CDMX – Popocatépetl – Puebla: 161 km

I’ve decided to join Marijn for just a tiny bit longer. I don’t want our ways to separate after a stationary week in Mexico City. It feels more fitting to end our journey the way we started; cycling. Also, I kind of like to see Puebla. And so, under the smog of Mexico City, our last days commence.

Between us and Puebla stand two volcanos; the famous (and active) Popocatepétl to our right and its less famous brother the Iztaccihuatl to our left. In-between them runs a small winding road, a campsite at the top. Perfect. As we get closer to the climb, we imagine the views that we will cook our second to last diner together to. But more often than not, things do not go as planned on the bike. We’ve set out early today, it’s a long haul towards the campsite, but we’ve lost time and daylight getting ourselves out of the city, taking a few wrong turns, and getting stuck in herds of goats. When we start our ascent, dusk is setting in. Another thing we did not anticipate, is how serious this climb is. The road is horrifically steep, and as we progress upwards, the temperature drops with every kilometre. After an hour, it’s pitch dark and freezing cold. No views tonight I guess. Then the oxygen issue kicks in. We’ve started out this morning at 2.000 meters elevation, and the road takes us op to 3.700. The last half hour, I have to stop every 200 meters or so, from simple shortness of breath and sheer exhaustion. But stopping means freezing even more, it’s a choice between no oxygen and freezing, between bad and even worse. Desperately I look for places to set up camp next to the road, but it’s all way too steep. There’s no other way but to make it to the top. At a certain moment, I don’t remember when, I don’t really feel anything anymore, there’s no space in my mind to think of anything, I’m too dizzy, too cold and too exhausted. Marijn only exists as a blinking red backlight in the distance, that disappears behind the trees around every corner, appearing again once we’re on straight stretch. The 20 kilometres take us nearly 3.5 hours, and is by far the hardest climb I’ve ever done. Period.

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Once at the top, we fall into each other’s arms in a depleted attempt of a celebration. We quickly change our wet clothes for pretty much all the other clothes we’re carrying, it’s below 0. First item on the agenda; make a fire to keep us warm. Everything is wet here, but when the wood is finally somewhat igniting, a ranger from the nearby station comes over to tell us it’s not allowed. We sit in our chairs, shaking from the cold and physical exertion. Just the thought of putting up the tent makes me shiver. I don’t feel good. Marijn doesn’t feel good. With every 10 meters we walk, or whenever we get something from our bags, we need to sit down because we’re out nauseous and out of breath. We conclude we have altitude sickness. We need to find a place inside, at least to warm up a little. We ask the weirdly positioned police cabin if we can come in for half an hour. It’s a hard no. We explain our turmoil over the phone to a friend of one of the police officers, who in turn explains back to us that they’ll ask the rangers if we can stay with them. We might have to pay some money. By this time, they could’ve asked us for a thousand pesos, but 100 per person will do. We happily meet their demands, and soon find ourselves on a bunch of couch pillows on the floor next to a Maria statue decorated with green, blue and red blinking Christmas lights. Once we lay down, the nausea fades away to a slight hum in the distance. We have no appetite and fall asleep without dinner. 

The morning brings new hope. The nausea is still there but only faintly, we still don’t have an appetite but at least the shortness of breath is gone. For me at least, Marijn still has a sharp pain in his chest. The watery morning sun shines a pale light over our surroundings, we can finally see where we are. It takes our breath away, this time only figuratively. The crystalized dew on the grass makes the meadows white, there’s mist between the pine trees, and in the not so far distance the Popocatépetl slowly releases think clouds of ashy smoke. On the other side the Iztaccihuatl stands proud and derived from trees, stark, sharp and black. There are worse places to wake up, still not sure if yesterday was worth it though. Yet, retrospectively I’m glad we’ve had some last drama, it makes our last days a spectacle; collapsing on a volcano in Central Mexico. The road takes us only downhill today. The first part is unpaved and we take our time. The second part is perfectly asphalted, and we race down it, through villages where our hunger comes back with ferocity. The last part we are guided by a moutainbiker also heading for Puebla. We eat ice-cream in the heat, yesterday’s climb seems like worlds away. This was our last day cycling together.

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In Puebla we stay with Ignacio. A lovely host who we arrive to early. We have time to explore the town. It’s like the colonial villages we’ve come to enjoy, but then bigger and busier. It’s Sunday, loads of activities on the town square. We do what we always do, walk around, explore, have a beer. Tomorrow Marijn continues south, I will take the night bus back to Guadalajara. You can’t really prepare for goodbyes like these. You just roll with whatever is happening, you enjoy each other’s company, you reminisce about the last five months, recall the best and the worst times, you have a beer together, you exchange stuff in your luggage, you have a last breakfast together, and then the moment is there. We hug with tears in our eyes, we smack each other’s shoulders, we hug again. Marijn gets on his bike, we wave, he rides off, into traffic, onto new lands and grand adventures. I will miss him.

The rest of the day I feel strange. Without Marijn I have to recalibrate. Five months of utter and total ecstasy, of hardship, of ups and downs, of everything new, and most of all, all together. From the icy peaks of the Canadian Rockies, to the tropical beaches of Mexico. And all the stuff in-between; the peanut butter sandwiches next to convenience stores in forgotten towns in the USA, the Forestry Trunk Road, our first real taco’s, staying with Mormons, the Douro Valley, Todd & Sherrie, that one crazy café in Madrid, San Francisco. Too much. I’ve woken up to Marijn, I’ve gone to bed to Marijn. We’ve shared every meal, every sunset and sunrise, every single one of the 9.744 kilometres. We crossed a continent together. Man, that’s insane. I’ve been humbled by his kindness, have learnt from the openness of his heart and could not think of a better friend to do this with. I’m so very excited for what’s to come for him. I can only imagine the places he’ll camp, the people he’ll meet, and unexpected situations he'll get in. He explains he’ll try to ride south on his compass, no maps or apps. What a man! All the best to you, my friend. With that melancholic feeling, between sad and happy, I saunter a couple of hours away in Puebla. And with the same feeling I get on the bus, though it’s slowly changing for excitement about this new phase, this new stationary era in Guadalajara. A place I shall utterly love.