Knife Find and the Dangers of Cortez

There is a town in Western China that is famous for its knives. It's on the legendary Southern Tier of the Silk Road, which sounds 1000 times more glamorous than it is. Passing through Yengisar on a bicycle it is impossible not to stop at a knifery, and in a stroke of uncharacteristic souvenir accumulation I bought a knife in Yengisar. It was one of two souvenirs that I bought on the whole trip, the other being a Tibetan wall hanging of a legendary warrior driving his horse hard across the plain. This hangs in my parents' house awaiting reclamation. Of the knife's whereabouts, I know not.

It was a small knife, used mainly for paring, though I like to think it was made for taking negotiations up a notch in Chinese deal rooms lit by naked light bulbs. It had Chinese lettering on one side, and Uighur on the other, which my friend was able to read. It said, "Yengisar". Its handle was brass with small red green and yellow circular inlays. It was heavier than it looked. That's why I bought it. It felt solid.

There is a town in Western Australia that is famous for its thieves. It's called Margaret River. I left my knife on a picnic table there and left briefly to wash vegetables. When I came back my Yengisar knife was gone. Things come and go, this is a reality, and it's best not to get too attached to anything. I really liked the knife.

Thus began my year in the knife wilderness. I wandered from a crappy Australian knife from "Kathmandu", which is synonymous with horrible Australian outdoor store, to knives I found in dumpsters. I just needed something that looked cool and could slice a tomato and fit in my handlebar bag. If I could dangle it from my belt, huge bonus. The best I got was a hand-me-down Leatherman which was great.

When I arrived in Mexico, what with all the great leather and general cowboy apparel there, I thought finding a solid replacement knife would be easy. I went to market after market in town after town foolishly looking for a decent blade. All I could find though were loose switchblades, really expensive hunting knives, or cheap folding knives with plastic handles. I stuck with my Leatherman and generally forgot the whole ordeal. Sometimes, it's better to forget.

Then I came upon the hamlet of San Agustin.

Calling San Agustin a hamlet is overstating things. It's a taqueria connected to a ranch, which makes it an oasis in the desert that is Mexico Ruta 1 between La Paz and Ciudad Insurgentes. This is in Baja California Sur, where things get real. This is the first time in Mexico I've had to pack several days' worth of water and food. This is the first time I've really had to wild camp. So when a taqueria popped up after days of not seeing anything, like any reasonable person I stopped.

It was early, so I had coffee and chilaquiles. This made me hyperalert, and I started wandering around until I came across a display case that was taller than me. It was full of knives and saddles. They were beautiful. They had metal handles with bone inlays. They all had leather sheathes. Some even had ornamentation on the blades! By God what an oasis! After a year in the wilderness here I am delivered! Using the technique of taking deep breaths I calmed myself and bought a knife. It has some floral ornamentation on the blade which is curved and a metal handle with a bone or antler inlay. When I picked it up the man said, "ranchero". If he didn't have me at that he then told me that a guy makes these knives in the mountains yonder. I pulled out a wad of cash I don't even know how much and gave it to him and tried to regain my senses. Next thing I knew I was paring tomatoes at sundown on a ridge overlooking a great valley of cactus, holding a beautiful knife in my hand trying not to fall asleep before I cooked dinner.

I wish I had had the knife when I encountered my newest archenemy: the stingray.

Yesterday I was heading in on day six of my six day haul through Southern Baja California's Sierre la Gigante, driving hard against the wind as the road clung to the Sea of Cortez. I came across an hamubrgueseria and stopped in for a hamburguesa that I had been told were the best hamburgers in Baja. So I stopped and ate then went for a swim, a snorkel even, to see what I could see in the sea. I saw what I saw, which were a few tropical fish and lots of seaweed, and got out of the water. Not so fast! On my last step I was shot in the right Achilles by the venomous and dangerous barb of none other than Sting Ray. I threw a few punches then plunged my foot into really really really hot water. I did this for about an hour, and set off to ride to Mulege, the town where I am now and where I had planned a rest day. I made about 15km to the next village, and collapsed in a heap of pain under a palapa at Playa El Coyote, which is insanely beautiful and anyone driving down the Cortez Coast should camp there. I unfortunately lay there moaning until the pain subsided enough for me to hobble to the taqueria and ask for more hot water. They did not oblige. They did way better. They instead got on marine radio and radioed an ambulance, which happened to be across the street. I hobbled across the street and collapsed in a heap of pain. I got treatment there, which consisted of drawing out the remaining venom and some blood with a cool vacuum thing, and waiting around. The ambulance was free of charge, and is run by Patsi and Les who are volunteers who go around Baja California helping locals and foreigners with whatever ails them. After about an hour there, I felt a million times better, and set off into the now raging headwind for Mulege. Despite the odds, I made it and now I'm fine.

I'm only a couple weeks now from crossing the border into the US, which is crazy. I'm taking my time but I'm moving right along. I had two nights in a row camping on the Sea of Cortez, a few meters from the beach. Some of these photos here are taken from my tent, one's where I had lunch and they're all typical Baja California.