Author: Luchadora The Explorer

I don’t entirely know what it is, but the minute we rolled out of Mexican immigration into Tijuana, I felt different. It all felt different. The night before we left San Diego for Mexico was the lowest point of the whole trip and I got very little sleep that night. I don’t know how much was anxiety about going to a new and unfamiliar country, and how much was realising that I only had a shred of self confidence left – how strongly I believed that I couldn’t make it through this trip, that this experience would just be another failure. I was anxious that my anxiety was too severe to be able to handle traveling like this. In retrospect, there are some obvious flaws in that logic. First, being anxious about your own anxiety is just creating a problem that doesn’t need to be there. Second, I had already handled this trip, I had already made it from Calgary to Mexico, I had been cycling for 112 days and over 4000km. Of course, at the time, I did not see it that way.

Mexico. Oh Mexico. You saved me from myself. Tijuana was so busy, but somehow I felt lighter. I remember walking out of immigration onto the only road there was, jammed with taxis all offering us rides (not sure how they thought they would get 4 people, 4 bikes, and all our gear into a taxi, but now I know that in Mexico, they probably would find a way). Weaving our way through the mess, we got so many smiles and cheers and we weren’t even riding our bikes. I started to realise how much more relaxed I was. Somehow, the USA felt like I was under constant pressure. There are so many expectations within American culture, everything was expensive, people seemed to always be judging you, competing with you, critical of who you were and wanted to be.

Don’t get me wrong, we met some really great people in the US too, like Casey and Austin who let us camp in their yard when we couldn’t find a campground and then fed us pancakes and bacon in the morning. Casey even sent us on our way with a bag full of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. But it wasn’t a common story. So many people in the US have so much, they are safe, they always have a roof over their head and a warm meal, yet they are so protective of what they have. While in Mexico, it seemed like everyone wanted to help us, no matter how little they had themselves. That first day leaving Tijuana, we got more smiles, cheers, and hi-fives than we had in the previous 3 months put together. It seems like a small thing, someone honking and waving and giving a thumbs up out of their window as they drive by, but that day, I so badly needed it. It made me feel awesome, it reminded me that what I was doing was unique and special, and was worth the struggle. It was just enough of a confidence boost to give me the energy to start thinking about how to solve these problems I was having, it was just enough motivation to make me see how important it was to keep going.

Crossing the Mexican border had been one part of the trip we had been warned about over and over again, but it was so smooth and so easy. The most difficult part was the highway out of the city, it was all uphill, there was no shoulder, and there was a lot of traffic. At one point, the traffic sort of calmed down. I had my head down just pedaling away trying to make it up the hill, so I didn’t think much of it. Eventually I looked back and realised there was a line of cars behind us because one truck was following us slowly with his blinkers on, blocking one of the two lanes. He followed us up the entire hill at our snail’s pace, probably for about half an hour, aggressively driving ahead and cutting off traffic any time there was an exit that might be dangerous. Eventually he pulled over and told us that he was a cyclist too, and this was a dangerous section so he wanted to make sure we were safe. He then gave us his name and phone number and told us to call if we needed anything at all. We were all amazed, but little did I know that this story would be reflective of my next 5 months in Mexico and the kindness of total strangers.

Even with the fresh start Mexico provided, I don’t know if it would have been enough on it’s own to keep me going. Luckily, I wasn’t on my own. We met Colin and Cass the first time in a campground in California, they were also from Canada so we chatted a bit and exchanged contact information (instagram accounts actually, check them out @middleofastory). We discovered that we were all in San Diego at the same time and all planning to head to Mexico the same day, so we decided to team up. We bonded quickly because crossing the border into Mexico felt like such a special experience for all of us. We made it out of TIjuana and landed in Rosarito mid-afternoon, and we immediately went for tacos. This was the beginning of my love affair with Mexican food, specifically tacos. They were warm, and spicy, and juicy, and really really cheap, it was everything I could ever dream of. And that night, over more tacos, Colin and Cass let me unload some of my problems on them. And it turned out that they had had many of the same problems. I felt like I wasn’t alone anymore and that changes everything. I remembered how important that was for me. I made a list in my head of all the people that I normally turn to for help when I feel like this. It was a motley crew of women across Canada, who were mostly strangers to each other. I was thousands of kilometers away, but I could still ask them for help, couldn’t I? And rather than reaching out one by one, I had this idea that I could change the game by bringing them all together. I started writing a letter in my head, even though it would be days before I could actually put pen to paper. It was a small seed, a glimmer of light, but ideas were forming and my brain was working for me, not against me, for the first time in a long time.

Open roads, clear skies, nothing to do but pedal.

You can’t tell here, but Colin and Cass are dancing to music that they blasted from speakers as we rode. How could I not feel more positive?

The West coast of Baja provided infinite amazing sunsets. They were even better when shared with new friends.

The first few days in Mexico were quiet, open roads through unfamiliar desert landscapes.

The next few days were Mexican romance for me. The ride from Rosarito to San Miguel Bay was on beautiful, empty paved roads. We stopped for lunch at a little farm that sold us wheels of queso fresca and fresh, warm tortillas that we gorged ourselves on. We camped on our first Mexican beach, watching the sunset with a beer in our hands and friends to joke and laugh and smile with. We spent a day in Ensenada and had our first fish tacos and first Mexican margaritas, then more tacos, and more beer. We rode through stunning boulder fields on our way to Ojos Negros, finishing the day off with what are, to this day, the best Al Pastor tacos I have ever had. We were lulled to sleep by the all night banda music. By the third night, I found it difficult to sleep without the dulcet tones of banda tuba playing somewhere in the distance. And with each day, each taco, each encouraging word from a stranger or a new friend, I began to get my confidence back bit by bit.

Terrible picture, but amazing fish tacos. I think I’m going to like Mexico.

First Mexican margaritas. They are similar to margaritas in the US, but half the price and twice the tequila.

Cities all over Mexico have these signs. This was the first one, and perhaps the only one I actually remembered to take a picture with.

We then set out across the Peninsula towards the Sea of Cortez, which included some climbs, but as a foursome we set a good pace and the descent, as always, made it so worth it. The terrain was always changing and now we were in real desert. There were so many different kinds of cacti that I had never seen before. The nights were cold and the days were so hot; the powerful sun and complete paucity of shade encouraged us to just keep riding. It was stunningly beautiful and empty and quiet. We had our first wild camps in the desert the next two nights. I remember dragging our bikes off the road through the sand to the base of a little hill that provided an astounding view of the seemingly never ending desert, as the sun was swallowed whole. These were almost meditative days, we didn’t have to do any navigation or planning, leaving space for just thinking. I spent my days pedaling and listening to podcasts and bit by bit, with each kilometer and each high-five, my confidence began to come back. I began to be able to see the reality of the problems, just a little bit, to not blame myself for everything, all the time.

This site remains my favorite wildcamp of the whole trip. It was so beautiful, and so quiet. It was where the desert became calming instead of scary.

Desert sunset views. We could see the road for miles ahead and our tents below, hidden from view from the highway.

Sun and open road. Sea of Cortez bound.

There was hope, but it was far from perfect. The abrupt change in culture was a wonderful distraction, but I still easily sunk back into negative thought patterns many times in any given day. After two nights wild camping in the desert, we finally spotted the Sea of Cortez in the distance and by the end of the day we were swimming in the slightly cold, but refreshing water. We stayed two days in San Felipe in a campground with good WiFi and lights over the picnic tables. Colin and Cass had reminded me how much of a difference a little bit of empathy can go so I took this opportunity to activate my support network and finally sent that letter I had been writing in my head for days. This was the best thing I could have done, I was feeling more optimistic, but was still at a loss for solutions to my problem, but 8 brains are better than one. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but figured at the least I would get a little bit of encouragement. I underestimated my friends; within 24 hours, I had essays from each friend full of reality checks, ideas for creative outlets and self reflective devices, and of course, words of encouragement.

We pitched the tent on top of a Palapa in San Felipe. No wonder we stayed for a few days with this view from the tent.

It is easy to be introspective with a setting like this.

We have this tendency in our society to celebrate the “lone wolf” mentality. As if being alone is something everyone should strive for. We associate it with masculinity, with toughness, with strength, but I think we need to challenge that. I had been pushing myself to be able to do this all alone, to be able to deal with my struggle all by myself. My former travel partner was especially good at this, and that is maybe why I felt like I had to be too. I thought that this was a skill that was part of traveling. But thriving in loneliness is not the same thing as being independent; you don’t have to love being lonely to be a strong and independent person. Being independent, especially when traveling, is sometimes about knowing how to connect with others and doesn’t mean you have to be alone all the time.

In writing the email for help to all my friends, I not only got help myself, but I brought together a disparate group of people. I know that the open discussion helped many of them work through some personal problems as well and we all benefited from those conversations. It reminded me that one of my greatest strengths was my ability to identify and empathise with people and to bring people together. The ability to be honest and to know how to ask for help were skills I worked very hard to develop in the past few years, and that I successfully mastered. Yet I had somehow convinced myself that they were now completely unnecessary, and in fact were actually weaknesses. This was a mentality I had had for a lot of my life, associating asking for help with femininity and weakness. I am stronger than that now. I now know how damaging it is to associate classically feminine qualities, like good communication skills and empathy, with weakness, it contributes to misogyny and, when you’re a woman, to self-hatred. The amazingly intelligent, well-written, thoughtful, and empathetic responses I got from my friends reminded me of this. They reminded me that I was “so much more than my anxiety and bad feelings”, to see the nuance of the situation, and most importantly, gave me ideas to start working to make myself a more capable person. It is amazing how much of an impact words can make, but these words made all the difference.

Let me share some of their wisdom:

“You are having an experience out there I can’t even imagine, and your brain is trying to find comfortable territory to tread to keep you safe in ways that are maybe impossible to totally unlearn even as we recognize them as maladaptive and name them,anxiety and depression”

“You must never think that to be enjoying and fully committed to something, you need to experience a joyful state.”

“But who in your life has defined accomplishment, and what have they defined it as? What would be ‘enough’ of an accomplishment?”

“The scenery may be breathtaking and you made it all the way there, and you are an important human and your feelings matter whether they are shitty or astounding”

“My mum uses this amazing theory that our biggest weakness lends to our greatest strength; so were you to have no fear and no anxious pieces, then your bravest and most awesome parts could become overwhelmingly cocky, and you could wind up being an asshole. So bless us, with all our faults.”

“Write the negative stuff out of your heart and set fire to it. Or paint over it. Or leave it on a bus.”

“We can learn to work and speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to work and speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us.” – Excerpt from The Transformation of Silence Into Language and Action by Audre Lorde

So I got my shit together. I spent my days writing a comic book in my head about a world in which there is a zombie-like infection that targets women only, where a girl has to cycle to South America to search for a cure (er….it’s a work in progress, the movie is set to be released in 2038 directed by M Night Shyamalan). I started writing every night, any way that I could. Turns out the easiest way was to write a journal on my phone, which seems so inefficient and stupid, but I let go of efficiency and just went with what actually worked. Every night I wrote one thing I was grateful for and one thing I was capable of, which seems so cheesy, but try it, it is hard. The first few nights were easy, but as time went on, I had to reach more and more to find a new accomplishment. The effect it had was forcing me to lower my standards on what I considered an accomplishment (if you really want to know more about this experience, check out my other blog).

And these things helped me start to gain a little confidence. Reaching out to my friends back home was one of the best things I could have done. It helped me find the change in perspective I so desperately needed. And it coincided with such a dramatic change in landscape and culture, allowing me to fully immerse myself, and fall completely in love with Mexico. There were a few more things that helped lift me up and solidified my love of Mexico…but that is for the next post.

Instead, I will leave you with the last stanza of the Rumi poem that became my mantra when I was struggling. It reminds me that I chose this path, that I chose to struggle, to be scared, to fight, and to take risks because I believe that it is in these places that we learn and grow. It reminds me that it is when we let go of what we are supposed to be, stepping off the obvious path, stifling the voice in our heads that uses the word “should” in every sentence, that we have our greatest moments. Let’s be mad.

It’s funny, the first week of the trip is etched in my memory so perfectly. I remember every single day. I remember how dusty I felt after spending a day riding up the hot, dry logging trails on our way out of Canmore. I remember how frigidly cold the water was when we rinsed off in a lake at 1700 m above sea level at the end of the day. I remember the taste of the mint tea we were given on our first night in the mountains by two guys we lovingly dubbed “The Nerds”, because they seemed like an unlikely pair to be traversing the Great Divide Trail. I remember sitting on the back of a construction sign because it was the only shade we could find. I remember how amazing our lunch of sourdough bread dipped straight into a jar of peanut butter tasted because we were just so hungry. I remember the brilliant aquamarine colour of the glacier pool we found at the bottom of a hidden waterfall, and the shocking, paralysing, cold of the water when we jumped in. I remember the eerie beauty of bright red Indian Paintbrush flowers contrasting against the blackened, skeletal, pine trees in a burnt section of forest we cycled through. I remember the day I got so exhausted that I couldn’t think straight, and how the first shower I took of the trip that night felt like it warmed me right through to my soul.

“It has been one week on the road and I feel battle hardened. The mountains in BC have gotten smaller, fuzzier and cuddlier. My body is adjusting, as is my mind. I am getting stronger, more confident, and hungrier by the day. Every night we go to sleep wind blown, exhausted, satisfied, and wake up to paradise on our doorstep. The days are beginning to blur together, but are anything but monotonous. Every day brings new delights, a different view, just when I thought it couldn’t get more beautiful. Working harder, chugging away at whatever terrain is becoming a comfortable realty. The physical discomfort is becoming so expected and satisfying, because I know that at the end of the day, I am rewarded. I am rewarded by taking great pleasure in simple things, like getting camp set up, a delicious meal of rice and veggies, treating ourselves to pastries,  going to bed tired and hunkering down in our little tent that has quickly become a comforting home.”

–Trip Journal, August 25, 2016, Day 7

First meal in the mountains. Cooking on the camp stove became one of my favorite daily activities. If you look carefully you can also see The Nerds in the background.

First ever lunch stop of the trip in Cochrane, Alberta. Thanks to Kate and Andrew we had a Sidewalk Citizen feast.

Day 1 – still in the neighborhood, crossing the beautiful Bow Rive in Calgary

Lakes and mountains, frigid water, warm sun. Was this really my life?

Here we are drying off in the sun after jumping into a glacial pool created by a water fall. Simon spied this hidden gem off the path a bit and it was so refreshing and remains one of my favorite memories of the whole trip.

Day 2 – made it to the top our first big climb, time to celebrate.

Day 1 – nervous and excited to hit the road. We had no idea what we were in for…

Day 1 open road, mountains in the distance. This would be our everyday for the next year.

On day 4, we hit a storm and spent almost a whole day in the tent waiting out the rain and playing Dungeons and Dragons. It was also a needed rest day for me, I had pushed myself to exhaustion the night before. The next day was grey drizzle, but we kept on and the rain did not make it any less beautiful.

But as the days wore on, my memory of them gets fuzzier and fuzzier. I remember the following months in snippets, like a trailer for a movie that I know that I watched once. I can recall the taste of the first good beer somewhere in British Columbia, shocking the waitresses with how much we could eat at a diner, the smell of the coffee roasting at a tiny roasting operation in Rock Creek, the constant pain in my legs, so many ferry boat rides, and incredible sunset after incredible sunset upon hitting the West Coast. I remember the joy of being on the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu mats again and seeing old friends in Vancouver when I stopped in at Elements Academy of Martial Arts. This would be my very first BJJ travel experience, and it couldn’t have been better. So I did it again when I was in Victoria and found Fierce Studio, where Ari taught me a lesson in wrist locks over and over and over again. I was having amazing experiences, but my mind was struggling. By day 42 I wrote:

“I find myself feeling small, useless, and insignificant on this trip…”

– Trip Journal, September 29, 2016, Day 42 

Famed West Coast sunset. This was our evening treat for months.

We discovered this thought provoking piece of folk art somewhere in the BC mountains.

We had about 20 km of a beautiful paved dedicated bike path from Cranbrook to Kimberly. It was luxurious. SImon got to ride it twice because I left my powerbank charging at Hoe Hardware by accident. Oops.

First beer of the trip. Beer never tasted so good. Okay, that’s a lie, beer always tastes good.

Gray Creek Pass has gone down as both the most difficult and the most rewarding experience of the whole trip. Our bikes were not built for the terrain, and I was not built for more than 1500 m of elevation gain in only 17 km. We made it to the summit in one day, but barely, and thanks to pounding an entire package of cookies at about 7pm to keep me going the last 1 or 2 km to the summit.

This was one of the first meals out we ate after making it back to civilisation. in Hope, BC. Simon had two pieces of pie and a plate of fries after this. I wish I had a picture of the look on the server’s face.

We did our best to have interesting cultural experiences while we traveled as well.

Good rolls with old friends at Elements Academy of Martial Arts in Vancouver. My very first BJJ travel experience care of my old water polo buddy from Halifax, Steve.

We had a rule that if there was a chance to take a boat, we had to do it. This resulted in a ridiculous amount of ferry boat rides around BC and Washington.

Another West Coast Sunset.

They just never get old.

I stopped writing in the journal, but I kept going. I kept pedaling. I kept trying my best to be grateful and to love all the exceptional experiences I was so lucky to be having. I wanted to do this trip, in part, so that I could improve some of my (perceived) weaknesses. But I felt like they were just getting worse. I had been diagnosed with ADD not too long before starting the trip; and I had so fiercely hoped that if I just changed my environment the symptoms would go away, or be easier to control.

“This is what my ADD looks like, it isn’t a hilarious high energy foible. It is indecision, it is an inability to quickly adapt or change plans. It is difficulty remembering information. It is slow and stupid. I have become so self conscious. I can feel myself folding inwards. All I see are  my shortcomings, but whenever I try and think of how to improve on them, I just come up blank. I just remember that one of the things I suck at is problem solving. And now I am exhausted. And alone.”

– Trip Journal, October 15, 2016, Day 58 

I would spend my days thinking about how I was not good enough to be doing this trip. I would literally hear the voices of my old bosses and teachers in my head telling me this was a stupid idea. I would get mad at myself for not being able to enjoy every single moment, and then hate myself more for it. It was a vicious cycle that I just couldn’t break out of.

The reward at the top of the infamous Gray Creek Pass. We had a slow morning dousing ourselves in the calm of this lake at the height of the pass over 2000 m in elevation.

The benefit for taking the back roads? The incredible views from the trestle bridges through the mountains. This is one of the reasons why traveling by bicycle is so special.

Have we made it to Mexico? Nope, this is a gem of a lake in beautiful British Columbia, Canada. You can tell by how ridiculously cold the water is.

The satisfying view after a long climb. Now we get to go all the way down….

These little side trips, finding spectacular vistas like this, were daily occurrences throughout the Canadian portion of the trip.

The physical aspects of the trip were also incredibly difficult in this period. I was carrying too much weight on the back of my bike, with no front bags to balance it out. I did not have a gear set that was appropriate for steep inclines, and there were a lot of mountains along the Oregon and California coasts. And it rained. All the time. I actually love cycling in the rain, there is something so refreshing and liberating about it. But when you stop, it gets cold. And when you set up a tent in the rain, for days on end, with no sun to dry things out, everything gets wet and smelly. It was demoralising. We ended up staying in motels more often, spending more money on warm comforting meals, and spending less time being able to stop, explore and enjoy the trip because we were just trying to survive.

One of the biggest storms to hit the West Coast in decades. We hunkered down in South Beach. Luckily, we didn’t have to spend the whole day in the tent as there was an aquarium and a brewery within walking distance. I got to play with an octopus and drink jalapeno flavored beer. Once the rain died down, it turned into this bad ass wind storm.

Stoic reflection…or just trying to remember what sun felt like.

Big Sur means big views. Long climbs along narrow cliff hugging highways and fast roller coaster descents.

The first hot, sunny day we had on the California coast. The water was a little cold, but we couldn’t help but jump right in when we found a hidden cove beach to take a lunch break at.

The first sunny beach we saw on the West Coast. It was still a cool day so we didn’t get in the water, but we did take a few minutes to revel in the warm sun, endless blue sky, and soft sand.

Anyone recognise this rock? Never say die?

More rain, more grey skies. It doesn’t take away the beauty of the Oregon coast, in fact, it somehow suits the scenery.

A refreshing change of scenery after rainy coastal views for weeks on end. The beautiful rolling hills and green pastures of Northern California.

I did not stop at a single BJJ club all the way from Victoria to LA. It was such a struggle to just get by every day, both physically and emotionally, that I didn’t have the energy to seek out clubs. I still wasn’t very good at finding clubs either. I hadn’t figured out how to network properly within the BJJ community. I finally managed to get to a class when I was staying with family in LA. I went to Legacy and met Alberto Crane. It was a wonderful, refreshing experience. The club was incredibly welcoming, and I got a lot of positive reactions and questions about the trip. I resolved to try and make visiting clubs a higher priority. It was propelling me to regain some of the self-confidence I had lost.

By the time I got to San Diego I was worn down. I was at an ultimate low and even though my parents came out to spend 10 days with us, I just couldn’t snap out of it. I found myself at The Arena where I got a few nights in of both Muay Thai with Kru Mark, and BJJ with Baret Yoshida (who had just returned from competing at EBI 10 in Mexico City, I was a little star struck). But, two nights of training just wasn’t enough. And as the date to leave grew closer and closer, the day we would finally cross the border into Mexico, I got more and more anxious. And for the first time, I considered giving up. Maybe this was an experience that I just couldn’t handle?

How’s my gorilla impression? San Diego Zoo fun.

The look on my face is because I am concerned the margarita just isn’t big enough.

I remembered at the last minute to take a picture with Alberto Crane at Legacy in Burbank. I was just having too much fun on the mats.

It was so nice to have my parents come down and spent 10 days with us in San Diego. We all toured around together like real tourists and had a wonderful AirBnB where we could upgrade, fix, rand re-pack all our equipment before heading into Mexico.

I loved getting a few Muay Thai classes in with Kru Mark at The Arena in San Diego. The first class I felt like an uncoordinated troll, but even by the second class I got at least a little bit of my grove back.

Coronado Hotel in Sand Diego.

I managed to slip in one class with Baret Yoshida right after he got back from his stellar performance at EBI 10 in Mexico City. My hair is a disaster from trying to grow parts of it out, Professor Baret was nice enough not to comment on it.

San Diego Aquarium.

My mama giving me cuddles in front of all the mama seals cuddling their babies.

La Jlla Cove was like it’s own little zoo. There was an incredible amount of wildlife there: sealions, seals, dolphins, and so many birds.

Hanging out on an aircraft carrier. They are incredible and ridiculous pieces of engineering, now I understand why they cost billions of dollars.

“I feel like I am just never going to be the person I want to be. I will never be a person I like. I feel like I have wasted so much of my life trying to do big things and failing, I have spent so much time in destructive experiences. I just get so frustrated by being me, being someone who can’t make good decisions, who whines, who blames other people for her own short comings, who has trouble learning new things, who forgets everything, who can’t push themselves without falling apart. I just get so sick of myself.”

– Trip Journal, Dec. 7, 2016, Day 111 

On December 8th, 2016, we left San Diego and crossed the border into Mexico. And somehow, everything started to change. It had taken me 112 days to get from Calgary, Alberta, Canada to Mexico. It took 112 days to get to such a low point that I had to make a choice to either improve my situation, or give up. Spoiler alert, I chose the former. When it came to it, I figured out a way to improve my situation, to adjust bit by bit, to reach out for help, to let go of old habits. Things got better and better and I began my path to becoming the person I always wanted to be: the adventurer, the fighter, someone who can inspire and motivate others to take risks, to be honest with themselves, to live the life they want. That was the day I became Luchadora The Explorer.