coronas at a pubwith an ageing but feisty live band, we headed back to our room as thefirst few drops from an imminent thunderstorm began to fall.The next morning we made excellent progress on one of the longestday’s riding we had scheduled - Thus it was over 140 miles into theday that Will thought his clothes bag looked a little smaller thanusual, and that his casual trousers were probably still drying infront of the air conditioning unit in Mazatlan. OH. THE. MUTED. RAGE.280miles is too much to try and do additionally on an already longday, and we didn’t want to lose a day just for trousers, so Will rodeon, trying to come to terms with the loss as quietly as possible, sothat the bike radio wouldn’t transmit the expletives.An hour later and we were climbing 4000m into the mountains of SierraNegra. We were planning on stopping at Guadalajara, but the place waslike a bigger version of Basildon Industrial Park, with no real feelto the place, so we rode on.We haven’t seem a single sombrero yet, all the mexicans wear cowboyhats. They all sport the classic tache though - Even some of thewomen...The route took us through a surprising small village called Tequilla.Matt saw a couple of distillaries, and there were a few people sellingthe stuff by the side of the road, but you’d hardly know that theirproduce has made the so famous. Tequilla makes Will hurl so we rodethrough. "Saw Tequilla, didn’t see any mockingbirds.... haha, writet hat down, and credit me" <EM>Matt Bye 2005</EM>.361 miles after we started the day, we pulled up at a tidy motel justoutside Chepala, a lake-side town that was a lot more welcoming.Equally welcomed was a daily temperature drop from around 32 degreesto just 24 degrees.At 4500ft, the bikes appear to be struggling with altitude sickness -The thinner air means they are both running rich, and losing a lot ofpower - We can still motor along ok, but we’re having to be a littleless ambitious with our lorry overtaking.Leaving Chapela the next day, we were met by rain. Fantastic! Itcleaned our visors, "freshened" our bike trousers, and mostimportantly, dropped our body temperatures by a fair few degrees.  We went through some fascinating little villages. Each village seemsto sell just one product - There’ll be 20 stalls at the side of the road, all selling Melons, or shrimps, or coconuts, or limes or.. – I can’t help but feel sorry for stalls 18, 19 and 20, lets face it, if apasser by hasn’t stopped by then, they’re not likely to suddenly change their mind. The villages themselves have a certain greek feel in places, where the twisty through road goes right up to peoples doorsteps, from which many use to sit and laugh as the tourist bikers go flying over their well disguised speed humps. The road we chose out of Chapela was particularly memorable – Just minutes after passing a massive chain superstore, we were on mud tracks, riding through one of the most primitive existences we’ve seen. Most of the people we met were walking, buckets in hand, tofetch water from the lake. Buildings were made of wood, mud, and the occassional piece of corrugated iron. The "main road" track was unpassable with anything less than a proper 4x4. The locals were most welcoming, with some kids giving us "high-fives" as we rode through,as others tried to outpace us by foot, which, given the roadcondition, was a race we were always going to lose.The rest of the day was spent leapfrogging traffic as it wound through the Sierra Volcanan mountains climbing to just shy of 10000ft. By now, the bikes were getting seriously wheezy, whilst we revelled in the coolness, and the fresh country air. That evening we looked out the cleanest dirty Motel in Tuxpal, and the door lady/receptionist/cleaner/waitress/chef attended to our dietary needs, and politely breezed over all the mispronounced words we bleated. I have to say, every mealtime is an exciting blind date. We ask for tacos or something with chicken, and then the Spanish person says a lot of words, we’ll keep saying "Si" until they stop talking and seem satisfied, and then we’ll usually end up with whatever the local dish is, maybe soup, or fajitas, or both, or a meal for a king for Matt, and a lonesome Taco for Will. We need to find a better phrasebook....The next day took us into the heart of Mexico City - And out again, asfast as the "bottom of the food chain" bikes could carry us. The city laughed in the face of traffic flow, it scoffed at air with less than400 hydrocarbons per cubic metre, and it threw as many distractions as it could whilst the lorries stole our lanes. We’re glad to have seen (part of) it, but have no desire to hang around a big city like that for longer than necessary.  We headed to the south of the city and pulled up outside a bright orange motel in a quiet roadside village called Cocoyoc.After a violent thunderstorm during the night, we woke up to a slightly cleaner Mexico. Our aim was to head up a volcano called Popocatapetl which stood at about 15000ft. Considering the size of the thing, and its proximity to us, could we find the sodding thing?!After 3hrs and about 30km from where we started, we were on the risin road to the volcanoes. After 11000ft, we were thwarted by the military who had closed the road due to "lava bombs" and debris. After a little investigation, we found it was possible to take the bikes up a path to the neighbouring volcano of Ixtaccihuatl. We paid the 50p administration fee, signed a disclaimer, and rode as far up to the summit as we dared. The view was spectacular - both up to the summit, and down, over the perimeter of Mexico City. It left us breathless, but that was more to do with 13000ft and our general fitness level. Mexico is a beautiful place, particularly in places unmolested by inhabitants.  That afternoon we made it as far as Texacoco, about 20 miles north-east of Mexico city. We chose a convenient, if not rather noisy roadside Motel as our place for the night. Will, chose to attempt topet a big ugly dog chained up outside. The dog suddenly went from tail wagging sweetness, to rabid, lurching killer. As the chain tensioned, Will thought he’d got away with it, right up until an even bigger, fat doberman tore out of nowhere, and bit Will on his leg. Fortunately it couldn’t get through the kevlar, which was a relief. NOTE TO WILL:DON’T PET ANY MORE DOGS
  

Baja de Conception - Loreta - La Paz - Topolabampo [2 days, 322 miles]

Well, the last chapter found us on an (almost) idyllic beach on the Bahia de Conception...we woke up, practically melting, in 34degree heat at about half five in the morning.  After a cartoon-esque blur of high-speed packing to escape the tender mercies of the very diligent mosquitos, we headed for what should have been our destination the previous night - Loreta.  A chap who was travelling with his nephew through Baja to Mexico City had told us we could book our ferry tickets for the La Paz ferry in Loreta...(yes, you´ll probably need to find a map about now)...unfortunately the La Paz-Mazatlan crossing had been cancelled so we´d have to cross to a port further up mainland Mexico - damn - another 300 miles in the saddle! Loreta is a gorgeous seaside town, on the surface pretty dead, but the centre is busy and thriving.  Probably the most relaxed and friendly place we´ve been so far...  I guess it´s unavoidable when travelling that you´re reluctant to trust people, mainly ´cos you´d be up the proverbial sans le paddle if you lost your kit - but it´s a sad reflection that when people are interested and eager to help your first instinct is to assume they´ll try to walk off with your gear.  I´d like to see them try and carry these bl**dy panniers, anyway. The tourist information guy, of whom we were initially very distrusting, was only to pleased to help us.  He led Will down to the booking office, Will readying all his Spanish and Pictionary skills to try and get us across to the mainland.  On his return, Tourist Office Guy dragged Matt into the office and sat him down to begin a lecture on the attractions of the local area, giving Matt no chance whatsoever to exercise his fluent Spanish. Meanwhile, Will was using a combination of pidgin Spanish and crude (not that sort of crude) drawings to explain that we wanted to get two bikes and two pasty Englishmen across to mainland Mexico - to Topolabampo, in fact - just rolls off the tongue...whilst the lady behind the desk, in the efficient Mexican style we´ve come to know and love, make phonecall after phonecall, asked Will to explain his picture of a bike, made another phonecall... ...two hours later, we still hadn´t got anywhere and were informed that because motorcycles weren´t in the system, we couldn´t book the tickets and would have to do so at the main office in La Paz.  Entertaining thoughts of a vicious first degree murder, we left the sweaty office and prepared for a high-speed journey to La Paz, pausing for a few minutes to relax with a nice cold drink just off the picturesque town square - look, this travelling is hard work...! The road to La Paz was long, boring, 350km long and extremely uninteresting, bar the first proper crash of the trip.  Matt, having carefully applied the brakes ahead of a section of road under repair, was most surprised to find Will approaching from behind at a speed somewhere around Mach 3.  Failing to stop, even having deployed both brakes and emergency parachutes, Will clipped Matt´s left hand pannier and slowly toppled off the bike, much to the amusement of the workers.  No injuries or damage, apart from a couple of glorious scars on the panniers and a minor dent in Will´s pride! La Paz turned out to be brilliant.  Six hours after leaving Loreta (yes, we know that´s only about 35mph average!) we were in an air-conditioned hotel room, ready for an early night so as to be at the ferry booking office by 9.  A visit to a nearby "cafe" (10 dollars admission each got us a single ticket that magically turned into a bucket of six ice cold Coronas at the bar) saw us admiring the dancing talents of the La Paz females, sadly from afar - didn´t want to embarass them with our "mad British dancing skillz" - until about 1am.  Nice work guys! Two ferry tickets later and we were on a hot, sweaty and late 5pm ferry out of La Paz that rolled into Topolabampo at 1am.  Bailing into the nearest motel, we realised that we´d inadvertently booked ourselves into...well...let´s put it like this - the receptionist was surprised that we wanted the room for the whole night rather than just for the hour...  We wedged the bikes into the room, barricaded the door with panniers and tried to ignore the red ants, cockroaches and mosquitos running all over us until the next morning. 

Baja desert, Ensenada - Bahia de Conception [2 days, 579 miles]

The morning of the 29th saw us leaving the hotel in Ensenada early, on the road by 8.10am.  This two-day leg would take us first to Guerro Negro, west side of the Baja peninsula, and then to Loreta, on the east side of the peninsula. Industrial areas and half-built warehouses petered out, giving way to more rural scenery.  Highway 1, our main route down Baja, is a no-nonsense kind of road and seems to have been built by people who REALLY liked straight lines.  The wide, dusty road ploughs directly ahead across the flat desert landscape, intermittently rolling through small villages built alongside the highway, characterised by tens of small food stands selling tacos, burritos etc at dirt cheap prices. On this road, straights of 20-30km are not uncommon and for the first third of the journey we were in danger of falling asleep, it was that tedious, and we were a little worried that this would typify our Baja experience. After a lunch stop at El Rosario, we rapidly recognised that nothing could be futher from the truth. The sign as we left El Rosario should have given us an inkling of what was ahead - no petrol for 314km.  Nervously calculating our tank range to make sure we'd make it through, we approached the northern foothills of the Baja desert.  The road led up onto the vast desert plateau, winding up, down, left and right like a rollercoaster, climbing over and down the shoulders of hills as it followed the contours of the undulating desert landscape.  This is perhaps the best road in the world for bikes - smooth tarmac, minimal traffic, and incredibly beautiful scenery.  Temperatures were in the 40s and the Platypus drinking systems were working overtime - even at 50-60mph, our comfortable cruising speed, we were drenched in sweat, and opening the visor to let more air in was identical to opening an oven door - a solid blast of hot, dry air that dries out your eyeballs and lips in milliseconds.  The desert terrain looks like something out of a Tolkien novel - huge expanses of desert covered with scrubby trees, and colossal, towering mountains looming in the distance  - we feel very, very small and vulnerable in the wide-open expanse of baking desert, the only other signs of humanity are the tiny whitewashed cafes, many abandoned and ruined, dotted alongside the highway every twenty miles or so, and the huge trucks that occasionally come thundering past in the opposite direction with a blast and a thump of diesel smoke. The drop out of the desert was equally stunning, winding down through the mountains at the edge of the plateau onto a desolate plain, which we crossed on a road that ran die-straight for 30miles, eventually bringing us into Guerrero Negro for the night (hotel - $20)...! We didn't think it could get much better - but the next day did just that.  Again, we had a straight, boring lead-in to the desert roads but then we were out into the desert again, weaving across dry riverbeds, through massive boulder fields and eventually culminating in a dramatic descent, down a thread of tarmac that clings, somehow,  to the dry edges of the plunging valleys as we head tentatively down the intense gradient into Santa Rosalia, a bustling fishing village on the coast, for lunch.  We left Santa Rosalia headed for Loreto - however, we weer distracted by a narrow track that led us to the top of a mountain and provided us with some of the most spectacular 360deg views ever - see photos! Headed for Loreto once again, we rounded a headland onto Bahia de Conception to be presented with a fantastic sight - a superb beach, clear blue seas washing around the rocky coastline either side and pelicans fishing lazily just off the shore.  Abandoning plans to make Loreto that evening, we plunged into the bath-temperatue water for a swim, later watching the sun drop over the islets out in the bay with a cold beer...  The only downside to this idyllic location was that the temperature stayed at 34deg all night...making sleeping a little difficult...! 

San Diego - Ensenada [4 days, 377miles]

Hello again...! San Diego is great - definitely all it's cracked up to be.  Lovely beaches, stunning women, relaxed atmosphere...we could stay here for ages!  After a morning on the beach, we moved hostel, this time to the "Banana Bungalow" (nowhere near as dodgy as it sounds!) a little futher north - this time actually on the beach front at Mission Beach (cheers for the recommendation, Barm...the beach was superb!) - the epitomy of summer cool.  The backpackers in the hostel are really cliquey, and apart from a couple tend to keep themselves to themselves - maybe turning up with a decent method of transport got up their noses - and seem to be staying for 4-5 weeks at a time, rather than our token couple of nights. With that exception, people in general round here are really friendly - must be the english accent! - eager to chat about the bikes, keen to recommend places to see, places to eat, drink, etc. - and also where not to go - i.e. Tijuana.  After a couple of days tinkering with the bikes, dealing with hangovers (etc) - thanks David and James - we made one final trip back to LA to pick up Will's wallet that he'd forgotten in the UK (doh!) - thanks for posting it out Claire - means I'm not buying EVERYTHING any more! We left San Diego on the 27th, heading south for the Mexican border about 20 miles away.  We were somewhat apprehensive about our first "real" border crossing - strangely enough it went very smoothly - we were just waved through.  On the other side of the border we realised that we'd forgotten to hand over our US green cards (they get really funny if they think you're still in the country!) and we hadn't got the mandatory insurance or temporary import licence for the bikes - DOH!  Cue three hours of traipsing from office to office, producing documents on demand like a kid's magician at various windows.  The guy who sold us our insurance was most helpful - he showed us which office to go to, what documents to produce, even told us how much it'd cost...we were initially really dubious about him, but having subtly checked his story with the tourist office we realised he was being genuine...he wasn't getting anything more out of it, just wanted to help.  He drew us a map of the area, showed us the best road to Ensenada and even wrote out or names in Spanish - mental note, must not be so suspicious in future! Finally ready to go, we headed into the centre of Tijuana, having decided not to stay there on the advice of a couple of guys we'd been speaking to in San Diego.  It was a shock, to say the least...the contrast between the American wealth and the (relative) Mexican poverty is massively obvious the minute you drive through the border, especially in Tijuana which primarily serves as an under-age drinking hangout for American kids.  Rubbish blows around the streets, gaudy neon signs advertise cheap beer and tequila and there's a general air of dilapidation and seediness that's really unsettling. Once on the "scenic road" that heads due west from Tijuana to the coast, we cut south on a lovely new tarmac toll road, sweeping down the west coast in a seemingly unending run of spectacular coastline and dramatic scenery.   The coast road slices along the edge foothills of the northern Baja desert, through cuttings blasted out of the rocky foothills and bridging sandy inlets and dry riverbeds.  We got bored of the endless smooth tarmac and dived off the main road where possible, taking the "old" coast road that's a lot more relaxed and conducive to (many) picture stops to appreciate the dramatic scenery.  One detour led us down a maze of sandy backroads to bypass the construction site of a new bridge - our first off-road run!  Brilliant! We rolled into Ensenada, a well-worn industrial port, about 5pm that evening and after a misguided attempt to find accomodation in the town centre (very busy, and we didn't know the "dodgy" areas!) we swung briefly north to a hotel we'd seen on the way in.  Accomodation is a whole lot cheaper now we're in Mexico - the $24 a night (each) for a bed in a sweaty, crowded hostel in San Diego now gets us a decent hotel room - and food is the same - $40 meal bills have shrunk to $7.  We're constantly surprised by the quality of the food - that night, what looked like a run-down diner by the road served us the best Mexican food we've had...all freshly prepared. Next stop - the Baja desert.