The days of shooting stars began. Almost every evening I was camping in areas far beyond my imagination about this trip and everynight the day ended by looking at the sky and see shooting stars passing by. The Baja California Peninsula is divided in two states, Baja California and Baja California Sur. The peninsula is supposed to be one of the darkest areas in the world, stars and the milky way are astonishing. Cycling there is an extreme opportunity to be a part of the nature. To avoid the hot midday hours, I had to wake up early, put my things in order, attached them to the bicycle and started pedal stroke for pedal stroke to get into the rhythm.

As the sun set a sign "RV Camping" drew my attention. It took me some time to cycle the 3km dirtroad but as I arrived I found an empty parking and closed showers, the main reason for my detour. Though it was abandoned due to travelling out of season, I found a nice spot in the dunes and watched the fishermen while preparing myself for the night as more and more bugs emerged. The first complete cycling day ended with a wonderful sunset which turned the whole sky in a warm red as the sun slowly disappeared over the ocean. The next morning began with enlightenment about the bugs. As I liked to pitch my tent in the dunes I should have checked the sand first. According to the toilet paper I slept nearby a common loo. The 3 kilometres dirtroad to actually start making progress on the road wern't that bad in comparisson to the following hours. 110 kilometres of polluted streets. Until San Quentin it is nightmare to ride bicycle. A long, straight, flat road with no shoulder and plenty of traffic.

I have to admit that other cyclists are better prepared than me. Neither equipment nor mind were close to challenge the upcoming in a regular way. I wasn't a regualr backpacker either, so what? Actually I knew as everybody else "I am in a desert, I will be on my own" but somehow my notion of life tells me not to worry that much. A little bit of preparation wouldn't have hurt in this case. 3 litres of water in the middle of a desert, no map, no Spanish, no tools for the bike – a classic.

My eyes hurt as I sat down on the plastic seat and ordered a whole chicken barbequed, watched by a suspicious cook who couldn't take her eyes of me. Some US Americans started a conversation. I wasn't in the mood to chat after a day of cycling in traffic in an unwelcoming environment. And now, some of these drivers liked to chat witch me while I actully already shut down and just wanted to rest. Their huge cars parked all over the place. Hundreds of them were rushing over the 1,700 km long Trans-Peninsular Highway (Mexican Federal Highway 1), the first paved road that spans the entire peninsula. The highway was built by the Mexican government to improve Baja California's economy and increase tourism as it wasn't more than desert and didn't change that much even after. I found my self confrontrated with those manly North Americans admiring my trip in a way just an US citizen can. Great examples of the american way of life due to their goal of being part of the Baja 1000, a off-road race that took place those edxact days, a manly adventure. El Rosalito wasn't more than a few houses but I already could see a shift in the environment. As the guys were hardly impressed about my trip and even more how I could eat the whole chicken, they gave me tons of cliff-bars and a map with the advise I should watch out for a hotel in El Rosalito instead of coninue to cycle south. The next kilometres are supposed to be hilly and dry. For the next 140km nothing but desert and cacti. I can't say I wasn't impressed but not smart enough to estimate how much water I will need. How can you estimate such a number? I calculated 10 liters but wasn't willing to carry that much and decided to cycle until its dark or my legs strike, to shorten the next day. Both, sunset and lack of power occured simultaniously. I camped close to the peak of a bunch of successive hills. I never pitched a tent faster in my life than this night as the flies tried to eat me alive. It's a hard job to stay patiooned and focused, particulary with the wish of zero flies inside of your tent it's hard to put all your belongings inside, and arrange the bicycle. This night I did not feel good. My tent was expposed covering. It cools down more easily and it is a majestic feeling to see the stars and listening to the sound of nature as the last thing before falling asleep. Normally I shoudn't have slept so well. I heard harsh stories about stomach problems for foreigners and just ate a whole barbeque chicken. even more suspicious were my first real tacos. The highway normally devides the village. Left and rightside are some houses, stores and street vendors slling all kinds of stuff. I joined three guys eating tacos. You point, he gives right away, 5 seconds to put rice and meat on two overlapped small corn tortilla. The meat is made right in front of you, heatened on a gas stove. It's on you to garnish with some onicions, guacamole, salso and cilantro. Most often you can choose between two salsas of hot peppers and even hotter peppers. The folded dish is handfood and it almost impossible to be ataco without something falls out on the sides. I had 4 of them. Everything of this grill screamed diarrhea but I slept deep and well.

The next day began in a hurry after I saw three bikes climbing and fighting with another uphill part. With fast feet I closed the gap and said hello. You get some information about other cyclists on the way; everyone in the villages is talking about those lunatics of the same kind and tries to tell you that your friends are just a few hours, a day ride, some days etc. ahead. I knew they are out there, apparently three of them who started their trip in Canada and had different motives and destinations. After sharing stories I estimated the distances. Every night we camped just a stones-through distant from each other.

Though I enjoyed my days I'd like to spend some hours with them and judged our joint. We didn't group on the first day. After they fixed a flat tire and we had lunch in a comedor, a Mexican restaurant with some shopping prospects for water, sweets, tomato sauce etc. They took a nap after lunchtime what bored me to dead and influenced my rhythm for the worse. There is a certain way you have to compete against the daily challenges. As we finally left the place, the tire was flat again. The off- road area was littered with countless spikes which probably caused his first troubles. I decided to leave and cycled all the way to the only possible destination, “Cataviña”. Some pretty intense climbs over 10% and around 32°C with 3 liters of water shouldn’t be the worst. After I left the other the area became flat, the wind went over the plain and there was nothing which offered resistance but me. As the whistling wind got on my nerves, my legs became tired, my mouth dry. This strain on my muscles and nerves resulted in some serious German curses. In the meanwhile road lay in front of me in a not far distant zigzag but it took me hours to reach the curve and the wind conditions changed for my benefit after 40km of suffering while a 118km sand desert. A dog chased me and I had to through one of my few bottles with water at him to get rid of him.

The environment was breath taking, different to all I have seen before. Sand and cacti, 80 species including the Mexican Giant Gardon (Pachycereus pringlei )which is the world’s largest cacti with up to 18m. The Boojum forest is named after the imaginary landscape story “The Hunting of the Snark” due to its bizarre and grotesque endemic flora. Non-cacti vegetations like the Elephant Tree, an enormous trunk with small branches and the Boojum, which ages up to 400years. The indigenous Seri people believe that touching this plant causes strong winds to blow. I guess some of those Baja 1000 racers got a bit touchy this day, it explains the headwinds.

2km before I arrived in Cataviña, a jeep stopped after passing by. They gave me a cold beer, jackpot. The environment changed. Suddenly I drove through a rock garden coexisting with various species of cacti and recognized a huge boulder field. I already could see the village and sat down to enjoy my beer. The view over this spectacular landscape was amazing. Old rock formations with 6000 year old cave paintings which are cracked open under the intensity of the sun and the wind which tossed little stones over the eroded rocks as I finished my cold beer. I could choose between a camping and a hotel. The hotel was overpriced and after talking to the owner of the camping who assured me the safety of his place just before he left with some 1liter bottles of Tecate beer and a machete, I showered with cold water out of a next to the manual washing station, washed my cloths and bought a cold beer by myself, water, bread and some sweats. My friends didn’t check in the camping but I wasn’t quite sure if they arrived after all this trouble and rather enjoyed the comfort of a hammock, the view in the sky and the bended fence, obviously destroyed from several robberies, instead of searching them. I caught them next morning and we ended up in Punta Prieta, were I could gape at their equipment. Especially stove and tents impressed me. From this day I joined James and Ira, two Canadians guys and Joanna, a Scottish cyclist who all spoke decent Spanish which was an advantage to buy food and to ask for camping on private property.

The highway turned west again. We decided to go off-road in El Tamatal, a 3 km detour on a dirtroad to a kind of fishermen’s house/ junk yard but by now I figured that this is just the Mexican way of caring about property. We enjoyed the Pacific Ocean, beer, music and campfire. The landlords or somebody related arrived but did not let themselves disturbed and unswerving continued their work. While my shower in the ocean I felt pressure on my Achilles tendon for the first time but rather took pictures of thousands of pelicans watching the sunset. The next day was a massacre for my Achilles. I kept on cycling by knowing about the pain. A stupid self-destruction. I told the others to carry on and slowly followed to reach Guerrero Negro a larger town (13,000 inhabitants) just at the district border Baja California/ Baja California Sur. We all took two days off. My body did not want to continue. I even hitched a hike in a pick-up to buy a pizza to celebrate the first part of my Mexican adventure.

And it began. Several months on the road couldn't preapare for the sudden change which hit me right at the mexican border. The last time as I experienced such an impact of cultural and natural diversion was a trip in Morocco, my first impression of North Africa. More than a colourful new universe as all my visits in each and every nation, as it was more intense due to totally different roots. It's not just distinctive in a sort of secession, it's a new origin and one step further in my aorund the world travel after indeed switching continents and experiencing the capitalistic world of North America in Canada and the USA, I finally was entering Latin America and one of it's most diverse nations: Mexico.

The last couple of days with my friends Liem and Adrien were an action fully kick-off and made it easier to assimilate into the new environment [ POST USA]. They took me and my bicycle to the peak of a hill we had noticed near Ensenada throughout our few trips in the area. It was commonly accepted to start from the top instead of oppressing good vibes by climbing a hill in the very beginning. I appreciated this move, the conditions of my shoulder was doubtful. It took some time until my new panniers were packed, my clothing arranged and the rest of the luggage found its position. My bicycle spend some days attached to the van. It felt good to admiring the view over the area into this unfolding desert. The street wriggle downhill and the sun was high. My freinds look at me in mourning as I did at them, it was the end of our joint and the beginning of everyones new journey. Adrien would leave to New Zealand, Liem was up to drive north to Alaska and back to Montreal to spend some days before returning to Europe. As it was on me, I was ready for my new advanture. A last look at may frinds, how they wave and shout as I cycled further away, their faces full of joy for me to start cycling again. I felt the same energy. Something called me in. The sun already hid behind the tops. after 2 hours I started to search for a camping spot. As I started to cycle I was assure about the differnce to Oregon and its plentyful options of finding a good solution for the overnight stay. The next turn revealed a kind of camping, a old house, an empty pool and some dogs which didn't like me approaching. A unshaved man appeared out of the house, cigarrete smoke and beer flushed down his throat, his shouting at the dogs had no apparent reaction on the barking dogs which more and more surrounded me. It was time to ask for accomodation, I'd liked the idea to pitch my tent on someones property but he gave me to understand that he just look after the site while its offseason, a reason the dogs did not listen to his instructions. Leaving Europe and its comfort with avaiable beds, restrooms and no serious language borders did not change in the last 6months. Well, I was alone in Quebec, a francophone district, but beside my attempts to speak French I could survive with my English skills. The United States of America followed were a more intense up and down but all in all I wasn't confrontated with extrem environmental appart form some rare moments in the Bronx, NYC there I felt out of place. Until now it didn't feel at all like a problem, I moved within the limits of my bounderies. I definitely felt alien out there in the desert, some dogs snapping in the air and a obviously drunken mexican farmer wondering about me in general and my appearance at the camping. It took a while to communicate my wish to stay overnight, that I had a tent and needed a place to rest. But as he began to understand and recognized the opportunity of some cash, he swiftly open the originally closed camping for me, took my few Pesos and didn't care about my presence anymore. Under his shoouting the dogs left me and at the end of the dry pool area, against a small wall, I pitched my tent the first time alone since the start of my cycling in Oregon in which I was accompanied by Marvin until I broke my collorbone. From now on I will feel more often like an alien as I was a bearded Gringo waering cycliong cloths in Latin America.

I spend several thoughts on how to picture my tent and bicycle as less as obvious to the public. All my sorrows were on a robbery of my bicycle. I took the front wheel into the tent, the rear of the bike stucked underneath the tent, as much it could and all of my luggage was brought into the interior to be safe and weigh on the frame as a security alarm.

Finally I came to rest, arranged ta chair and looked at the sky. Uproariously reverberated the noise of the passing trucks in the three empty swimming pools as they drove through the curving street around the hugh property. The sky was dark but speckeld with stars. Alone but nor lonely. It made me unimaginably happy, beyond imagination. I carry this moment in me as a treasure.