PS Mexico: Bike ride to Hell and back

The mayor of Mexico City is a fan of the environment and Mexico is trying to improve their bad reputation on environmental standards. Mexico was chosen to host World Earth Day next year, according to my morning paper. One of the eco-activities available each Sunday is a bike tour of the city. A giant loop around the city is blocked for cars and bikers, roller bladders, and skatboards hit the pavement accompanied with their dogs and kiddos. I arranged to spend my last Sunday in Mexico with Lucy, a friend from language school and her husband. I had gone out the night before and somehow screwed up my alarm clock so I was late. Argh. I had been to her apartment once before, but not by metro, and it took a few minutes to locate the correct street to scurry down. When I got to her building, I stared at the buzzer buttons and realized I didn’t know which apartment number was hers! I was busily wracking my brain and staring at the buttons when the guard asked me what I was up to. I explained that I was here to visit my friend, Lucy, a Chinese-American girl who just moved in, but that I couldn’t remember which apartment she lived in. He looks at my quizzically and asks, “Maria?”….Um, no, I try to be patient. I am speaking in Spanish here, so it shouldn’t be so difficult. Her name is Lucy. I am already really late, I am stressed because I hate being late, and this jackass won’t believe me. We go back and forth a few more times with me repeating that her name is Lucy (how many Chinese-American women just moved into this building in Mexico City? Come on!) and he kept suggesting other names that sounded nothing like that. Finally, on the brink of loosing it, I turn on my heels and stop over to the payphone eight feet away and call Lucy. I explain that I am right outside her door and the guard won’t let me in. She laughs and soon she and her husband have joined me on the street. Sigh.
We walk to a nearby park in search of bicycles to rent. The park had a sort of carnival atmosphere with lots of fun activities for children, lots of food available on a stick, several motorized Barbie cars and hot wheels for toddlers to terrorize their parents with, a painting stand and a massage therapist with one of those cool chairs that makes is possible to get a back massage and still feel totally relaxed and comfortable. The bicycle stand we were looking for wasn’t there so we moved on to the next. The bicycle stand was there, but they only had broken bikes left, but we could wait. We moved on again. We found a bicycle repair shop and asked if they rented bikes. Eventually, after relinquishing my driver’s license and some pesos, we got two adult bikes and a purple bike that I dubbed Barney for two hours.
We were off. It was a beautiful sunny morning that was a remarkable change from the bleary gray weather we had been dealing with. I had a warm breeze whippings through my hair, the sun on my shoulders (covered in SPF 15) and I was laughing with two friends. The annoying guard was quickly fading. We wound through the Condesa and found the nearest street that was blocked off. This really is a major event to be coordinated by the city; there are police officers, armed with their whistles and orange cones, at every intersection. There are bathroom stops, water tables and pit stops.
We bike for about an hour and then we figure we need to start heading back. Problem is, traffic is really only going one way and so we ask about how close we are to our starting point. Our first ¨helper¨says we´ll hit a big road we`re familiar with in about ten minutes. Perfect. We ride on for another twenty minutes or so and realize we have no clue where we are...except that we`re no where near where we are. We keep riding, keep asking and keep getting near nothing we recognize. We are hot, we´re tired, and we´re feeling like we´re not going to make it. This is a bike ride gone bad. What further complicates the matter is that the police keep yelling at us to move over because they`re about to let in the cars. They maniac drivers that have no respect for walkers or bikers are about to be released upon us. I feel like I am about to have an experi ence similar to running the bulls in Spain. Eventually we find a person who actually knows where we are, for real, and we ask him where our neighborhood is. The expression on his face makes my heart drop. We´re really, really, really far away. Double damn. He points us in the right direction, and we are weaving in and out of the streets and sidewalk as the cars permit and the potholes reqire. Our happy chatter of the beginning is long gone. Lucy starts to tell us that she is recognizing this and that, but I am totally not convinced. After what seemed like hours upon hours, I see the metrobus, the wonderful little metrobus that only goes along one street. We're going to make it! We arrive to the park, super sweaty and hungry, and look at our clocks. We are only five minutes late.
We turn in the two big bikes and the barney bike: We walk a bit like a cowboy because of our sore rears and beeline to the nearest cafe where we proceed to stuff ourselved on sandwiches, soup, coffee and nutella crepes. At this point cardboard would have been tasty, but this food was heaven. Oh happy day.
After I left Lucy and her husband`s apartment, I walked back to the park and enjoyed a lovely 20 minutes massage for seven bucks. I was at total peace; the sound of children´s laughter floated through the air, the smells of the carnival food and a cool breeze. I visited hell and returned intact. Hallalujah.