|Alcoholics Anonymous meets here 3x/week in a village of 115 souls|
|San Carlos at about 6:00; La Manga at the Red marker|
San Carlos sits on the Gulf of California.
Unfortunately I'm an anxious, front-seat passenger. I date the onset of my unhelpful front-seat anxiety to right after my solo, 1,000 mile bike tour from Chicago to South Georgia. That trip, while nothing bad happened traffic-wise, I certainly internalized just how vulnerable I am as a cyclist on the open road. Sadly I carry that hypervigilance into the front seat of the car. I deeply appreciate Kirk's patience and tolerance. Sometimes I just close my eyes and pretend to take a nap to minimize my reactivity.
NWT'n came with us to San Carlos. He and I have been growing our relationship of respect and fun having, I think, found the sweet spot for his seat height and handlebar positions.
I am a more wary and wise international bike rider since my quasi abduction-rescue in the jungle of Limon, Costa Rica when my Bike Friday Tikit broke down. At worst I feared for my life, and at best I feared I would not make it back to the cruise ship before they sailed away without me.
First order of purchase upon arrival in San Carlos was a set of his and her matching cell phones with a 12 minute plan that's good for 2 months. At least this time I can place an emergency call.
Armed with my pink, basic, very basic Nokia I headed back to San Carlos from Guaymas. Strong trade winds challenged my ride up and down the spiky bumps, NWT'n was up to the task.
Kirk rented a mountain bike so we could set off through the desert on an unpaved path in search of a restaurant in La Manga, which means "sleeve".
Oh my. Kirk was faring well in the deep sand and boulders. NWT'n's 406x1.5" tires (and I) weren't faring so well. I kept having visions of jungle abductions and dehydration from all the Broder crossing books and documentaries we've been absorbing since living on the border and now we're south of the border!
But, I'm here to tell you we found La Manga, the red dot on the map at the beginning of the post. You'll notice too, it's off the paved road and in the desert, even at the end of the desert path. 115 souls live in La Manga in corrugated tin, plywood leaned up against itself somehow standing. It's been 7 hours since we had lunch and so far no Montezuma's revenge.
Sometimes you just have to go for a little adventure.
|View of La Manga from the restaurant|
|Home to the better off|
|Home to others|
|Home without a roof|
|Kirk in front of La Manga Kindergarten|