Words and Photos by Rylie and Tristan, @rollingtides.rt
This is the fourth post documenting the surfpacking / bikepacking / backpacking adventure of Rylie and Tristan starting in different parts of the world, rejoining in the US, and ending together until the end of the road in South America. Read about their ambitious journey in Part 1 HERE, Part 2 HERE, and Part 3 HERE. Tune in each month to see how it's going.
These are poetry and journal entries put to the music of rolling tires, crunching gravel, flying sand, deep sighs and loud shouts of joy. Enjoy these glimpses into our last couple weeks in Baja.
The sun swings from left to right
Slow shifting breeze
Not a cloud in the solid blue sky
it looks as if you could reach a paint brush overhead and saturate it in deep Azul
December has never been so bright
Our smiling faces tan
Mine especially smeared with dirt as I rub sunscreen with dusty hands
The road will show
If you dare to trust
Delayed gratification at its best
Long stretches under merciless sun
Climbs that end in yet another climb
Dust covered sweat stained roadside bum
You become a slave to the next corner or just over that crest
The map is but a soulless outline
What you really follow is the feeling in your chest
It sounds odd and airy but it’s a feeling we all get
The faith that the world works in strange and wonderful ways
This is what the road will show
The dirty bird gets the worm (gummy)
The towns we passed through
Seemed to be double deserted
Once by the people who built them
And twice by the buildings themselves
Who had crumbled and blown away in the wind long ago
Like a wet rag drying in the sun I sling myself over the saddle
Due east
An experimental detour
The assortment of tall cacti
like charismatic greeters of the land
They reach with spikey limbs and hold out bright orange blossoms in their hands
Eluding to the hostile yet beautiful road that lies ahead
No easy miles today
Slow earth
Chewed up tire tracks
Mud pits
Rocks of all shapes and sizes
Small cacti hiding sharply in shadows
And when all the former challenges are absent the road defaults to sand
Soreness, fullness
Crest one more hill
Crest again
I am here in whole
Every bump
And every bend
Dust clouds before me
Waving hand
Pickup trucks passing
Bland stares
Cold air, Sweat, Skin, Sleep deep
Dream vivid
Crest the hill again
The sun dropping
Our tent rising
Rhythmic disorder
Ry stretches on the beach below
My body aches and groans
“You must be strong”
“Aren’t you tired?”
Snippets grasped from a flow of foreign language
Except the only thing foreign is us and our squeaky bikes
Pushing ever forward
Ocean breath
To rolling hills spelling
The name of the wind
Gems clinging to skin
Shimmering in morning light
Sand is everywhere
Lusting curls
Crashing sprays like thunderclaps
Entrance, enamored,
In awe
All crisp and cool
We find warmth in nooks
Sunshine of the night,
The moon moves us all
Pushing, pulling, inching forward
Sweating, cursing, even slower
Sugar, salt, supplies dwindling
Rugged, ragged, emotions naked
Bodies battered, will we make it?
Views and vistas, gone unnoticed
Gazes fixed, pushing onward
“This f***ing sucks!”
“This is amazing!”
Both spoken with unwavering truth
What is one without the other?
As it takes night to love day’s light
