It started as a lark. The stone formation Valle de las Monjes (Valley of the Monks) is offered as a bike trip from Creel. Because the Rarámuri name, Bisabírachi, means the ‘Valley of Erect Penises’, I wanted to get a picture for my friend Ori, who loves puns. I wanted to email it to him with the title ‘Hard On’. I knew he’d love it. And really, I thought, how difficult can riding a bike be? When I was a kid we rode all over town. Um, yeah, like I’ve said before, when I’m wrong, I go all out.

Last night I met a group of Japanese women who are teaching in a high school for the children of the employees of a Japanese factory in Guadelajara. After dinner we went out and wandered around talking and eventually began to discuss our plans for the next day. One woman, Yoko, wanted to visit Cascada de Basaseachi, which I wanted to see too, but she was having trouble getting enough people together for a tour. I told her that I wanted to go, and I wanted to see Valle de las Monjes too. We decided to do one the following morning and the other the next day.

After breakfast, she said she didn’t have enough people yet for the waterfall, so we went off with her friends, Yuka and Hakura, in search of bicycles and a map. Once we had our maps, helmets, spare tire tube things, air pump, lock and bikes we were on our way. Well, they were on their way. I was kind of all over the place at first. And peddling like mad, because I’ve never ridden in a situation where I needed to switch gears. While we were buying supplies I told Yoko that I would pedal (insert hand gesture here as we converse in Spanish) quickly but not really go. She took the bike, riding without using the seat since I’ve got at least four inches on her, and got the gears right. And, most importantly, she showed me how to use them. Lesson number one.

Lesson number two occurred at the first hill. Several years ago, like five or six, I had a ‘respiratory event’, that was what the doctors called it when I tried a new medication and I got winded walking from one side of the room to the other. After my emergency steroid treatment I went to see my regular doctor, who asked me a bunch of questions and tested my breathing. Turned out I have exercise induced asthma and she gave me an inhaler for use before exercise. Only, I don’t really exercise, I do yoga, meditate, spin in circles outside. On rare occasion, I would follow a dance style exercise DVD. I never needed the inhaler, in fact it expired and I tossed it. And forgot about the asthma too.

Until today. I couldn’t make it up the first hill without walking the bike. Was. Not. Possible. I’m not particularly fit, by any means, but my breathing became labored rather quickly. Now, please understand, I have never (including today) had the type of asthma attack that requires an emergency inhaler and/or a hospital visit. I just can’t catch my breath in what seems like a reasonable time frame for my level of exertion. My new friends were great, and really after a day like today, you’re either friends, or never want to see each other again. Let’s call that Lesson number three.

Each one took turns hanging back with me at my pace while the other two went ahead. I don’t know if they discussed it, but after one point where we got separated for a bit, it never happened again.

Of course, downhill was great. As there are no bike paths, we rode on city streets and highways, but really the highways are more like Farm to Market roads, fewer cars, more (much more) loose rocks. So, for my first time on a mountain bike, I’m barreling down a Mexican highway with no insurance. I haven’t mentioned that I haven’t gotten my insurance situation taken care of yet? Yeah, that must happen soon, like tomorrow. Once I realized what I was doing, it was too late to turn back.

When the first kilometer took us an hour, I really didn’t believe that we were going to make the whole trip in five hours (how long we had rented the bikes). While waiting for me they decided on a route that reversed the order of the trip, leaving the Valle de las Monjes to the end. And really if they hadn’t, I probably would have gone back alone, after the Valle, muttering at myself the whole time.

After much encouragement and many rest breaks, including a picnic at Lago Arareco, we made it through the woods around the lake and to the rock formation. Really it’s not that spectacular, but the trip itself is beautiful so I still think it’s worth it, but I would advise a cooler time of year. At this point my interest in climbing any rocks had passed beyond nil into negative numbers. I took in the scenery and rested while everyone else climbed up some of the rocks. A young (she was probably around five, but either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak Spanish to me, so I never got an answer) Tarahumara girl sat and stared at me for a while, but eventually gave up. The mangy dog, he stayed.

The ride back began mostly down hill and flat, so I could stop focusing on my will to return and look around. It really is just gorgeous here, the farmland, and rock formations, clear skies and colorful clothes. Including a couple more long stretches of walking the bikes, a stop where Yoko gave me much of her water, since I had run out (mouth breathing and heat did not work to my advantage), and an indeterminate passage of time later we made it back into town where we returned the bikes, bought snacks and after returning to the hotel found each other on FaceBook. Because, that’s what we do now.

I also told Yoku that I didn’t really think I could make it back up the mountain after viewing the waterfall at the base, so I wouldn’t be going on that tour. She said she understood completely and not to worry.