Thursday, October 14, 2010

Biking Isla Mujeres

This was not my first immersion in Isla life. I knew the streets were cobbled and full of axel-disemboweling speed bumps known either as Topes or Sleeping Policemen. I knew from the tippy north to the tippy south and back was at the most 10 miles, unless I zigged and zagged across the east west streets, each of which was at the most 0.3 of a mile. Isla would not be about the bike; it would be about us and rest.

I also know that I’m not a good walker and poop out after a couple of miles not to be renewed till manana. I also know that my urban, shoe-protected delicate toe pads are ground to bleeding pulp within the first 6 hours of arriving in the Caribbean clime of grade AAAAAA white sand. Toes wrapped in mole skin and riding elevated on Tilda’s pedals is a hopeful solution.

Lunch today at Playa Lancheros, about 5k from our villa. Tilda and I arrived 15 minutes ahead of Kirk who taxied out and walked home by way of the Turtle Farm. Chicago will never be able to offer fresh caught barracuda cooked in the tikinxik manner, which I imagine to be similar to a Tandoori oven, and served at your table in the sand. Definitely one of our Isla traditions.

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