In the middle of proverbial nowhere.

Parque Nacional Constitucion de 1857, 06-10-2002 just past noon. The dirt road I`m cycling on is climbing up and up in an eastward direction. I can feel my lungs heaving inside my chest, my breath is rasping, my body covered with perspiration while my legs are pumping the pedals of my bike. I`m reaching a plateau full with ponderosa pine trees, birds fly across the road, the hammering sounds of woodpeckers emerge from among the trees. Despite the heavy wood smell of the ponderosa trees my nostrils are slowy detecting the presence of water, Laguna Hanson is near and my goal. The basket on the front of my bike is full with Santa Clara mexican beer, food supplies and and a huge two and a half plastic liter bottle of drinking water I bought all this stuff in the tiny settlement called Ojoe Negros which is already twentyfive-odd kilometers behind me, the place was just a small collection of old trailers, a few wooden huts, an open air garage and a rusty american mobile home which served as a mini-super, a sort of mexican supermarket. A few ragged village kids trying to practice their english on me and three scrawny dogs snapping at my heels, a few well aimed stones took care of that problem. No bar - amazing! - and no restaurant though the owner of the local mini-super was willing to make me some omelettes, tortillas and dark brown frijoles.

Laguna Hanson, just before nightfall. This lake has got a very solitary feeling to it, just what I was looking for. The nearest human beings the inhabitants of that tiny aldea called Ojos Negros. Not that I`m totally alone, far from it, I`m surrounded by life. The marshy and shallow lake is full with rowdy ducks and coots preparing for the fast approaching night. The pines that grow around the small clearing that I`ve made my camp for the night, are inhabited by hunderts of finces unperturbed by the flames of my camp fire they quarrel among themselves for the best places of the tree branches to spend the night on. gray squirrels scurry around my tent hoping for a moment of inattention to rush off with bits of my tortillas. Stray cattle everywhere there is open place booing at the disappearing mexican sun. The howling of nearby coyotes is ringing in my ears. I remeber from my trip down to Cabo San Lucas that these coyotes will cirle my tent tonight when I`ve gone to sleep looking for food left overs. The fifty cm. long bas that I caught earlier in the lake and is now cooking over my camp fire, is starting to smell deliciously producing expectant grumbles from my starving belly. I feel very happy being here in the middle of the proverbial nowhere.

gray squirrels scurry around my tent hoping for a moment of inattention to rush off with bits of my tortillas.