Not doing much of anything for a week in Mexico

It's hurricane season (as I am writing this, Hurricane Ian is taking aim at Florida after leaving a million or more Cubanos without electricity), and that means it is all-inclusive season for me. With the last race of the year (unless something unexpectedly pops up) behind me and no urgent tasks at hand, I decided that a week at the Ocean Coral y Turquesa on the Riviera Maya might be a good way to wind down after the last three months of heavy travel. Since my single-supplement is almost as costly as paying the all-inclusive fee for a second person I asked my friend Bethany whether she wanted to come along as the trip dates were going to coincide with her birthday. Somehow she finagled a way out of her teaching duties for the suggested dates, and off we were.

For Beth it was the first time to visit Mexico, despite her having been to far-flung places such as China, Russia, and New Zealand. I forewarned her that being in an all-inclusive wouldn't really count for "having seen Mexico," but that didn't matter much. There's still excitement in leaving Lubbock and going to a new place, especially when it involves a First Class flight, free with miles. 

I had arranged for our ground transfer, and after the now-normal AA delays we arrived Saturday evening at the resort. Check-in was less organized than usual, and what I had written in the past about H10's nosediving customer service unfortunately was even more evident than it had ever been. Alas, I won't get into the various snafus and rather concentrate on the good times we had.

Foremost was the weather! Despite gloomy forecasts of daily 60% to 80% chances of thunderstorms we experienced no rain. The mornings were gloriously sunny, the sea was smooth, and having breakfast in the Privilege Lounge right on the water was spectacular. (We also had several dinners in the same spot.) In the afternoons we were glad when some clouds moved in and helped us avoid burning to a crisp. We alternated between swimming in the warm waters of the Caribbean (unfortunately not the clear turquoise of tourist brochures as this area has always had a lot of seaweed) and floating in one of the three pools of the resort. Beth was surprised how easily she took to clutching her pool-noodle and motion to one of the waiters to please bring another piña colada con extra amaretto.

In an all-inclusive the truly stressful moments always arrive when important decisions need to be made, such as where will we have dinner, and shall we go for thirds? While hanging out for a week in an AI does have a certain appeal, I simply cannot understand how some of the European visitors can spend two or even three weeks in the same resort! I'd go nuts, even with daily mixology demonstrations, entertainment by the resident iguanas, or the bubble extravaganza at the swim-up bar.

Generally I bring one of my bikes along to escape the compound for a few hours every day. But with having a companion I had decided to forgo the bike (and thus the daily exercise) as I didn't want to smash the other hip and put Beth into a situation that neither of us wanted. Obviously knowing about her birthday I had told her that I'd treat her to an all-day excursion so that she'd get at least a small whiff of life outside the tourist prison.

Our day-trip to Chichén Itzá (booked through Viator) started at 7 a.m. with a hotel pick-up and a short drive to a more general meeting point just outside of Cancun. Thanks to some major road construction the large bus didn't materialize until almost an hour later, making us wonder whether we had been stranded. But you know how Mexico is: Just remain tranquilo. The bus eventually showed up and 30 international tourists hurtled toward one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

I had been to this site on several occasions before, and I have to say that I like the fact that visitor no longer can climb the main pyramid or wander through the many other archeological digs. Our tour guide, Luis, was extremely knowledgeable, yet at times he tried to convey more information that most of us could digest. The two (very hot and sweltering) hours at Chichén were just enough to wet my appetite to revisit some of those places that I explored 40 or more years ago on my first forays into Mexico and Guatemala. So many places, so little time....

From the ruins, with all of us trying to revive ourselves in the air-conditioned bus, it was just a 30-minute drive to the Cenote Samaal at Hacienda Selva Maya, a few kilometers outside of Valladolid. I have been to numerous such sinkholes, which have become increasingly popular with tourists as they offer a cool respite from the oppressive Yucatecan heat. Included in our visit was a buffet lunch in the so-called "authentic" restaurant of the hacienda, but I have to say that I have had much better, much more authentic food in many places. Oh well. But the cenote, despite all the visitors old and young, was still rather spectacular, and we enjoyed our 45 minutes of swimming in the cool water.

The final stop of the trip before heading back to the Riviera Maya came in the center of Valladolid, a pleasant town with a beautiful zocalo, or main square. I wish Beth could have experienced what life in a typical town like Valladolid looks like on a Friday or Saturday night; instead, a short visit to the (unimpressive) church and a walk around the zocalo had to suffice. Of course, I see the whole thing with different eyes, having spent so much time over the years in Mexico; for Beth it was all new and exciting.

Similarly exciting (for her) was our second escape from Alcatraz, this time in the form of the resort-operated bike tour to nearby Puerto Morelos. I knew what was coming as I had seen the wobbling string of tourists with their fearless leader on many occasions when I had been returning from my forays into the hinterland on the Ritchey. Sure enough, we had to wear safety vests and were briefed on how to ride single file. The bikes were coaster-brake beach cruisers, but at least the helmets were OK. We rode a whopping seven miles (out-and-back), and the leader asked on several occasions whether we needed a break, but our group of eight or so was much more athletic than he imagined: We pedaled at an average speed of almost 6.6 mph, after all! 

But as I said, it was another way to see a little bit of the Mexico outside of the resort, and I think Beth has a better understanding of why I always talk so passionately about our neighbor to the south. She got to experience potholes and speedbumps from the tractor-saddle of a beach cruiser, and she saw the well-kept yards and small tiendas in town. The bike tours in the resorts may be as hokey as they come, but if they allow some folks to understand that there is a different world beyond those gates with the watchmen, well, then it's all good.

After a week of bloatin' and floatin' it was time to go back to Lubbock and face reality. It's always fun to go to one of these places, but if I'm brutally honest, I don't think I could stand a stay much longer than a week. 

The flight back to Lubbock started out with yet another delay, then a rebooking, and then an unplanned overnight stay in a Courtyard by Marriott in DFW when AA's maintenance of its airplanes once again was lacking and we missed our final connection back home. Tranquilo. It doesn't make sense to get all riled up, and on Sunday we made it back to Lubbaville right around noon. And now it's time to work off those extra pounds once again....

Jürgen

The inaugural Maryland Cycling Classic, and far beyond into the hinterland

Since late 2019 I had been receiving notices of my having been assigned to the Maryland Cycling Classic, a UCI 1.Pro road race new to the World Calendar and the biggest professional cycling event that the US has seen since the demise of the AMGEN Tour of California. But COVID and sponsorship woes (not to mention other issues that are always kept away from the public) forced several postponements for the 120-mile race through Baltimore County. When in early spring I once again was assigned to the race for its debut (finally!), I was excited as it would give me a chance to discover a part of the US that I hardly knew.

The initial phase of my travel started in the same way the just-completed trip to Germany had ended: Severely delayed flights meant that I didn't get to Baltimore's BWI until well after midnight on the Friday two days after my return from Europe. Seriously, these delays are a bit tough to stomach, even though the delay and subsequent rebooking meant an additional upgrade to First. The reality is, at some point the wine starts to taste stale and you just want to get to your bed. No such luck at BWI: First I had to Uber to the hotel, and then it took 20 minutes to get my room assignment straightened out. That's not what you like to deal with at 1:45 a.m.

My sleep was rudely terminated at 6:00 a.m. when City of Baltimore workers outside of the Hilton, the host hotel, started up their machinery to do some urgently needed pipe work—so urgent that they repeated the drill on Sunday and Monday at the same time, Labor Day non-withstanding. It all was a bit annoying. Not able to sleep any longer I got up and assembled my road Ritchey, the bike that had delivered me into the crash that had destroyed my hip last year on March 1. I hadn't ridden that bike since then, but one has to venture back, right?

After breakfast and my touching base with the organizer and collecting my race credentials I had a chance to go for a first shake-down cruise in Baltimore before I had to attend an afternoon meeting. Well, that ride told me that riding in Maryland wasn't going to be the cakewalk that I had envisioned: Short, punchy climbs, horrible street surfaces, and oppressive humidity made me feel sorry for the pro peloton that was going to tackle similar roads the next day. As always, the Locus app helped me find not only a suitable loop but also a way back to the Hilton, but when I got back after only 19 miles I was pretty fried.

That evening, after the meeting and without further obligations, I ventured out on the town on foot. I hit two microbreweries—Suspended Brewing and Checkerspot Brewing—and had an interesting conversation with locals at the first (and recommended) brewery. Kizzy and Joy, a local couple, told me about housing woes and rental conditions in the general Washington D.C. area (where they used to rent), and my eyes almost fell out when I heard what one has to pay for a place down there; comparatively, Baltimore is a bargain, and they now can afford to buy a place and pay less. As always, brewpubs are a good source of information, and when the beer is as good as it was at Suspended the fun is doubled. Checkerspot was less friendly and didn't make much of an impression on me.

After Sunday morning's early pipe-dragging and breakfast buffet I still had half of the day for myself before my duties called me to the finish line. It was a sunny day, and I embarked on a 30-mile loop south of the city, passing by the harbor, traversing blue-collar neighborhoods, and riding though leafy estates that definitely cost more than $120,000. It was easy to tell where the have-nots and the haves live, simply by the condition of the roads. Gees, rarely have I seen worse pavement than this! I take back everything I have ever said about East Lubbock.

The race had started around 1:30 p.m. north of Baltimore, out in the county; the organizers apparently didn't want to piss off the locals and instead intended for them to return from church before the road closures took effect. The race had attracted various Pro Tour teams (such as Trek-Segafredo, EF Education, and Israel-Premier Tech) but also much lesser-known Continental teams, and the course and the difference in ability soon took their toll. After less than half an hour the race was totally blown up, and by the time the first group entered the first of four 12-K finish circuits the time gap to the first chasers of that group of about 15 was in excess of five minutes. The road in downtown Baltimore had been patched with blobs of asphalt until Saturday afternoon (!!!), and somehow there weren't any mishaps that I witnessed. My volunteer colleagues did a great job after I had extensively briefed them, and by about 7:30 p.m. I was back on the way to the hotel, my work mostly done.

And that was the end of the inaugural Baltimore Cycling Classic for me, except for some paperwork and sending in my bill. The fun was about to start.

In my planning for this trip it had been clear that I wanted to involve riding my bike as much as possible. So, I booked a three-night stay with Hilton points at the Embassy Suites in Hunt Valley, about 45 minutes north of Baltimore proper. With today's hotel (or Airbnb) prices, that was going to save an easy $400 to $450, and it was going to include a generous daily breakfast plus the ES evening reception which one can easily substitute for dinner. Bingo. And best of all, I was located right at the southern part of Baltimore County's extensive system of rural roads that were just what I was looking for.

Well, when planning things you can calculate pretty much everything, except of course the weather. While the MCC had been held in sunny (yet hot and humid) conditions, Monday's skies suddenly turned sour. On my first ride in the Hunt Valley I eventually encountered rain (plus a washed-out bridge), and the second day was so miserable that I left bike riding to another day and went back to Baltimore to visit the National Aquarium. Day three was a mixed bag of overcast and really not very pleasurable conditions, but on my last day (before heading for D.C.) I was lucky in that the sun came out and humidity and temperature levels were perfect. That was the day when I went out to complete the 40+ mile Snickerdoodles Loop.

You may wonder about this strange name, and so had I. The ride had been a suggested by my friend Jared, with whom I was going to stay for the final two nights of my Maryland adventure and who is a local rider, race promoter, USAC official, and general fountainhead of information. More on all that in a short while. Jared had sent me one of the cue sheets for his club's rides, and after retracing the route in Locus I navigated something like 42 hilly, hilly miles. Riding in this part of Maryland is a little bit like riding in the Belgian Ardennes: one short punchy climb followed by a quick downhill followed by another climb. It wears you down. The boys in the MCC had climbed 3,000 meters in 120 miles, and I clocked a little more than 1,000 meters in my 40+ miles. So, there you go.

But it was a gorgeous ride, regardless of how slow and fat I felt. The landscape much reminded me of what one would find in the beautiful Holledau just north of Freising, an area that I may never get to ride in again after the latest developments with Sabine. Other areas reminded me of Tuscany, maybe not as wide open but similar in their climbs. There are no towns to speak of; city limit signs don't seem to exist. You know where you are by looking at your GPS or the cemetery markers. Where people buy their groceries is a big mystery to me. They must drive 20 miles or more to the larger towns such as Cockeysville or Westminster. That's also where you'll find the only brewpub, B.C. Brewery.

The area has large corn fields, and Jared later told me about the various types (mostly for human consumption) and some of the history, which of course I promptly forgot. In addition to large pastures (oddly, one hardly sees bovines) there are extensive fields planted with sorghum, which at this time of the year already has taken on an autumnal reddish color. Add to that the wooded areas, one-lane bridges, curvy country byways, and general quiet and you have a cyclist's paradise. Traffic was very light, and most of the few cars out between hamlets were in not much of a rush.

If you decide to ride in this part of Maryland, I would suggest that you bring some good climbing gears. Sure, I'm an old guy by now and thus a bit on the slower side, but my 34/28 (F/R) was barely enough to get me up some of those inclines in relative comfort. Well, at least I didn't have to walk anything, but I did curse myself a few times for not installing a 34 in the back.

Just a quick explanation of the Snickerdoodles moniker for the loop: At about the half-way point in Hampstead there's an eponymous small bakery cum hipster coffee shop that the local riders like to frequent, and I have to say it was nice to hang out with free Wi-Fi and a good cup of joe while licking my wounds. And as Jared had said, from there it was mostly downhill back down to Hunt Valley. 

Good riding up there, for sure. But as I previously said, the weather didn't cooperate the entire time, and on my rain day I decided to drive back down to Baltimore and visit the National Aquarium. Many moons ago, Judy and I had flown out to the area, motivated at least partially by the prospect of visiting the NA. We had been floored by this amazing facility, and so it was only fitting to go back. When even with the senior discount you have to shell out $35 for a ticket you know the place better be good! If you find yourself in the area, forego other expenses if you have to and by all means do visit the National Aquarium.

New to me was a temporary exhibit dedicated to jellies, and I can't tell you how mesmerizing these odd creatures are. I had once seen an amazing jelly-fish exhibit in the Monterrey aquarium in California, and this one was just as spectacular, if not more so. There is something otherworldly about these creatures, and when you read how long they've been around and how they have explosively been taking over much of our oceans over the past half century you start having some funny ideas if you're a reader of good sci-fi literature. Of course, the main exhibits of the aquarium are top-notch as well, so much so that I started to run close to maxing out my 4-hour paid street parking time....

That trip down to the city of Baltimore also gave me a chance to visit one more brewpub. There's only one thing I regret about going to the Ministry of Brewing: It should have been microbrewery #500 or some other memorable number instead of #431. How often do you go into a former church, with all its religious icons still on the walls, that has been repurposed as a brewery? I mean, pews to fill in for chairs at the tables? Fermentation tanks where the altar used to be? Wow. I guess even a rainy day can be A-OK.

After completing the Snickerdoodles Loop I loaded my bike into my rental car and left the Hunt valley, heading south to University Park, the Washington neighborhood where Jared has been living for the past half year. Before then he and his roommate, Wayne, had rented a place in the Baltimore area, but when the landlord needed the place for himself they had to find something new—a detached $2,800 a month 1,500 square foot older house in a pleasantly quiet neighborhood became the new home.

During our dinner at Franklin's, a local brewery and BBQ institution, Jared gave me an in-depth rundown of the area. Since Wayne, his roommate, is also a USA Cycling official the discussion turned to the state of racing in the area and USAC in general once we made it back to the house. That's what I love about traveling, and staying with people: One gets so much insight into a world that's so different from one's own.

For Friday, Jared had taken off from work after he had seen the weather forecast. And for once the meteorologists were correct: Ample sun, clear skies, no pollution, and temps in the mid- to high-70s made for the best possible conditions for our ride. Add to that the post-Labor Day absence of tourists, and the stage was set for a memorable day on the bikes.

From the house we rode a couple of miles to the nearest metro station and commuted 10 miles or so to Lincoln Station. From there we went on a convoluted tour of inner D.C., taking in all the sights while riding mostly on bike trails or bike routes. I had been once to our national capital, but seeing this grandeur, the immensity of the layout in such fine weather, with skies spanning forever, the Potomac at our side, man, this was impressive. Truly impressive.

We navigated partly by the seat of our pants (mainly Jared's), partly with the help of Locus to expand our loop that encompassed the must-sees and then led us farther afield and even across the Potomac into Virginia. I insisted on clunking up the stairs to the Lincoln Memorial in our road shoes, and I had to stop here, there, and everywhere for photo ops. Jared not only was very patient but enjoyed himself as tourist and tourist-guide. As he would later say, he had been waiting for such an opportunity, and when it presented itself he knew how to make the very best out of it.

Before heading back to University Park via the metro we had a couple of pints at Port City Brewing, a friendly microbrewery that was teeming with locals enjoying the perfect day. Seriously, it doesn't get much better than that.

My flight back to Texas wasn't going to leave until early afternoon on Saturday, so I decided to wait with re-packing the Ritchey until Saturday morning. It's always a relief when everything fits back into the case, and thankfully there were no issues. Bike packed, stomach full of pancakes, and ready to return home I bid farewell to my friendly hosts, drove my Nissan Rogue back out to BWI, and eventually boarded the first of my two on-time AA flights back to Lubbock. Since it was Saturday and no business fliers were around both of my upgrade requests had cleared at the 100-hour mark, and I was able to finish the trip in style. What a fun week!

Jürgen