1000 WORDS

By the time I pack all my gear onto my bike and ride out of Mexico City, it’s almost a month since I first entered the city. I’m on my way to Puebla, only a 130 kilometres away, where I’m going to meet an organisation that works with socially excluded children and adolescents with the hope of contributing to their efforts.

I am pleased to be on my bike again after such an extended break but riding out of Mexico City doesn’t ease me back onto the road gently. After escaping the octopus clutches of the city, I have a long steady climb to face while ominous clouds hang heavy on the mountains ahead.

Mexico has a continuous string of volcanoes running across it from east to west. After a long climb out of DF, I have a perfect view over the valley to the west along the volcanic chain.

A little volcanic cone, long extinct, on the horizon as I finally leave the sprawling, clinging tentacles of DF.

Next, I drop back down into the valley before climbing again to Paso de Cortes, a mountain pass at 3700 metres, which lies between Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl. Popocatepetl is one of Mexico’s more violent volcanoes and access to the summit has been heavily restricted, since 1994, when the volcano commenced its most recent bout of activity, prompting mass evacuations of the surrounding areas. Today, the volcano is quiet and shrouded in clouds but I catch the occasional glimpse as I edge closer and closer.

Popocatepetl, at 5500 metres, looms large in the distance, shrouded by clouds.

Passing through the township of Amecameca, I turn towards the volcano and start another 24 kilometre climb. Evening draws in and I stop to set up camp about 8 kilometres before I reach the pass. During the night the storm clouds let loose and I wake to lightening, thunder and wild rain but happily the morning dawns clear and bright.

The morning brings clearer weather and, half way up the pass, Popocatepetl creeps closer.

An impressive peak: no smoke today, which is probably a good thing, as I'll be getting considerably closer.

And on the other side lies Iztaccihuatl, the sleeping woman. Can you see her?

Before long, I reach the pass and, after a moment of confusion in which I try to make my way through the barriers which block access to Popocatepetl’s active crater, I whizz down the other side of the mountains, first on an unpaved road of clinging fine grey volcanic ash, a surface not at all unlike sand, and then on 35 kilometres of tarmac into the city of Puebla.