Any previous post where I used the adjective “Windy”, I take it back. Apparently I didn’t know the meaning of the word. I started my day very early as I was a little nervous about the border crossing. I went out to load the bike at 5:30AM and I could not believe the weather. The winds in Yuma were 30-40 mph and the visibility was limited to about 50 feet due to of all the dust in the air. I quickly checked the weather on my phone and it looked like this storm was going to persist all day and into the next. I thought about delaying a day but I was anxious to get going. From Yuma it was about 30 miles to San Luis Colorado where I crossed into Mexico. The wind was coming from the North and I had about 90 miles of travel due West before turning to the South which made for a very difficult cross-wind. At times the visibility on the road was reduced to… zero. I could see the headlights of oncoming cars but could not see the road. Fortunately these were brief and infrequent occurrences. After crossing into Mexico I promptly got lost and went about 30 miles off course before figuring myself out. Once I hit Mexico Highway 5, the wind was at my back and things got a lot easier for a while. The terrain opened up into a broad, flat playa and I got my first views of the topaz-colored Sea of Cortez. Any time I stopped for a break, I was quickly reminded that the wind was just crazy!!! I stopped in a little town to fill up with fuel. My first Spanish encounter! I’ve been practicing Spanish for about a year and half in preparation for this trip so I was eager to try it out. Let’s just say that the gas attendant and I had an animated exchange in which we were equally confused but had a good laugh together. I did manage to get the fuel I needed and I paid for it so I guess that was a win. I had planned to stop for the night in San Felipe however I had gotten such an early start I arrived there shortly before noon. I decided to press on a bit. As I rode into the afternoon the wind started to get a lot more unpredictable. Attacking me from any direction and buffeting my head. By two o’clock, I’d had enough and I pulled into a camp along the beach. The sea was enormous and close to the camp. I was reluctant to set up because it looked like the whole beach could flood. Instead I went to the camp’s restaurant and had three delicious fish tacos and a cup of coffee. A young man and his three year old daughter came and asked if they could sit with me. He was studying English and he asked if he could practice with me. I agreed and we exchanged in both English and Spanish for a while. He laughed when I spoke in Spanish but he said he could understand me and to “Keep Practicing”. Why do languages seem so easy for other people and so difficult for me? Right now as the sun is setting, I’m in my tent which is shaking and straining at the pegs. I’m crossing my fingers I don’t blow away during the night.