The Black Unicorn
It is a being that, believing it to be mythological, goes unnoticed. From his anonymity he observes all of us who live in San Miguel de Allende, and tells me his stories to write them here.
By Fernando Helguera
The Black Unicorn was at the bus stop, outside El Escarabajo, when many cyclists began to arrive. It was a large group preparing for an afternoon «rodada». It was 6 pm when he decided to get on one of the bikes, just as they started to have some fun.
The start was relaxed, they arrived at the old train station to continue along the dirt road next to the tracks. I felt the gratifying air on my face. The atmosphere was familiar, spirits were high, and so they would continue until they reached Casa de Aves, from where they would return home after having traveled approximately 20 kilometers.
When they started the return trip, the sun was already disappearing behind the mountain with amazing colors. One of the guides headed for Cruz del Palmar, up to the chapel at the top, leaving the other two guides to go straight to San Miguel. As they had gone ahead, no one followed them and that is where the real story began.
For several, the climb was tiring and, upon arrival, they found the view of night closed in. A couple of ladies, already nervous, demanded to return to the village immediately as the darkness was scary. They insisted for ten minutes until the guide took the path down, leading the group to a gap that, according to him, would go around the village and be a shortcut to San Miguel.
The gap had quite a few ditches and, due to the fatigue that hit some of the cyclists, two or three fell. The road was only visible to those with proper lamps. They came to a suspension bridge and had to carry the bikes up the ladder to cross over the river. Descending, they entered some fields where the path became narrow and forced them to cross a muddy swamp. Several more fell in.
They met the river again, but now they had to cross it without a bridge and only the more experienced ones made it on the bike. Most of them had to soak their feet with ice water. No one noticed at that moment that five of the group could not cross and stayed on the other side, because in their eagerness to return, none of them turned back.
They reached a divide in the gap where the guide said, «We are lost». They were already tired so tempers flared. Cold feet, mud, dust; darkness, hunger and uncertainty were the perfect combination for a horror story. Someone called out to her friend, who was presumed, missing in the river flow: «Maaaarthaaaaaaaaaa, nooooooooooooo». A girl who went there to relax because of her nervous problems, and was terrified by the spiders, almost strangled a man who told her that there were spiders there that would kill in no more than a minute.
The hungriest ones were already choosing which companions were going to slaughter first, while the more practical ones were planning how to make camp. «Stop yelling at me!», Martha appeared accompanied by a truck that would show them a detour to reach the road that would take them out of there. Once on the road, the group’s eyes filled with dust and they realized that it was still a long way to go; all in darkness. At times they were no longer a group but cyclists in pairs or isolated, struggling not to lose the course or fall into a new hole of darkness.
The Unicorn saw his driver reach the side of the road where the group was already gathered again. Some with hope in their eyes, although starving and exhausted, were at the La Cieneguita bridge, but Don Ciro was closed. They went along the road for a couple of kilometers more, in which trucks and cars passed them close by, honking their horns, as the drivers here usually do, who are capable of killing in a hurry. It seemed to be the last stretch, but no!
The guide went through a new gap where they encountered a dirt climb. Some wanted to cry but the dry dust made their tears disappear. Others fell into the new ditch. When it seemed they would never be able to return, they arrived back at the old train station.
A head count was taken; the stragglers on the river were already on their way home, the two original guides had been resting for a couple of hours. The rest, battered, would return to their homes, each on their own way. Almost five hours and 40 km had passed when the Black Unicorn descended from the handlebars of the bike. He walked away from the group, listening as they laughed and agreed on the next ride.
