An independent revolution solution

‘The coolest place you’ve never been’ said the guide book, ‘well ifs that’s not the kiss of death’ I thought... a place of high expectations and no doubt prices to match. But intrigue over ruled cynicism, a rare behaviour trait but none the less it has to be acted on. The first thing I discover about what’s going on is what’s going on with me. Until I got here I had not heard the phrase although I'm not sure which came first, disease or diagnosis, ‘traveller burn out’.
As soon as I heard the words, much like ‘commitment-phobe’, I knew I was a sufferer.
Every day, finding your way, finding food and a place to stay, trying to understand the language, what people say and all the other challenges of the day, that don’t occur if you don’t go away. I need to stop going. The symptoms are exhaustion, sleep for 11 hours yet next morning the yawning begins after 2 hours riding, and the opening of the guide book is a daunting proposition. I don’t want to miss anything but equally the research is a chore that can’t be faced.

I need a holiday, 9 months of homelessness. When you romanticise about a Saturday morning bacon and egg sandwich in your November cold kitchen, in the company of ya favourite radio programme, it’s not so much homesickness as longing for a place where you are independent and self contained. Wait a minute, 2 wheels of liberty and 2 panniers of processions, if that’s not independence and self containment then what is? Ok, its familiarity I lack then, a routine and a structure. Like packing up the tent, rolling up my Kelty sleeping bag and fitting them skilfully in their travel positions. Routine and structure; its right there. So what am I whinging about? I'm tired, I'm knackered, I’m exhausted. I want to sit in a little private space, to know where to buy my fruit and bread, have my wifi and communication requirements, a soft pillow instead of a rolled up fleece and a door I can close, not zip up behind me.

We are zigzagging across Mexico like an Estonian at a car boot sale. The thing I've discovered is its many varied climates, ‘you know that I love you boy, hot like Mexico enjoy’, sang Lady GaGa but her fame is not for her weather reports. Mexico is like a chilli that’s been taken out of the freezer and put in the oven for a minute, it’s hot on the outside but cold in the middle. High elevation makes for frosty saddle mornings, then drop down to the coast and up comes the temperature and humidity.

So here I am at 6000feet. Chilling with the citrus trees. In a city I can’t leave. Morelia won’t stop happening, and even after, happy hours in street cafes, surrounded by physical and architectural beauty of 16th century colonial Span, cathedrals of stone and extravagance, that are lit at night by dramatic lighting extinguished only for cascading fireworks, accompanied by powerful music blasted from the street.

Live free open air concerts in the historical squares of arched and sculptured backdrops, where the local musicians wait for a vacant spot to serenade the public with an acoustic guitar and the joy of performing and only separated by the pounding bass of passing enticement. Followed by inadvertent tequila invitations that lead to salsa dancing in a tiny local bar,

And if all that stimulation of audio and visual art is not enough they even have a Woolworths selling artificial trees and flashing lights to remind me it’s going to be Christmas for certain types of people.
However there are other more significant and immediate celebrations, November 20th, every town has a street called 20th November Street, the date of the Mexican revolution, 101 years to the day.

There is something different about my room today; there was no hangover in it and no really pressing things to do. But at 7am the explosions started, not the hand grenades of ‘la familiar drug cartel’ that caused the 2008 fatalities but the inpatient celebrators of fireworks to come all be it under the sun.

I've been paying extra for a room with a TV I don’t have time to watch, after 4 nights of city life or was it 5, I have already forgotten what phase of the moon we are in and I haven’t seen a dawn from the right side since I dried the dew off my tent last week and then soaked my liver. It’s time to go, I'm feeling ok, before I forget which way I came from. Packed up, clean undies, and the others drying on the panniers, tank bag located, goodbyes said, gratitude expressed and a few more email addresses to carry on with. The bike is carefully ridden out of the hotel courtyard, revving to high on choke, slipping the clutch so as not to slip on the polished floor. And out into the empty Sunday morning Street. Significantly empty it is. A left and a right two blocks to the Av Madero Paniente where it all happens all the time, this morning is no exception, the street is lined with people, not shopping or strolling, but waiting, almost like they are there to wave us off, but our impact on their city has not been as great as their cities impact on us. Waiting they are, for the parade of celebration of independence. All traffic has been stopped or diverted and we stick out like a cauliflower in a burrito. 2 gringos on overloaded, overland bikes, going the wrong way down a closed street that, 10 minutes ahead of us and heading directly our way is a 2 hour procession of all things Mexiconic and patriotic.

We divert quickly before our prominent positioning produces police interest. What are we going to do now? I hate to think I’m missing something.

We have a brief overlander meeting. Una mass noche? (One more night?) What are our choices? Fight our way out of a gridlock city on a street that is named after today’s date to stay a night by a mozzie infested swamp or back to our peaceful courtyard, park our bikes and go celebrate the day with the masses.

Its s an easy decision, but not an easy direction, we can’t get back, every road is blocked, by overzealous part time positioners of barricades who are not about to let us pass. One way systems of gridlock, jams and frustration lots of direction and proportion but no sense, by a little judgement and a whisper of luck, I pop out on a familiar street. And back to the hotel.
‘What did you forget?’ is the look I'm greeted with.
‘There’s a party going on out there ya know?’
So I'm back, 3 miles riding in right angled spiralling circles and I end up 2 doors down from my last room. ‘The coolest place I've never been?’ This cities invitation, an obligation, a commitment, an independence, one of the cooler things I couldn’t get out of. I feel a long stay coming my way.