I’m not feeling well. I either have what Scott had, or whatever was ailing the coughing French girl in our dorm room at the Oaxaca hostel. I’m going to blame my congestion and sinus headache on the French. We’ve learned you can’t buy pseudoephedrine in Mexico due to the meth problem.
We get a late start. Compared to the mountains we just came from, we’re now in a rather uninspiring flat coastal plain. We’re just above 100 feet of elevation, the lowest we’ve been in a while.
We take a beating from the wind right from the get-go. The gusts come wild and strong at our left side. Both of us get blown off the road a few times. Scott is cursing at the wind. As in, yelling at it like a crazy man. He’s gone Gringo Loco! The key is to keep spinning. If we pause for even a second the wind takes our forward momentum and blows us sideways off the pavement.
We stop for a cold drink and I ask the shopkeeper if it’s always this windy, because maybe it’s worth waiting this out, seeing if it will blow through. She says this is the windy season, but that today the winds aren’t too bad. Clearly this lady does not ride a bicycle to work. Well, we’re not going to wait around for it to get any worse. We need to get outta Dodge!
All hope for the wind changing direction is officially crushed when we ride up on wind turbines, hundreds of them, all faced in the same direction. I’m willing to bet the wind blows pretty consistently around here.
The wind howls through the turbines. They sound like they’re growling at us. The clouds add an erie ambience. The road we’re on is thankfully wide, but busy and there are no lines painted on it delineating the lanes or shoulder. So cars and trucks are weaving in and out claiming their respective space. It feels like we are running some kind of gauntlet with the monstrous turbines on both sides of the road. As if at any moment they’ll come alive like evil cartoon characters and do whatever it is an evil cartoon wind turbine would do.