From the border to the metropolis. Tamaulipas to San Luis Potosi to Hidalgo to El Estado De Mexico. The Mexican people are friendly, always. Sometimes boys in town will ride alongside me for a ways, men wave and smile, though older women tend to shuffle past, studiously ignoring my strangeness. The landscape changes, desert, mountain, city, it’s all here.

Sweeping downhills, after the sweaty uphills.

Crossing the Tropic of Cancer.

Framebag life.

In a Catholic country, I tip my hat to every roadside shrine in hopes of making it to the next one safely.

Shrimp lunch, dodging the afternoon heat, $6.

Sugar cane, by the truckload. We both climb hills at nearly the same speed.

Mountain life.

Pedestrian walkway that Ace and I are just a bit too wide for.

Host, Hipolito, in Matlapa.

Tortilleria Lupita, Matlapa. The smell of fresh tortillas in every town ranks highly on the list of good things about Mexico.

Urban single track.

Aptly named hills.

Perched on the edge, winding from town to town.

Among the cacti and the rocks.

Representing some of the best of Mexico: tacos and Coca-Cola. And the ever-present salsas, ranging from hot to fiery. Quite dangerous to sun-chapped lips.

And other dinners, cooked on my tiny alcohol stove. Finding camping spots has rarely been a problem. Those out of sight are best, though cacti and spiky vines tend to imply that the ground will be littered with thorns. My inflatable mattress pad loses a noticeable amount of air during the night by now, though for being older than I am it’s doing pretty good. Plus, the less comfortable it is in the morning, the more likely I am to get moving sooner.

Part of the town square in Tizayuca. Wall murals and brightly painted buildings exist everywhere here. Whatever else it may be, Mexico is certainly a pretty country.