On my second day in Catavina, I decided to ride to the Mission ruins. On the first day, Ralph gave me directions to the cave paintings. "Which ones? The ones everyone knows about?" Yes. Over the years, I looked for them several times, without success. This time, there is a sign on the road, a guy collected 20 pesos, and pointed me there. The paintings in this location are more colorful than usual. Probably because the early missionaries enhanced them. After the cave I rode a high speed dirt road to a far away farm and had coffee with the ranchers.
So today, to the mission. The guidebook labeled the road "XXX", but only 10 miles Ralph said it's very bad. I figured a ride of a couple of hours, be back before siesta. Don't need much planning (1). I filled my camelback (A), decided not to take my repair kit (2), flashlight (3) first aid (4) or lighter (5) and tool off (6). The air was cool and fresh, the views were exhilarating. The trail, though pretty bad for a car, was reasonable for a motorcycle. A moderate climb, and the Sea of Cortez, Gonzaga Bay (my favorite airstrip) came into view in the east. Now a moderate descent, punctuated by rocky not-so-moderate hills. After about 14 miles, I saw the oasis in the canyon below. The trail became steep, and I started worrying about my ability to climb back out. After the third ledge, I stopped and walked the rest of the way down (B). Rested near the water on the Oasis, realized I didn't get directions to the Mission ruins (7) , and walked back up to my bike. The time: Noon.
A short aside. Before my trip, Kobi and I had a long discussion regarding the merits of street-oriented tires Vs trail tires. While the latter are not as safe on the road, we knew that at some point on the trail you will wish you had them.
I quickly found that point. On the first ledge, the sum of my riding capabilities (rusty) and the tire capabilities (street) were not enough. My speed deteriorated to zero and I ended on my right hand side, on a rock, under the bike . No big deal, broken turn signal, a few bruises, we have done that before. I picked the bike up and managed to ride over the ledge. Next ledge, same thing, this time on my left. I tried to pick up the bike. Too heavy. It was lying in the wrong direction relative to the slope. I needed to twist it around, but first I had to sit down. My head was spinning. I took off the helmet and using the camelback as a pillow, took a rest. After some time I got up, twisted the bike, and by then I needed a longer rest. Rested, put my back to the bike, got it upright, and felt very proud of myself.
I regained consciousness lying on the ground beside the bike. I checked myself. A bit of blood (my head must have hit a rock) and a left butt the size of a watermelon (same firmness too.) I now understood better. The internal bleeding to the left gluteus was the cause of the extreme weakness and eventual fainting. I needed to rest more. Legs up, I fell asleep. Got up. Got the bike up. Felt woozy. Rested. Tried to ride up the ledge. Felt woozy. Rested.
I couldn't keep riding, and I had to make a choice.
Option A: Walk down to the Oasis (500 meters), spend the night by the water. By morning I should feel much stronger and be able to ride back. But what if I don't get better?
Option B: Walk back 14 miles. The time is 3PM. I have a lot of pain everywhere, (The adrenalin was wearing off), I feel weak going uphill, I have to walk slow, probably all night.
I chose to walk back. Sleeping outside sounded too cold and boring (Now, if I had my lighter...)
I started walking very slowly, sipping water every few minutes to replenish the lost blood. I walked the short up hills as if climbing the Everest, but I didn't stop. I figured that at this rate I will be in the campground by 5AM. I summoned my meditation training. Focus on the present without Craving and without Aversion. Your mistakes are in the past, gone. Don't think about it. The campground is not here. No craving. The pain is here, it's ok to think about it, but without aversion. Focus on each step. One step at a time. It worked. One step at a time. Even the next hill is not an objective. One step at a time. After a few hours, when I peed for the first time, I knew I will be ok. The sun went down, but a quarter moon was still in the sky, and I decided to keep walking. Gradually, my strength came back. To an outside observer I would have looked very romantic. Moonlight, complete silence, a leisurely (or so it seems) stroll in a beautiful surroundings. I actually enjoyed it from time to time. When the moon also set, I took my first rest on a soft river bed. I slept until I felt the cold, then started walking again. The stars cast enough light to distinguish the rocks. The wind picked up, and rumbling through the brush, sounded just like Ralph's ATV, (Why didn't I ….?) but after a couple of times I got back to my steps. When the fog covered the stars, it got really dark. I had to slow down and pick my feet high. I stumbled over rocks a few times, but never fell. Truck noises from the highway, (No craving. One step at a time). Car lights bouncing off the fog, (One step at a time). Dogs barking, (One step). I made it back to camp and looked at my watch for the first time. Midnight. I walked for nine hours.
I was not about to reassemble my tent, nor could I contemplate bending down to lie on a the ground -Too much pain). The rental rooms in the farm house were open. I plopped into a bed and fell asleep. Hours later, I woke up to take my shoes off. In the morning Ralph showed up on his ATV. Last evening, he has seen my tracks going out, and not coming back. This morning he saw my footsteps "stumbling" back to camp. We recruited Jose ("One person but as strong as two" ) and set off in Ralph's pickup to get my motorcycle (It's in the picture too). During the several hours in each direction that it took us to negotiate that trail, I "actively listened" to Ralph's stories. Among them, stories about the many others that he helped extricate from this trail.
The doctor here in Mulege agreed that there is nothing to do. According to him, if three days after the incident, If I am here, and not there (A finger pointing skyward), it means I will be OK. Some pills to reduce inflammation, and rest. am doing that. My butt is black, but almost normal size. When I twist, the pain in my right side I is bearable, and I can climb stairs with both legs. A young Mexican saw my bike, which is the same is his, and invited me to ride with him and another American friend to the Ocean. Saturday may be a bit too soon.
For those that care to keep count, my mistakes are numbered. Number 6 is biggest and dumbest. (Going on a trip without informing people exactly where I was going). The things I did right are lettered (I filled up with water!). The mistakes will never be repeated. However, there are some basic issues that I will have to think about. Ralph and his friends, for example, stopped riding bikes in the mountains "The reflexes are not what they used to be", and converted to ATVs. I promised myself to think about the basic issues.
