Charity bike ride across magical Mexico

Daphne Abernethy completes a gruelling 600-mile challenge

MACMILLAN weren’t joking when they said their Mexico coast-to-coast challenge wasn’t for the faint-hearted.
Reflecting on what was dubbed the cancer charity’s toughest challenge ever, Im sure it was the sheer enormity of the task which gave me the determination to complete the gruelling 600-mile bike ride over some of the country’s toughest terrain. 

Starting at the gulf of Mexico, reaching the highest point of the Sierra Madre and ending on the shores of the pacific ocean, the arduous El Grandesimo route certainly provided me with a memorable and rewarding close to the year.                                                                        After raising the necessary £2,500 for Macmillan nurses, I embarked on four months of intense training in preparation for the event. I realise now that Macmillan’s detailed workout plan, which recommended building up to three 50-mile cycles her week, provided an accurate blue-print for what was to come.
The long-haul 12-hour flight from London to Mexico via Dallas was a challenge in itself but gave me time to get to know some of the other 49 UK cyclists who had signed up for the eight-day adventure.
Following a night in Mexico City, three hours in customs and a detailed briefing, we left the world’s most populated capital and headed for our starting point on the Gulf of Mexico. On our way we passed the famous smoking volcano of Maliche.
The campsite was the perfect soft landing after negotiating a Mexico City, which sprawls for 40 miles, a bizarre mix of proud colonial architecture and shanty towns – where there’s a murder committed every 90 minutes.
Not having time to dwell on the confusion of Mexico politics, we proceeded to set up camp on the south-eastern coast, eagerly preparing for an early start to our trip to the small town of Textepec on four first day of cycling.
Rising at 6am and assigned our 21-gear mountain bikes, we were keen to hit the road for the 80-mile ride of day one, which took us through small towns and villages and provided us with the first breathtaking views of tropical rainforests, a common feature of the region.
But it wasn’t long before we were confronted with the political reality of Mexico again – its extreme and abject poverty. The decisive event in shaping the country, the Spanish conquest of the Aztec empire in 1521, was all-too-apparent in the first 20 miles of the challenge. The elite of Spanish descent, destizos of mixed blood who reside in the Spanish villas, were conspicuous by their absence. But there was no hiding for the populous at the bottom of the social heap; indigenous Indians who retain not much more than their pre-Cortes identity.
The lush landscape provided an ironic backdrop to the stark deprivation of the country people of Mexico. Three generations often live in two-roomed wooden shacks, distinguished as homes only by the makeshift clotheslines erected outside.
But their lack of worldly possessions doesn’t seem to dampen the spirit of these people.
Obviously briefed on the Macmillan trip, our convoy of cyclists were often confronted with whole villages of welcoming natives who came out to cheer us on and give us fruit or water for refreshment.
Leaving the tropical farmlands of behind, we exchanged palm tress for Ponderosa pine over the next two days as we made our way through the cloud forest, heading for the highest point of the Sierra Madre.
One relentless hill followed another on the 35-mile 1:9 gradient ascent up the famous Mexican mountain range.
The hills may have been tough but the views were spectacular. It’s hard to believe the highly-developed Banderas Bay region is just a stones-throw west of Sierra Madre. Its natural beauty remains virtually untouched, harbouring the timeless culture of rural Mexico.
By 6pm most of us had reached the summit, where we enjoyed a well-earned rest and breath-taking views over the valley.
The undulating hills of day four were a God-send where at least the expectation of a downhill made the ups seem more manageable.
Getting into the swing of things by now, we pedalled alone effortlessly (well almost) through day five, hitting the small quaint town of Ixian de Juarez, before climbing 25 miles among the pine forest of Benito Juarez and then descending 15 miles to 1,700m to the wonderful colonial town Oaxaca – a definite highlight of the trip.
The white and pastel colonial town looks like a version of Europe we would love to stumble upon in Spain though rarely do. but from what we saw of it, everyday life in Oaxaca (pronounced wa-ha-ka) is a far cry from being a clone of Andalusia.
Spending a (well-earned) night in a hotel in the town’s main square, the Zolcola, we were perfectly placed to savour the open bars, tequila slammers and native tunes of the marimba coming from the many gazebo bandstands.
Another eye-opener was the native children who, some as young as three, and despite the language barrier, wove around the tourists with their wares, displaying the negotiating skills of a western salesman.
There is a saying in Mexico that if you know the market of the city, you have a knowledge of the city itself and this is nowhere more true than in Oaxaca. A visually delightful collage of shades, the market and city alike seem to reflect the strong hues of the earth itself; the red seed, indigo blue and purple of the snails – everything except the food, which although textured and tasty, is as mud-coloured as the earthenware its cooked in.
Serious sight-seeing in Oaxaca should also include the Baroque Santo Domingo cathedral, a Fort Knox of fancy gold ware and nearby the sacred ruined city of Zapotec Indians at Monte Alban, which we enjoyed the following day.
The ancient Zapotec city lies just six miles from Oaxaca on top of a mountain ridge. From the impressive pyramid, it’s not hard to imagine how at the peak of its development between 600 and 900BC this great ceremonial centre covered 24 square miles and had a population established at 25,000.
Mounting our bikes again, it was time to leave Oaxaca and take the fairly flat roads and tracks through some small Indian villages. After 45 miles we climbed a further ten before dropping down and making camp in the forest.
The day six schedule seemed to be included as a reward for previous strenuous climbs; after breakfast we headed downhill for some 25 miles, before what now seemed like two shortish 15 mile climbs. this was followed by a magnificent descent, bringing us to the small village of San Pedro.
Setting up camp beside a graveyard seemed appropriate on that particular night – for it fell on one of Mexico’s most significant festivals – the Day of the Dead.
According to our tour guide Benjamin, it was on this day ever year that the gods would give permission for the dead to visit the living and to, as he put it, “taste the pleasures of life again”.
As tradition has it, in order for the spirits to find their way back through the darkness, the living must burn a sweet-smelling incense, called copal, and scatter the petals of a fragrant local marigold called Campasuehill. They would also lay out a feast for the dead and when the spirits had consumed its essence, the living would eat the rest.
“It’s a happy celebration,” said Benjamin. “A kind of family reunion”.
After a night of ghostly celebrations around a campfire, we rose the following morning confronted with one final big climb of 22 miles to a ridge with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean – our end was in sight. What came next was a glorious 35 mile descent to San Gabrield and our last night’s camp.
The final day of cycling dawned with a deep sense of accomplishment. Travelling 35 miles along undulating rural roads until lunchtime, we arrived at the beach of the exclusive resort of Puerto Escondido.
Unable to control our excitement, we crashed through the Macmillan banner and raced down to the sea, splashing and hugging each other with a profound sense of achievement.
The last day-and-a-half was spent in a five-star hotel which provided us with a well-earned rest after all our strenuous effort.
Margaritas at the poolside and room service were a welcome relief from what had gone before.
In this respect, the conclusion of the trip could easily leave us with a false impression of comfort when we look back on it.
Anyone considering embarking on a Macmillan challenge should remember that the word ‘challenge’ refers as much to the camping conditions as it does to the cycling.
‘Toilets’ were a hole in the ground surrounded by a wind breaker while a nearby river represented our only chance of getting a wash, if we were lucky. At the end of the journey, my Welsh friend Bernard said there were only two things that bothered him about the trip – the cycling and the camping.
But the sense of comradeship which resulted from this extreme adversity was tangible. It was certainly sad leaving the people I had shared so much with over the last fortnight.
But most importantly, we should remember that the money raised goes towards funding Macmillan nurses who have dedicated their lives to the care of cancer patients. The total amount raised by our trip alone exceeded £100,000.
All things considered, the Macmillan coast-to-coast challenge was a great experience. In just under a fortnight I had enjoyed the landscape and culture of Mexico in all its vastness – all for a good cause – a refreshing and worthwhile alternative to any package holiday.