Day 27: San José Iturbide to Querétaro
34 miles
I got back on my bike and was immediately greeted by pain. In my crash yesterday it seems that I bruised my left quad muscle right next to the laceration I suffered on my inner thigh. My right hamstring seems strained. I bruised some ribs; it hurts anytime I take a deep breath. I have some cuts and bruises and other parts of my body, but they were not an issue for riding. After riding for about 15 minutes, I was able to elucidate that while things may hurt, riding was not going to make it any worse, so I just need to grit my teeth and keep going. However, my mind was not faring as well as my body. I was extremely jittery and nervous on the bike. I couldn’t shake the feeling of fear that had wormed its way into my mind. With every passing truck thoughts of what might happen ran through my head. Every time I heard a car approaching from behind I would look ahead and subliminally plan where I could ride off the road if need be. The shoulder disappeared and the road somehow got worse than yesterday. As I approached Queretaro, the roads became busier. The two lanes turned to three. I had close call after close call. Semis whipped past me at 60 miles an hour with less than a foot to spare. Constant traffic, there were no breaks. I was so anxious. I found myself shaking again and stopped for a minute two or three times to calm down. I kept trying to tell myself that I was just in my head about it all and that perhaps things were not as dangerous as I was making them out to be. Perhaps I was rattled from yesterday’s crash and needed to work things out.
About 15 miles outside of Queretaro I stopped to calm down in a gas station parking lot for a second before setting off again. A couple of minutes later a police car sped past me and pulled over about half a mile in front of me. When I reached the cop I looked over at the shoulder where a couple of people stood huddled next to the cab of a semi truck. On the shoulder next to the truck lay the bloody body of a man. I looked away in shock, but the image was burned into my mind. He had been hit by a semi truck and was now dead. I’ve never suffered from anxiety or had a panic attack. Before this trip I was anxious about what it held, but I wouldn’t have said I had clinical anxiety. I was just worried about what might happen during my trip. Now I can tell you what it feels like to have real crippling anxiety. My breathing started to speed up and I felt lightheaded. I wanted to pull over but the side of the road had closed back in and there was about 6 inches of rumble strips between the white line and the guardrail. There was nowhere for me to stop. I just kept riding. I couldn’t help but think how easily I could end up in a pile on the side of the road. All of my anxieties now seemed so justified. I shook with the fear. He had been walking in the same one foot wide shoulder that I’ve been biking in. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason to getting hit. It’s just a matter of chance. Every time I get on my bike I know there is a chance of getting hit, but it’s never that high of a chance back home. It’s usually low risk, high consequence. Meaning it’s unlikely to happen (risk) but disastrous if it does happen (consequence). Here it feels like high risk, high consequence. It’s only a matter of time before you get hit. There is nothing to do about it. There is no shoulder, there is no bike path, there is no safer road. I could’ve designed a route through different parts of the country, but I made my route through Mexico with the US state department travel advisories in mind. I’m traveling through the safest states with respect to crime and cartel activity. I didn’t know the roads would be this dangerous. I guess there is a reason most bikepackers stay along the coast. As I pedaled on I couldn’t get my breathing under control. I tried to take deep breaths in through my nose out through my mouth but everything felt rushed and my breathing felt shallow. I was suffocated by my emotions which was leading to a suffocating panic attack. I thought about all the people I miss. All the people I love. All the people I promised I would return home to. The cars continued to fly by me with inches to spare. At any second I was prepared to be slammed into from behind. I tried to block it out, but my mind was running wild. I couldn’t help but picture myself in the same unnatural bloodied heap that the dead man had just been in. Lying on the cold concrete in a cold world. In my mind I saw my helmet cast aside, my glasses smashed in the road, and my bike splintered to pieces. I tried to shut my mind down and return myself to the road, but the reality of the road seemed to inevitably lead to the dark thoughts in my mind. I began to question my mental fortitude again. Am I cut out for this? Am I too weak to deal with the realities of biking here? Is my mind capable of enduring this for another 9,000 miles? Maybe I just don’t have what it takes. Maybe I’m weaker than I thought. After 10 minutes of crippling panic and anxiety I finally got myself to calm down. I focused on happy thoughts of the people waiting for me when I finish this trip. I knew I couldn’t let anything happen to myself. I made promises. I have promises to keep. I promised to give this record my best effort. I promised to do my best to stay safe. I promised to find the beauty in the dark moments of this trip. And most importantly, I promised to come home alive. My hyperventilation and acute anxiety was not fulfilling any of those promises. I turned off my mind essentially. I focused on the world immediately around me and tried to think of nothing else. I descended into Queretaro and the road quickly became 5 lanes. Still no shoulder. Right before downtown I had to take an exit ramp for the perimeter highway that took me to the bike shop. The problem was the exit was on the left side of the road. I had to bike across 4 lanes of heavy congestion moving at 50mph to my measly 35mph. It was the scariest and most dangerous string of maneuvers I have ever had to do. I really am glad nobody who cares for me was there to see it because it would’ve been traumatic. I’d had enough trauma in the last 15 hours; we didn’t need any more of that. I timidly made my way to the bike shop. The rest of the day kind of passed in a blur. I was hoping they could fix my bike in a couple of hours and I’d be back in the road early afternoon, but they said it wouldn’t be ready until 6, so I just had to take the day off essentially after just 30 miles of forward progress. I was torn to pieces. I just want to keep riding and get out of here. But I’m also majorly paranoid and anxious about riding again in these roads, especially in the rain. I’m gunshot of the traffic now. I got a hotel room and just rotted away. I meant to write a lot and capture my thoughts, but I lacked any motivation. I just ate and sat. It felt like my life was on pause. I had nothing to do. I felt like I was cheating. I’m supposed to be riding. What the hell am I doing inside laying in bed staring at the ceiling? Every minute I sit is a minute I loose off the record. I was drowning in anger and frustration and anxiety once again. Maybe it was good for my body to have a day off, but mentally it was incredibly destructive. I should’ve made better use of my time by writing, but I didn’t. I went to a Walmart to get replacement charging cables and I got my bike back at 6. In theory I’m ready to roll tomorrow. We will see how my mind does. It started raining this afternoon and it doesn’t seem like it will stop for quite some time. I expect rain every day from now until Peru.
