Update for those in the know: we’re in La Paz, Mexico.  Ferry port city at the bottom of The Baja…. that long thin appendage that dangles from the bottom of the western USA.

We’re cloistered in a converted convent, whilst a vital cycle component requires hospitalisation. A potential for angst, yet we’re in a happy place.

The nuns’ old cells are cloistered around an enclosed courtyard and down a narrow alleyway, with today’s colour scheme best described as ‘Irreligious Virulent Ikea’, the walls hung with renditions of impending purgatory and black cowled monks. The bedbase, the headboard, the bedside table, the cloak closet are all rendered in rebar and concrete, the window isn’t, but that’s because there isn’t one. And we’re happy.

It’s different, yet very familiar. It’s an hostel not a motel, you can tell the difference by the lack of anonymous numbered doors looking vacantly onto an auto cluttered parking lot, but by the sink full of dirty dishes left for the wash-fairy. We’ve found these places before, there’s little pretence to what is assumed to be the requirements of Western visitors, frequented by families, northern snow-birds, students, bikers and parsimonious cyclists. There’s even street food right outside serving all day. What’s not to be happy about?

Well the rear wheels of both our bikes.

Long story short….they were build some time ago, the work can at best be described as ‘inadequate’. But it wasn’t ‘broke’ so we didn’t ‘fix-it’. Our fault. Whilst not ‘bleeders’ in the A+E department, they have started to complain and have gone to see the GP, who’s agreed with our diagnosis, now they’re in ‘out-patients’, being attended to by a sympathetic repair shop. Which has enforced a lay over in what looks already like an interesting city. Any place that has street art, a whale museum, indigenous coffee, craft cerveza and cinnamon buns is worthy of investigation.