Mexico - A Winter Journey
Now that the mold had been set from the Alaska trip it was just a matter of "luck". Someone once said that luck was merely where preparation met opportunity. This was the case for my trip to Mexico. I happened to be ready when the opportunity presented itself. It was a long trip, and one that I did not initially take for the joy of seeing something new. I was having trouble at home and I thought that something like this would help me forget my troubles. It didn't work, but I can now look back on the trip and appreciate it for what it was. And it has also driven me to want to go back and explore some more.
The yellow line on the map represents travel with my companions, while the green line is my trip home (not including the run up the west coast back to Seattle) There are more pictures, but they are currently trapped in someone else's Ipod; I hope to some day get them back so as to better round out this story.
December 20, 2004 –
January 28, 2005
Total Miles: 6,563 miles, 40 days
San Diego, CA – Seattle, WA (via Baja and Southern Mexico)
Tickets: 0
Mishaps: 1
Puckers: too numerous to count
Click on map for larger image
Building the Ark
I never had any great illusions that I would do a trip like this, so when I
saw the post for it on www.sport-touring.net I wasn’t heartbroken that
I couldn’t go. I had completed a trek to the Arctic Ocean in the summer
of 2004 and while Mexico seemed like the next logical direction, I would not
be able to join the casual group of riders who were going. I had started a new
job just two weeks previously and there was no way I could take the time off
to go south. Then my new boss approached me on Wednesday the 15th of December
and apologized that, because business was slow to get off the ground, he was
going to have to cut my hours for the next month or so. I made a quick decision:
why don’t I solve both of our problems and just go to Mexico for a month?
He seemed very pleased at this prospect, and I was immediately excited about
going. I called up James, who would be leaving for San Diego in his truck either
that day or early the next morning, and asked if I could join him on his drive
down to San Diego. We made some adjustments so that both bikes would fit in
the bed of the truck and he gave me some instructions on what paperwork would
be required at the border. Then I started to pack. This was at 2pm on Wednesday.
By 1pm on Thursday both bikes were loaded, gear stowed, papers were in order
and we were heading south. We drove straight through Washington, Oregon and
California, reaching the San Diego area Friday afternoon. We enjoyed the beach
scene for a while before heading to James’ dad’s house. There we
unloaded the bikes, did some last minute prep work, left the truck in the driveway
and anticipated romping around the Mexican countryside.
Loosely formed, the plan was to meet up with four other riders and then head south into Mexico and explore Baja and whatever else caught our fancy. Rob (Oakland, CA) had put the whole thing together, and gathered Norm (Nelson, BC), Mark (Point Roberts, CA) and Dave (San Jose, CA) for the outing. James and I were ready and waiting Sunday morning, but there was a delay with the rest of the group, so after an anxious day of sitting around the house, we decided to cross the border on Monday and wait for them in Mexico. And so begins the adventure…
Day 1 – San
Diego – Tecate
46 miles
Since we didn’t have far to go, we didn’t leave for Mexico until
almost noon. This let us have a relaxed and enjoyable morning packing the bikes
and double-checking last minute items. James was riding his brand new and slightly
modified Suzuki DRZ 400 and I had my trusty 2000 Kawasaki KLR 650, which had
proven its worth on my journey to the Arctic Ocean earlier in the year. The
bikes were soon packed and we were off. It was a brief but pleasant hour’s
ride to the Tecate border, meandering through some enjoyable rolling hills and
cottonwood-shaded canyons on our way. The border crossing wasn’t bad,
only slightly confusing. We had to fill out paperwork that was essentially a
promise that we weren’t going to sell our bikes while in Mexico. This
required going to the main office for the initial paperwork where we filled
out our personal information. From there we were directed across the street
to the bank where we paid our small fees and had the paperwork stamped. We were
told to make copies of our stamped forms and head back across the street and
up the block to the Banjercito. But after making copies and on our way to the
Banjercito the initial gentleman who gave us the original paperwork hailed us.
He gave the originals a second stamp and then sent us on our way to the Banjercito.
After an interminable wait in line there we finally made it to the counter,
only to learn that the copies we had made were invalid because they didn’t
have the second stamp! James took the double stamped originals back to the store
to make new copies while I waited in line again. When he returned we were finally
able to get everything taken care of and our forms were carefully packed away.
We mounted the bikes and resumed our travels. We had chosen a KOA campground
for our first night’s stay in Mexico, simply because it was nearby and
would be easy for the rest of the group to find us when they did show up.
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Ready to go in San Diego |
And across the border in Tecate |
Day 2 – Tecate
KOA – Parque Nacional Constitutucion
69 miles
What a night! Little did we know that the quaint little KOA campground nestled
in the rolling scrub-covered hills harbored such evil: jake-braking semis drove
past us all night, at all hours, coming and going. They were so loud that I
actually thought a Cessna had buzzed us. It wasn’t the most peaceful night’s
sleep, and it wasn’t very warm, but it was still exciting: our first night
in Mexico!
The rest of the crew arrived around 1pm as James and I were packing up the bikes. There were 3 more KLRs and a KTM 950 in the group, which gave us quite a range of bike size and ability. We introduced ourselves, as James and I were the only ones who knew each other previous to this ride. There was some eye rolling as I confessed to the group that I had almost no dirt riding experience and that I’d do my best not to slow them down. Then the crew got on our bikes and we headed east on Mexico Route 2. Just past the town of El Hongo we made a turn onto a small dirt side road that I wouldn’t have given a second thought to otherwise. This road took us south into the heart of the wilds of northern Baja. The road became little more than a track through tall brush, consisting of rocks, dirt, sand and road-encompassing puddles. Other than a couple of tame logging roads in the Pacific Northwest, I had never ridden dirt roads, so this was a great 35 miles and it really tested my riding skills. The other riders all had some basis of dirt riding experience, so I did my best to imitate them and learn through their examples and patient explanations. I think that I did pretty well, only dropping the bike once, late in the day and in deep sand. The road twisted and turned and gained in elevation, eventually leading us to Parque Nacional Constitucion where we reached an elevation of 5,300’ and were surrounded by tall dry pine trees, tall scrub brush and prickly pear cactus.
The first rule for riding in Mexico is Do Not Ride At Night. So what did we do? We rode in the dark through these narrow dirt roads, dodging rocks and puddles and sand, looking for a place to put up our tents in relative comfort and safety. After checking with a local we finally found a field just off the road and made camp there. It was late and there was nothing nearby. We broke out what foodstuffs we had with us and soon bunked down in our individual tents. It was only 4:30, but it was dark and cold. And about to get colder: by the time the full moon rose in the clear sky above us, someone had recorded a temperature of 22 degrees. There was frost on our tents and our water bottles were frozen solid when we crawled out of our sleeping bags in the morning. By the time dawn arrived, we had spent 14 hours nestled away from the cold, lulled to sleep by a chorus of coyotes throughout the night.
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One of the early roads on this trip.
This was to be typical for the first four days
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Day 3 - Parque
Nacional Constitucion – Mike’s Sky Ranch
98 miles
We left the camp by 9:30 and continued through the park, heading past Laguna
Hanson and through some amazing rock formations and more pine covered hills.
As we were cautioned to gas up whenever we could find gas, James and I filled
up at a small settlement where the proprietor sold gas out of 1-gallon milk
jugs and even supplied the funnel to pour it into the tank. He charged us $4
gallon for this privilege. One of the guys was leading and took us on an “unimproved
road” which is frightening to think that what were on might have been
considered “improved”. We headed up this washed out, rock-strewn
stretch of dirt and I dumped my bike not more than 15 minutes later. I could
see that it was only going to get worse and made up my mind that I was not going
to continue in this direction. The group gathered together, looked at the GPS
and local maps and came to a decision to take the “easier” road
towards Valle de la Trinidad (and lunch) and then make better time to our next
destination: Mike’s Sky Ranch. We fueled up and had lunch in Trinidad
before heading south on RT 3. We took another obscure turn off that led through
some farmlands but soon left them behind as the road gained in elevation and
started to twist and turn through the mountains we were entering. The road was
mostly rock and dirt, but once it crested the highlands it became sandier and
harder to navigate. The sand got really deep (at least 6”) and challenging.
There were also a few rivers that ran through the area so I was also able to
experience my first water crossing as well.
After 24 miles and a 4000’ elevation gain we reached Mike’s Sky Ranch, a cozy little settlement that caters somewhat to the biking and Baja 1000 communities. The deal included individual rooms, a steak dinner, breakfast, hot water for showers and oil burning heaters in every room. There is no line electricity at Mike’s so we had to wait for someone to fire off the generator to heat the water for our showers and power the lights in our rooms. At some seemingly random time, the generator was turned off and we were left for the night with kerosene hurricane lamps, oil heaters and heavy blankets. It was divine.
Day 4 – Mike’s
Sky Ranch – San Felipe
117 miles
I had somehow managed to acquire a local kitty to keep me company that night
and he helped me enjoy one of the best night’s sleep I had had in a long
time. The morning was clear, and after a hearty breakfast, we packed up the
bikes and headed back down the mountain. The road twisted some more, but we
took an easier route back to Hwy 3 so it didn’t take us nearly as long
to get to Hwy 3 as it did to get to Mike’s. We were soon on a paved road
and on our way to San Felipe. The road was decent, flat and fast and passed
though open flat country that didn’t have much to offer to look at. It
didn’t take us long to reach San Felipe and find lunch. The winds were
really blowing, something seasonal that the locals called “Northers”
so we decided not to camp, but instead, to stay at a hotel in town. We ran into
some other bikers, had dinner with them and enjoyed a relaxing time in town.
Day 5 - San Felipe
– Gonzaga Bay (Alfonsia’s)
62 miles
The wind was still blowing when we left San Felipe the next morning, but the
sky was clear. We headed south on paved roads, but they quickly deteriorated
to some of the worst pavement I ever had the privilege of riding on. It wasn’t
just rough pavement – it was bombed out, missing, stretches of gravel
pavement. I pitied anyone who didn’t have good suspension who tried to
travel this stretch. The scenery wasn’t that spectacular, which is just
as well, as all of our concentration was needed to avoid the largest of the
potholes and bike eaters. We were surprised when we reached the sleepy town
of Puertocitos, as there was a sign that proclaimed: Rough Road Ahead. Then
what were we just on? The “Rough Road” that we were warned of was
actually easier to navigate, as it was pure packed dirt/gravel and had no potholes
to avoid. By now the scenery had become more interesting visually, as it hugged
the coast of the Gulf of California, presenting some dramatic coastal views
of rocky shores and isolated sandy beaches. The views became even better as
the road climbed and dipped along the coast, showing us interesting bays and
islands. The gravel was tricky in some parts, that kept our speeds down somewhat
(for some more than others). Eventually the mountains moved inland and we were
left with some flat, dry stretches of landscape. The road became almost unbearable
at this point, with a washboard surface that took its toll on both the bikes
and the riders. Somewhere along this section of road is my license plate, discovered
AWOL during our lunch at Punta Bufeo. I also discovered that my speedometer
cable had broken. This cable was one of the few “spare parts” that
I hadn’t packed along with me. Oh well, who needs to know how fast you’re
going in Mexico, right?
After lunch we continued southward along the east coast of Baja, through an arid and desolate landscape that didn’t seem home to much of anything, humans included. In the middle of what appeared to be nowhere, we came upon a military checkpoint, populated with bored- and hot-looking soldiers. They noticed us, but took little interest, as we rode past them and continued to our night’s destination: Alfonsia’s at Gonzaga Bay. Here was a sheltered bay, complete with cabanas, a couple of fishing boats and a surprising population of American ex-patriots. After we unloaded the bikes we relaxed in our rooms, on the beach or around the restaurant area. Alfonsia’s is a stretch of private homes along the beach with rooms for rent, a restaurant/bar area and a close-knit community. We quickly found out just how close and friendly these people were during dinner, for, unbeknownst to me, it was Christmas Eve. We were seated at a table when we learned that the community provides a potluck dinner every year for anyone who happens by. We were treated to turkey, mashed potatoes, fresh rolls, vegetables, and various tasty local dishes. Everyone was friendly and made us feel quite welcome. The Christmas tree in the corner (with homemade ornaments) seemed out of place earlier in this warm and dry climate, but it fit right in now with the generous people that we found that evening. It was the closest thing to family that I was going to get for Christmas this year.
Day 6 – Gonzaga
Bay – San Ignacio
150 miles
Christmas Day dawned the same as each previous day, with a glorious sunrise
and blue skies. We got back on the road and continued south. The cactus appeared
in great numbers, the road returned to the mountains and the surface became
hard and fast. It was to be a good day. The pace picked up considerably along
this stretch, and we barely slowed down while the road churned through the mountains
before dropping down to a wide plain where there is a small cluster of buildings
(two, actually) called Coco’s Corner. It’s an odd little place:
very lonely but obviously visited frequently by passers-by. There are beer cans
strung along fences everywhere, and eclectic found objects on display. The collection
of donated underwear and various currencies is also quite impressive. Definitely
a unique place, with very little to offer other than a diversion from the bleak
landscape surrounding it. We left Coco’s Corner and continued on a very
flat and straight dirt road that lead us to Mexico’s paved Hwy 1, where
we ran into 3 of the guys we had dinner with the previous nigh in San Felipe.
Our group of six also discussed our future options and plans. Half of the group
wanted to hit more back roads, while the other half wanted to take advantage
of the faster paced paved roads and see more of the country. We would split
up here with the possibility of meeting up again later in the trip. Dave recommended
a place in Mulege where we could meet and an approximate time to expect them.
So after a brief farewell, Rob, Dave and Norm jumped on their KLRs and headed
east towards wild and unknown territory while James, Mark and I continued along
Hwy 1 and the tamer environs of San Ignacio and points beyond.
Our smaller group of three continued on its way, having lunch with The Tamale Lady in Jesus Marias. We were stopped by the military at the border to Baja Sur. That was the first time we had to get off our bikes and show our papers. I had to unpack my bags to get to my papers, as I didn’t really expect to need them again any time soon. The soldiers (complete with big guns and fancy camouflaged outfits) were nice though, and let us pass soon enough. At the next two checkpoints we were just waved through – you never know when you’ll get stopped. After some very long and straight roads, we made our way into the heart of San Ignacio, home to one of the many colonial cathedrals that we would see during our trip. The town was very small, and didn’t take long to ride around. Surprisingly enough, we met up with the same bikers that we had first met in San Felipe, but they were continuing south a little further, while we were planning on camping there for the night. We found a fairly quite little place to set up our tents, complete with date palms and lush foliage. Dinner was basic, being whatever we had in our bags that could be heated up over the camp stove and then James and I played cards while the three of us sat at a table and talked. Mark had made friends with the local dog “Bonbon” who was guarding our tents when we returned from the card games. It was still chilly that evening, so we crawled into our tents for a relatively early night.
Day 7 – San
Ignacio - Mulege
59 miles
The next morning we went back to the “downtown” portion of San Ignacio
and took some pictures and walked around for a little bit. We packed up camp
and headed for breakfast in Santa Roselia. The ride was a really nice one. The
road wound through some hills, the vegetation was greener and more prevalent
and eventually we topped a ridge on our way back to the coast of the Gulf of
California. We crested a fun mountain pass that then dropped us into a flat,
desolate landscape on the vast shores of the Gulf. I was amazed at the number
of burned out rusted vehicle hulks littering the landscape. Where did they come
from, why were they there and why didn’t anyone do anything about them?
Santa Roselia was a bigger town than I expected, but we still had a hard time
finding a place to eat. Nothing seemed to be open, or sold something other than
food. After we did find lunch we spent some time at the local automotive store
looking for some odds and ends for our bikes. The employees were very helpful
and of course, it’s always interesting to try communicating with someone
who doesn’t speak your language. From Santa Roselia we continued down
the coast for an uneventful 30 miles to Mulege, where we were to camp for the
night at The Orchard, recommended by Dave. Mulege was another encampment of
ex-pats, and had everything that we were looking for including laundry facilities
and an Internet café.
Day 8 – Mulege
– Mulege
0 miles
As we had agreed to wait for the rest of the group in Mulege, Mark, James and
I were free to sleep in and take an easy day in town. We spent a quite day around
camp, checking out the locals’ houses and seeing what the town had to
offer. The wind had been blowing every day since we had started our trip, but
yesterday it had died down and today it looked like it may warm up a bit. The
sun finally climbed high enough to warm us up but all to soon clouds rolled
in and obscured the sun, depriving us of the warmth. The Orchard is a very tidy
and fairly good-sized campground, with hot showers and a short 1 mile walk into
town. We sighted our first frigate bird, a huge and prehistoric looking creature
that soared effortlessly above the water. I also watched some pelicans dive
into the river, searching for breakfast. Our group then dropped off our laundry,
checked email and ate ice cream. It was a very relaxing and restful day. That
evening we met Lois and Bob, ex-pats from Minnesota who own a really beautiful
house at the edge of the campground and along the river. They invited us in
and we spent a comfortable evening with them.
Day 9 – Mulege
– Cuicdad Constitucion
108 miles
I thought that the clouds would have moved off overnight but was disappointed
to wake up to continued cloud cover. I was surprised when Rob, Dave and Norm
showed up around ten o’clock that morning. In fact, I was rather surprised
that they showed up at all, as there had been some talk as to different destinations
on the mainland. As we finished strapping down our gear we agreed that we would
indeed continue to split the group, with the three dirt riders heading over
to the mainland via Santa Rosalia to visit Copper Canyon and my group of three
continuing south to La Paz, where we’d cross over to Mazatlan. The three
took off for the ferry back at Santa Roselia and we three headed south yet again.
The road out of Mulege was fun, with high speed sweepers and tighter curves and decent pavement. The weather was heavily overcast and I was surprised that it didn’t rain on us sooner than it did. The landscape was open, despite all of the curves carved into it. We had almost reached the coastal town of Loreto when it started to sprinkle on us. We took the opportunity to stop for lunch, watching our bikes get damp in the light drizzle. After lunch we headed back to the pavement and I was amazed at the beauty of the engineering of the road that we were on. It climbed dramatically through the mountains, giving us awesome views back to the Gulf and the winding road that we had just climbed up. The only way it could have been better was to have clearer weather and drier roads. As it was, I was very tentative when riding through these curves, as the trucks and buses had left a trail of oil and grease that made any sure-footedness a distant memory. The joys of climbing the mountain were soon left behind as we entered the central flatlands of Southern Baja and the road straightened out to the distant horizon. The speed limits in Mexico are ridiculously low, usually around 80kmp for a road that doesn’t turn, has no traffic and no joining roads. Fortunately these speed limits are rarely enforced and we were still able to make good time. The rains didn’t let up and we rode all the way to Cuidad Constitucion in the drizzle. It was along this stretch of road that I saw a most unusual sight. The flat plains were beginning to show signs of agriculture when I noticed a large field of corn backed by a row of palm trees. We’re not in Kansas any more. Upon entering Cuidad Constitucion we found a charming hotel off the main drag, unloaded our bikes and took a long walk around town, eventually finding dinner.
Day 10 –
Cuicdad Constitucion – La Paz
156 miles
The clouds didn’t blow away overnight and, although the rains had stopped,
it was still overcast when we got up the next morning. Our room was quiet and
comfy with plenty of hot water; something extremely rare in Mexico. The road
from Cuidad Constitucion to La Paz is unremarkable, with long straight stretches
and not a lot to look at along the way. For the first time I was able to notice
some of the techniques that Mexicans use on the road. They use their hazards
lights whenever they are slowing down for any reason, or for no reason at all.
Turn signals are used to indicate when its safe to pass, but its not a guarantee
that its safe, only that they’re aware that you’re behind them.
Of course these same signals will be left on for miles even when no one is around.
We reached La Paz at noon and immediately headed for the ferry office to find
out what our options were for getting to Mazatlan. The clerk at the counter
told us that the Thursday ferry was cargo only (it was currently Wednesday)
and Friday’s ferry wasn’t sailing for some reason. This wasn’t
good news, as it meant spending days in La Paz, something that we weren’t
looking forward to doing. Then we asked the most obvious question: how about
today’s sailing? Is there any room? Yes, there was! We would have to hurry
though. So we quickly got out our papers and gave her our information and paid
for our passage (as well as the separate passage for our bikes). We made a quick
run to the bank and then zipped off to the ferry dock, a distant 17 kilometers
further down the road. We arrived, showed them our papers and then proceeded
to the scales. They had me pull my bike on the scale, step back while they got
the weight of my poor loaded down KLR and then waved me through. Mark and James
were disappointed when the workers didn’t want to weigh their bikes and
instead waved them on past to join me at the end of the dock. We parked the
bikes near the mouth of the ferry and sat back to watch them load the boat.
Unlike the open ferries I’m used to in the Pacific Northwest where they
load from one end and unload from the other end, this ferry had only one opening.
This meant that every truck (which there were a lot of) had to be backed into
the ferry. We watched for quite some time, wondering why we were rushed to the
dock so early when it didn’t appear that we were going to move for quite
some time. James asked one of the dockworkers and found out that motorcycles
load last, and it would be at least an hour before that would happen. Mark and
James went off in search of lunch for the three of us while I watched over our
stuff. They returned, the cars loaded and then it was finally our turn. Ours
were the only bikes on the boat. We rode them into the cargo hold, started to
tie them down and they closed the doors. We could feel the ship moving away
from the dock and a crewmember told us to get upstairs. But we weren’t
done yet securing the bikes and he left us alone. About 5 minutes later we were
done and ready to join the rest of the passengers, except we couldn’t!
The doors were blocked, it was dark and the air was getting bad. No matter which
way we turned we found our way blocked by the tightly packed semi trailers,
cars and trucks. The ship’s diesel engines were running and exhaust fumes
were filling the cargo hold. There were no windows for ventilation or lights
for visibility. We wandered around, looking for an open door, trying not to
imagine what would happen to us if we were trapped there for the entire 18-hour
ferry ride. It was looking dire. Finally, through some fluke, I figured out
how the doors were secured and we were able to make our way upstairs. Fresh
air at last! We climbed up the stairs, found some unoccupied seats, stowed our
gear and settled in for a long ride.
Day 11 - La Paz
- Mazatlan
11 miles
The sailing was uneventful, with heavy overcast skies, lots of people and not
much to do. People could have reserved cabins, but most of them just made do
with the chairs they could secure, or benches, or the floor, or the aisles –
wherever they could make themselves comfortable. The ferry was very big and
offered two full-service restaurants, a bar, a cafeteria, TVs broadcasting old
movies and even a small dance floor. The service and the food in the restaurant
left a lot to be desired. I had to laugh when I saw what they offered at the
cafeteria line: toilet paper! And for a good reason too: I did not find one
roll of toilet paper in any of the restrooms on board. I had finally gotten
used to the idea of putting toilet paper in the wastebaskets provided and not
the toilet. That was a hard thing to adapt to. Sleep wasn’t easy, and
I was up to see the sunrise over the city of Mazatlan. That would have been
much more impressive if it weren’t so cloudy.
Being the last on the ferry, we were the first off. This was tricky, because they let everyone down to their vehicles at the same time, which meant that we had almost no time to untie our bikes, stow what stuff we had taken off them back on, and get our gear on before they were waiting for us to get out of the way. When we finally did ride off we headed directly for the hotel district of Mazatlan and spent an ungodly amount of time looking for a place that had rooms available for three people. We finally found a decent place, unloaded the bikes and took a walk on the beach. We had finally arrived in what I pictured as “Mexico:” palm trees, warm water, sandy beaches and margaritas.
Day 12 –
Mazatlan – Mazatlan
21 miles
We spent the day looking for tires for James’ DRZ and a place for Mark
to wash his KTM. We finally found a rear tire for James, someone to wash Mark’s
bike and a tasty street vendor lunch before heading back to the hotel. James
put the new tire on his bike, much to the amusement of the guys working on the
building next door to us. Afterwards we decided to take a walk and ended up
walking the entire 4 miles of waterfront, from the hotel district to the historic
district. This was completely unintentional as we were just looking for coffee,
but when we reached the end we stopped and had dinner at the first restaurant
we found. After dinner we took a taxi back to our hotel, watched the fireworks
on the beach and then went back to our room, where we could hear the sounds
of not-so-distant parties for the rest of the night. Happy New Year!
Day 13 –
Mazatlan - Mazatlan
18 miles
New Year’s Day in Mazatlan. After a poor night’s sleep, and spending
most of the previous day riding around in hot, crazy traffic, we decided that
we deserved a day of rest on the beach. Or a relaxing day on the bikes. This
time we rode to the historic district in search of breakfast, but couldn’t
find anything to our liking. We walked around the main plaza for a while before
giving up and riding back to the hotel district, where we finally succeeded.
We dropped our bikes off at the hotel and headed back to the shore, where we
watched the locals on the beach and in the water. It was overcast and not terribly
warm, so most of the tourists must have been in hiding.
Day 14 –
Mazatlan - Durango
210 miles
On the road again! We packed up the bikes after our long New Year’s Eve
siesta and headed inland. Our goal was Espinoza del Diablo, a road fabled to
be 90 miles of nothing but curves that follow an amazing ridge top with views
grand enough to make you miss the next bend. But first we had to get out of
Mazatlan. The pollution, litter and traffic were horrendous and it was with
great relief that we greeted the turn off to Hwy 40 that would take us up and
inland for rest of the day. Almost immediately the road started to curve and
rise. We had been at 72’ and would reach 8,945’ by the end of the
day. The terrain was quick to gain in elevation and tree coverage. The forests
became thicker and greener, and the road bent and twisted in order to follow
the rising mountains. Little settlements of houses would appear, clustered close
along the road or perched on the hillsides. I was really fascinated with the
tiny fields of corn planted on near vertical slopes and tucked in among the
trees.
Surprisingly, this squiggly line on the map is a main transportation route and the road surface reflects the heavy use of trucks and buses, each leaving their own trail of oil and grease. It was early in the day when I discovered just how poorly this road surface and my somewhat knobby tires went together. It was a nicely cambered uphill right-hander I was taking at about 35mph when I was surprised to be on my side, leg trapped momentarily under the bike as we slide across the lane. The bike pulled away and I was quick to get on my feet and out of the way of James, who was right behind me. He helped me get the bike off to the side where we assessed that all was well, with both the bike and myself. We rode around the bend to where Mark was waiting anxiously for us and took a short break. We re-assessed our speeds and the fact that we were on vacation and should probably take it easy. We mounted our bikes and proceeded to continue up the mountain. The road never gave up in its twists and turns and surprising views. It is indeed the Spine of the Devil, as it follows ridge tops and hugs mountain walls, with valleys dropping off steeply and expansive vistas that indicated just how much more we had to enjoy. The pavement cleared up, but never got really good. Each corner was a surprise in quality and sharpness and kept us on our toes. We eventually reached La Cuidad and stopped for a bite to eat and to put some warmer gear on. Warm sunny Mexico was a thing of the past now. The trees had changed to tall pine trees and the vegetation reflected the drier slopes of a mountain’s eastern side.
The road had reached a plateau and started to straighten out again, but by no means was it straight. There were just less intensive corners. This was the only time during the entire trip that the police took any notice of us. We saw the officer making a “slow down” motion with his hand from within his car as we went by and then the lights came on as he pulled out on the road. But there were dozens of cars nearby, and three of them stopped and we didn’t. No on pursued us, so we continued on to Durango, our intended stop for the night. There were holiday activities in the Plaza, including carolers and vendors and lots of Christmas lights, so it was all very festive. And best of all, the shower was hot.
Day 15 –
Durango - Zacatacus
194 miles
Leaving Durango we headed south to Zacatacus, a city fabled for it’s cable
car that travels between two 8,000’ + peaks and gives an amazing view
of the city. The landscape opened up and golden hills stretched away into the
distance, dotted with trees – this is how I would imagine the African
savanna to look. There were a lot of miles to cover, but they went quickly on
the smooth pavement and the fast curves. We stopped in Sombrerete for lunch
where we were greeted with narrow flagstone streets, which were different from
the cobblestone streets that we found in most other towns. South of Sombrerete,
the roads straightened out even more and I noticed what would become the ubiquitous
red Mexican stone. There were stout red stone walls crisscrossing the landscape,
delineating fields and pastures for mile upon mile. The red soil also became
apparent in tilled fields and even in the coloring of lakes. The agricultural
basis of the area became more apparent as well, with many fields of cattle and
horses, and even the sight of a horse-drawn cart and and plow dragged by a pair
of oxen in a field as we zipped by.
Zacatacus is a fairly good-sized town but with great character and a bustling Central District. We eventually found a hotel just a few blocks from one of the many old churches located throughout the city. No sooner had we found our hotel then we met Frederico, a local motorcyclist who also has a hotel and specializes in accommodating motorcyclists. Ahhhh, ten minutes too late. But we made arrangements to meet up with him again and have dinner together the next day. Our hotel appeared luxurious that night: it had three beds, carpeting and wooden bed frames. Previous to this (and frequently afterwards as well) the rooms we found had only two beds, concrete or tile floors and a mattress set upon a concrete platform. The carpet provided warmth, the wooden frame provided comfort and the third bed provided even more comfort, as previously one person would sleep on the floor. We cleaned up and then took a leisurely stroll around the city, marveling at the architecture and the cultural differences around us. It was warm again, and it felt good to relax at the end of the day.
Day 16 –
Zacatacus – Zacatacus
0 miles
We had planned for an “off day” in Zacatacus to take in the sights
and do some laundry. We did a lot of walking around and eventually found our
way up to the cable car loading point. The day was bright and clear and it would
be a good view of the city. The cable car ride was interesting, with plenty
of views of the city laid out below us. The city itself was up set in the mountains
in such a way that there wasn’t much to see beyond it, but the views that
we did have didn’t leave us feeling cheated. There was the option to take
the return ride, but we opted to walk back, experiencing more of the “back
yard” view of this high Mexican town. Walking through Mexican towns leads
to a whole new world of dangers. Sidewalks are uneven and steps are of various
heights. Construction sites may or may not be blocked off, vehicles have no
regard for pedestrians and shops have low-hanging awnings at eye-level. One
has to be alert for hazardous conditions at all times when walking through Mexico.
We then walked to the other side of the Central District to take a tour of the
local silver mine, but found that it was closed. Instead we gathered up our
laundry and returned to our hotel, to prepare for our dinner with Frederico.
He was very helpful in providing information and maps about local destinations
(mostly bike-specific, but that was the topic of conversation anyway). We left
the restaurant that night armed with maps and route suggestions and slept well
in anticipation of the next day’s ride.
Day 17 –
Zacatacus – Chapalla
264 miles
For the first time on this trip we had planned and successfully executed a departure
before 9am. We were on the road by 8am and heading for the ancient ruins of
Chicomostoc, less than an hour south of Zacatacus. It was amazing to see what
was left of structures built hundreds of years ago, all out of local rock and,
at one point, tree parts. I climbed to the (almost) highest point and was rewarded
with a view of the structures below and the valley stretching out in the distance.
After spending an hour or so checking out the ruins we got back on our bikes
and continued southward towards Guadalajar. The dry, arid region soon gave way
to green hills, more trees and more agriculture. I saw my first fields of aguave,
which appear bluish when seen en masse. There were also pear trees, cornfields,
cows, goats and pigs to see along the way. The road rose and fell with the landscape,
stretching out to the distant mountains that always seemed to surround us. We
couldn’t resist not stopping in Tabasco for lunch and were rewarded with
some of the best grilled chicken that we had on the entire trip. Oh, was it
ever tasty! After lunch the road climbed up the mountains that we had been taunted
with all morning and the corner radiuses became tighter and more challenging.
I was riding at a fairly decent pace when I felt the rear wheel slip slightly.
We were on a similar surface as the one on Espinoza del Diablo and I immediately
backed off. I had no intentions of repeating my earlier low-side performance.
Another reason for keeping the speeds down was the Mexican’s complete
disregard for the yellow line down the middle of the road. It apparently did
not matter if the road was straight of curvy, but an oncoming driver was almost
guaranteed to cross over the yellow line at any given time, with no visible
reason. There was many a turn I came around only to be startled by a bus half
in my lane. We enjoyed the twists and turns of the road as it reached for the
tops of the mountains, and when we were at the top we continued to enjoy the
faster, longer curves that ran along the ridgeline. This is where I came across
the most frightening point in my entire trip. I was leading our group along
this ridgeline and came to a very long, even, left-hand corner that stretched
around the edge of a shallow ravine. It was situated in such a way that I could
see that it was evenly constructed, no vehicles were coming and that it looked
like a really fun corner to hit hard! I rolled on the throttle a little more
and figured that I was probably going about 55mph or so and about 1/3 into the
corner when I got the biggest surprise of the day: it was all gravel: freshly
laid, loose and deep. The front tire slipped out, then the rear tire, and I
thought for sure that I was going to lose it and slide right off the edge of
the road and into the deep brush and who-knows what else. Fortunately, I didn’t
go down and the guys were far enough behind me to make adjustments in their
speed and approach to minimize their danger. It took me quite a few miles to
fully recover from that scare.
From this point on the road started to slowly descend into a large valley, weaving in and out around the edges of the mountains, giving us teasing glimpses into what was in store around the next corner. When we finally reached the bottom of the valley we found a large river and banana trees dotted the yards of the houses that we passed. It was another agricultural valley and it was very lush and green and beautiful. After crossing the river we had the pleasure of climbing back up the other side, winding upwards and giving us great views of the side of the mountain that we had just descended. As we rounded one bend we caught a glimpse of a fairly large waterfall that cascaded down into the river valley below. We would have stopped to take pictures but the road was so narrow and there was so much traffic that none of us felt that it was a safe or wise thing to do. Besides, it was getting late and we weren’t even in Guadalajara yet. But that was about to change. Less than two miles later we rounded a bend and found ourselves facing the city. It was terrible! Dirty, litter everywhere, cars everywhere, terrible roads, smog in the air… it was not my idea of a pleasant place. The road lines had been worn away and the four lanes of traffic were random and constantly shifting. I noticed people driving with their kids on their lap and the beds of pick up trucks stuffed with people. It was a crazy place, but quite honestly, I enjoyed fighting my way through the traffic. We made the decision to continue riding, heading around the city and ending up somewhere outside of the outskirts in a hopefully more pleasant environment. We managed to achieve this, even though it meant riding on Mexican roads in the dark. It was a long ride, but well worth it. The only time I was stopped during the entire trip was along this stretch. As we passed through Tonala a policeman noticed my lack of a license plate and pulled me over for questioning. He wanted to know where the plate was and I tried to explain that it was somewhere on Baja. He was happy with my registration papers and let me continue. We finally reached Chapalla, a small town full of ex-pats that had a hotel ready to welcome not only us, but also our bikes. As the final bonus, it had three beds and hot water!
Day 18 –
Chapalla – Chapalla
0 miles
I woke up in my comfortable bed to the sounds of horses’ hooves on the
uneven cobblestones, roosters crowing, dogs barking, a man singing and the gas
truck luring people out of their houses. It was a good morning. The gas truck,
I should explain, was a pick up truck that drove around town with liquid propane
in the back, the common fuel used by Mexicans. The truck had a recording that
would play repeatedly, consisting of a gentle two-tone horn and then a voice
calling out in a most friendly and enticing timbre “Gaaassss!” The
best part about this truck was that it wasn’t isolated to Chapalla; the
same recording was in many of the small towns that we visited. This was another
day that we had decided not to travel, so it was a leisurely morning of walking
around the markets and seeing what the town had to offer. My other sandal had
torn, so I made a point of finding someplace that could fix it for me. The first
sandal tore while in Mazatlan and I found a one-eyed leather worker who fixed
it for 10 pesos – what a bargain!. We met a local who lives along the
shore of the lake, and he was very pleased to answer our questions regarding
the lake level and it’s history. We spent a good deal of the afternoon
talking, and when we left him the sun was setting and it was time for dinner.
It had been another pleasant day in Mexico.
Day 19 - Chapalla
- Union de Tula
198 miles
There are two volcanoes south of Chapalla Lake, near Colima, one of which was
supposed to be active so we packed up the bikes and took off around the lake.
It was very slow going through the numerous little towns and their accompanying
topes (speed bumps). We finally got to the south side of the lake and took Rte
110, a road that led us south and into more mountains. I should note that until
now, bugs had been almost non-existent. In fact, I had forgotten what a pain
they could be until I started to run into them more frequently south of Chapalla.
The road surface looked slippery and was pocked with ruts and bumps, so it was
a pretty casual ride for the group. The road rose up from the edge of the lake
giving me a great view of the long narrow body of water and the frequent towns
along its shores. Eventually the pine trees started to cover the land and the
road began its descent, winding downward through rich pine needle-covered earth.
As we dropped in elevation we entered a land of vast and lush fields, something
I later learned to be sugar cane. They stretched out for acres and lent a very
vibrant hue to the landscape. We stopped for lunch in a small town with a view
of the two volcano peaks. As we waited for our food, the active volcano let
out a large plume of steam that curled and stretched its way hundreds of feet
into the sky. How very exciting! The locals at the restaurant were also excited
about the steam cloud, so I could tell that this was a rare occurrence. Our
route after lunch took us along the northern slopes of the twin peaks and we
dashed through narrow twisting roads until it opened up once more and we were
able to see the peaks, this time from the west side. We climbed another mountain
pass that challenged our cornering skills simply by the amount of “road
apples” we came across on the way to the top. Apparently this route was
not an uncommon one for horses. There were more beautiful views of deep valleys
full of farms and houses. We found the town of Union de Tula nearby and chose
to stop there for the night.
Day 20 –
Union de Tula – Talpa de Allende
79 miles
One of the members in our group had a friend from the States who was getting
married in Talpa de Allende that day, so our goal was simply to reach the town,
find the wedding and enjoy ourselves. We left Union de Tula and found the road
to Talpa de Allende to be a narrow, twisty two-lane road that crossed over many
mountain passes. It was a great ride! There were white flowering trees along
the road that gave an odd look to the landscape, as most of the trees had dropped
their leaves for the season and left the forests looking barren and dead. We
passed through more agricultural areas, many valleys, some very small towns
and over some more ridge tops before dropping down a dramatic valley into the
beginnings of Talpa de Allende. This is a rather small and quaint town with
a large Catholic following. There is a story about a virgin with a mole on her
face, but I never was able to find out more than that. The town is famous for
this virgin and is visited by people from miles away, sometimes on their knees.
We found a hotel and then sent Mark on his way to find the groom. That took
much longer than we thought, but while we were waiting we found Norm, one of
the riders from earlier in the ride. We had exchanged emails and had made arrangements
to meet up here and ride together for a few more days. Mark finally found out
where we should be so we hopped onto the bikes and rode out to the family ranch,
where tents and a band were set up and the drinks were flowing freely. We were
made to feel welcome and offered drinks and dinner. It was a really fun time
and we stayed until late that night, making for a wild ride back to the hotel
on dark farm roads.
Day 21 - Talpa
de Allende – Puerto Vallarta
110 miles
It being Sunday in a highly Catholic town, it was not a quiet morning. In addition
to the “gas” trucks, we now also had dump trucks that would steam
slowly down the narrow streets, their recordings crooning out an enticing offer:
“basura”. Yes, it was time to bring out your trash. I was amazed
that anyone could make a garbage truck sound alluring, but they did it. There
were also drums and flutes for some performance dancers in the plaza in front
of the main church and they played for a long time. Each town naturally has
their main plaza and accompanying cathedral, but it is interesting to note that
the bells in these cathedrals rarely ring in any organized or consistent manner.
They will ring at any time of the day, for any length of time and not always
in a consistent rhythm. I tried many times to find a correlation between the
bells and the time but I was unable to do so. It took us a little longer to
get on the road, but eventually the four of us hopped on our bikes and headed
to Puerto Vallarta. It was time to hit the coast! However, being on Dual Sport
motorcycles, some felt that it was only right that we approach the city from
the most remote and impossible way: directly across the mountains.
We started off by heading north to Muscota and asking some locals the way to Puerto Vallarta. They pointed to a paved road north of us. “No no”, we said, pointing to the dirt road near the barn. “We want to know if this road goes there”. “Yes, but it is rough” “Good!” we replied. We took off behind the farmhouse as they shook their heads. We were soon flying down a well-packed dirt road, through pleasant fields and past curious cows. At this rate, the guys figured that we’d be in Puerto Vallarta in a couple of hours. That was not to be. The road stopped being well-packed dirt and flat half an hour later and it soon rose and fell with the terrain, swooping low into valleys and rising sharply with the next ridge. We had to stop for a few minutes while some horsemen herded their cattle down the road; this was not a place for high-speed racing. There were sporadic and tiny towns that the road meandered through, and these tapered off quickly as we entered the heart of the coastal mountains. The road became one lane and usually consisted flour-like dirt or sand and went up and down more than an oil pump in Texas. It twisted like no other road I’d ever been on. There was no time to shift up a gear between turns. What was ahead of you at any given time was a mystery because of the sharp bends. There were frequent switchbacks that would let me gain elevation faster than I thought possible and then the corresponding descending switchbacks that left me looking over the edge of the precipice into the valley far below. There were frequent large rocks to dodge and infrequent pick-ups that came barreling around the corner from the other direction. Not to mention the time I came around a tight, narrow right hand corner only to find myself face to face with, of all things, a school bus. This made for an interesting pass, as there was just enough room for me to pull up against the inside wall, lean the bike over as far as possible while the bus inched its way around on the outside of the road. There were three major rivers to cross, the largest I had ever forded in my brief career as a dirt biker. We all did well on the first one, but I hit an underwater boulder on the second one and got a bit wetter than I intended. But the bike’s engine kept running and the gear stayed dry, so it was just a short wait while I poured the water out of my boots before we continued on our way. The third crossing was considerably easier and James even went across a couple of times so we could get some “action shots”. Our two-hour estimated time frame had become over 5 hours for this 40-mile stretch of dirt before we started to drop down the final range and into the valley leading out to Puerto Vallarta. It had been a hot, dusty and tiring journey and I was sorely tempted to jump in the river that we were following out of the mountains. Instead we rode in to Nuevo Puerto, just north of Puerto Vallarta, looking for Mark’s friend. We must have looked fairly lost and bedraggled at the entrance to the resort because the security guard came over to ask us if we needed any help. Mark explained what we were looking for and the guard said to follow him. He jumped in his car, turned on the lights and took off without even waiting for us. We caught up to him and he led us to the resort we needed. But we didn’t find Mark’s friend so instead we headed to Puerto Vallarta to find a hotel for the evening. We found a good one (more hot water and comfortable beds) and then had a very good dinner on the beach while the sun set. It was the perfect end to a long and rewarding day.
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The ranch house from the previous
day's wedding festivities |
Starting our journey through the mountains |
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Cowboys herding cattle down the road
we're on |
My first real water crossing |
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And the second crossing - this is
where I dropped the bike |
Road signage at its finest (we came from the left) |
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Looking back on some switchbacks we
just ascended |
Flour-like sand - I cursed it for hours! |
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Wending my way through the mountains |
Looking across the valley towards our route |
Day 22 –
Puerto Vallarta - Playa de Santiago
181 miles
James and I spent the next morning at the DHL office trying to pick up a package.
My speedometer cable had broken back on Baja and I spent quite a bit of time
trying to figure out how to get a new cable sent to me. Puerto Vallarta was
the only place I knew I’d be on a certain date, so I found the DHL’s
address and gave it to a friend back in Seattle in order for him to ship the
part to. What I didn’t realize is that DHL wouldn’t be able to deliver
it in time, so it was sent via another carrier and the DHL office in Puerto
Vallarta would not accept any packages from any other carriers. It took a long
time to figure this out, as the language barrier was considerable and I was
disappointed to learn that I would have to continue to travel with no speedometer
cable. Needless to say, we got a late start out of Puerto Vallarta and it was
getting warm. The road followed the coast for a little while, giving us nice
views of the ocean and the hotels and homes that line it, but, all too soon,
the pavement went inland. The temperatures rose and the road straightened out
and we were soon passing banana plantations, coconut palms and date palms in
profusion. The hills that we did see were evenly covered with low leafless trees
that reminded me a lot of the east coast in winter: very brown and dead looking.
Mark had heard about a place called Barra de Navidad along the coast, so we
stopped there for lunch. It was a beautiful sheltered bay with very few people
and very good food. Since we had gotten such a late start “lunch”
was at 5pm and it was finally cooling off. We didn’t travel far after
lunch for our evening accommodations, which were at Playa de Santiago. It was
getting dark quickly and we needed a place to stay. A man told us that we could
camp in his parking lot that overlooked the beach and we gladly accepted. It
wasn’t the best location as there was litter everywhere, sharp objects
hidden in the hard-packed sand and it smelled slightly, but it was free and
readily available. We all took a dip in the ocean before retreating to our tents
with the sounds of the waves breaking against the sand as a backdrop.
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Puerto Vallarta at dawn |
Lunch at Barra de Navidad |
Day 23 –
Playa de Santiago - Nexpa
180 miles
I watched the sunrise from my tent and shortly after that we packed things up
pretty quick. It wasn’t the nicest of campsites and we were eager to get
to something a little more inviting. The road led us along the coast almost
the entire way. That meant great views, great corners and great riding. It was
hot and humid, but there was some cloud cover that gave small relief from the
sun. It was already 84 degrees by 11am.
The Mexican’s have a casual way of dealing with their trash: they throw it wherever they want to. You can see litter along almost every roadway throughout the country. While they do have some municipal dumps I found that most of the trash just ends up wherever the wind and the Mexican’s leave it. The solution to trash buildup is to burn it. In fact they burn everything, including plastic, metal, papers and even the vegetation along the roadside. This creates huge clouds of smoke that cover the road and burn the eyes. Add to this the smoky emissions from everything from VW Bugs to full-sized buses and I feel as though I lost five years of my life to cancer-causing pollution on this trip.
We were looking for a surfers’ hangout near Nexpa that we heard good things about. Our directions were somewhat vague, so we poked around for a bit before finding it. And it was perfect. We set up our tents of the soft beach sand. There were showers easily accessible and two good restaurants nearby. The water kept getting warmer as we headed south and this beach was a beautiful quiet crescent dotted with cabanas and private homes. We spent a pleasant evening strolling along the sands and enjoying the sunset and the moonrise. Other than the roosters and dogs, it was very peaceful.
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Sunrise from my tent |
The beaches of Nexpa |
Day 24 –
Nexpa – Zihuatanjo
125 miles
One of the roosters couldn’t crow. While most of the feathered critters
would let out a typical “cock-a-doodle-do!” there was one who couldn’t
quite get it. Over and over as I lay in my tent I would hear him nearby: “cock-a-do!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at this, even as it woke me up for another
great sunrise from my tent. Afterwards I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on the
beach and then the four of us loaded up the bikes and continued to head south
along the coast. Norm had decided to head inland and explore some more dirt
roads, so he left the group shortly after we departed Nexpa. We were back down
to the three of us and we were stuck with hot weather, straight roads and military
checkpoints. It reached 96 by the end of the day and in full gear that can get
pretty darn uncomfortable. There was no way that I was going to ride without
my gear though. The roads were too uncertain and I was too far away from home
to take such an unnecessary risk. We stopped by Ixtapa to see a hotel famous
for its architecture, but a surly security guard shadowed us very closely and
made us feel generally unwelcome. We left and continued to Zihuatanjo where
we easily found a nice little motel with a pool and restaurant. We dropped off
some laundry and checked out the town, which was surprisingly small. We walked
around its entirety in a matter of an hour or so and didn’t feel like
we had missed anything. I found a leather shop and took my tank panniers to
the leather worker to see if they could be repaired (the low side I experienced
had stressed some of the seams). Unfortunately he wasn’t able to help
but he did give me directions to someone who could. I couldn’t find that
person, but during my search, I did see someone sitting behind a sewing machine
in her shop. I went in and explained what I needed. She agreed to repair them
and while I was waiting I realized that I was in a lingerie shop. I felt very
awkward standing there, surrounded by beautiful, dainty things while the seamstress
worked on my grimy and dusty tank panniers. But she did a great job and was
happy to help me. I returned to the guys and we had an early dinner and walked
around the town some more. Yep, we had seen all there was to see. We went back
to the hotel room where I found our first in-city roach. There was only one,
but where there’s one, there’re many. And lucky for me, I was the
one to sleep on the floor that night. Fortunately I was very tired and didn’t
give it too much thought.
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After-breakfast walk in Nexpa |
Lush estuary near Nexpa |
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One of the locals of Nexpa |
Cruise ship in Ixtapa |
Day 25 –
Zihuatanjo - Zihuatanjo
0 miles
I woke up around midnight and felt sick. Very sick. I spent the rest of the
night up and down between the bed on the floor and the bathroom. It was not
pleasant. When the boys got up in the morning, I informed them that there was
no way I was going to be able to ride that day. Heck, I couldn’t even
walk across the room without staggering against the wall. They agreed to go
out and be tourists while I stayed in bed and watched bad Spanish TV (with no
remote – life can be so cruel). And that’s how I spent the day.
I took some Imodium A-D, drank plenty of water and slept very soundly. I’ve
found a surprising number of toilets in Mexico don’t come with toilet
seats (mostly in public places) so I was very pleased that our hotel room’s
toilet had a very nice seat on it. Eventually the boys came back with tales
of parasailing, boat ferries, beach combing, massages and having a good time
in general. I was glad that this was a good town to be stuck in. I eventually
worked up the nerve to eat a banana and then an apple, but that was the extent
of it. I did go down to the pool and bobbed around for a while, but I didn’t
trust myself to walk too far or do too much. Tomorrow would be a better day.
Day 26 –
Zihuatanjo – Barra de Vieja
190 miles
I was feeling better and ready to make up for yesterday’s lost time. We
got an early start and were soon headed to Acapulco and points beyond. There
was a military checkpoint mere minutes after we left Zihuatanjo and they were
very thorough in going through our bags. Usually they just looked at us, asked
a couple of questions and then let us pass. Apparently they were concerned about
the high volume of drug trafficking that takes place in this area. After they
let us go, we found the road to be fast and the weather hot. We made it to Acapulco
by 1:30 where we had lunch and drank cold fruit beverages on the beach, in the
shade. Following Mark’s GPS, we took the non-toll road south from Acapulco,
only to find that the GPS was wrong and the road ended at a river. They were
building a bridge over this river, but they had been building it for the last
four years and it didn’t look like they were going to finish it any time
soon. This was no ordinary river and it looked too treacherous to cross. While
it was probably no more than 50’ wide, the riverbanks were sandy and looked
unsupportive of our bikes. A man offered to ferry our bikes across in his boat
but that didn’t appear to be the safest option at that time because one
of our bikes was considerably larger than what would normally be ferried on
such a boat. It was also getting late in the day. We had noticed a nice cluster
of buildings back a few miles and decided to ride back to check it out. There
was a hotel, a couple of small restaurants and cabanas on the beach. We made
arrangements to put up our tents on the beach and looked forward to a very quiet
night on the empty shore. As the sun dipped closer to the horizon I heard some
music. I figured that since it was Friday night there must be live music at
one of the restaurants and didn’t give it a second thought. Not wanting
to sit on the beach with the sand fleas, we opted to walk around the buildings
behind our tents to see what was there. We got quite a surprise when we rounded
the corner to find a large clearing, many many tables and chairs, a bandstand
and a six-tiered wedding cake. We looked at each other and shook our heads;
so much for our quiet evening on the beach. We asked a local about the set up
and yes, indeed, there was to be a wedding reception for 500 people with 3 bands,
scheduled to start around 9pm. We went back to our tents and crawled in for
a long night of music and revelry. They didn’t stop partying until 4am,
and then the roosters started to crow.
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Courtyard in Zihuatanjo |
The pool at the hotel in Zihuatanjo |
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Our evening accomodations at Barra
de Veije |
Day 27 - Barra
de Vieja – Santiago
173 miles
I will say that the band played well and I enjoyed the music, but the tent was
too hot and I was unable to sleep much that morning. I was ready to just get
on the road and be somewhere else. We still had to back track to Acapulco before
we were able to get on a road that could actually cross the river that had stopped
us the previous evening. Once we got back on the main road it was slow going,
with topes in every town and bad pavement in between towns. Topes, I’ve
decided, are the devil. They come in many forms and while most are marked, some
are not. It can simply be a sharply raised ridge of asphalt, or a gentle slope
of poured concrete, or a line of large 6” metal balls buried halfway into
the road surface, or simple ineffective rumble strips. They are almost all painted
bright yellow (or had been painted bright yellow at some point in time) and
are usually well indicated by signs, both in advance and immediately over the
tope itself. All of this does nothing to lessen the fact that they are evil,
slow traffic to a complete stop through every little po-dunk town in the country
and are generally ineffective to a bike with a suspension such as mine. Having
said all that, I can see how they are useful for traffic control in a country
where drivers (and pedestrians) generally ignore all signs and traffic laws.
There is no ignoring a tope when you’re in a car.
The road passed through some nice terrain with dry hillsides and lush river valleys. We saw many school kids being let off from buses at the side of the roads, usually with no place to walk except on the road itself. The vegetation was almost always crowding up to the edge of the pavement, which left the kids, and anyone else for that matter, very little room to walk. It seemed very dangerous and gave reason to think that perhaps not all of the numerous roadside memorials were all dedicated to traffic accidents. It was also interesting that Mexican school kids wear uniforms. I noticed this throughout the entire country, so it didn’t appear to be a local or isolated event. The further south we went, the more likely we were to see water under the bridges that we crossed over. James was not feeling well, so we did not ride hard or far, stopping for the night in a dumpy little town called Santiago something-or-other near the Parque Nacional Lagunas de Chacahua. We stayed on the outskirts of town in a less-than-desirable neighborhood. Mark and I left James sleeping in the hotel room while the two of us trudged along the narrow road back into town to see what we could find. Along the way we discovered another motorcyclist on a grand journey of his own. Jim was from Olympia, Washington and was riding his ’96 1100 GS down to South America, taking his time and enjoying his time off. As he was alone and had no real plans, he agreed to ride with us the next morning to Puerto Escondido and see how things went from there. The three of us walked around the plaza discussing our individual trips and circumstances before heading back to our hotel for the evening.
Day 28 –
Santiago – Puerto Escondido
30 miles
The next morning we were once again a group of four. It was a quick ride to
Puerto Escondido, both in road type and sheer distance. The foliage had grown
visibly greener and thicker and there was a major bridge crossing a fairly large
river. I looked down at the river’s edge and was surprised to see a dozen
or so people in the river, washing their clothes on rocks along the shore. I
had read about this and seen pictures, but I never expected to actually see
people doing it. We reached the seaside town in time for lunch and made our
plans to find comfortable accommodations for the night. We found some well-made
cabanas that looked across the road to the beach and the delightfully warm water
beyond. Jim decided to stay with us, so the four of us made arrangements to
share a cabana. There was a clean and inviting pool and I didn’t take
too long to dive in and relax in the sun. It’s hard to get a tan when
you spend all day in motorcycle gear. Puerto Escondido is incredibly small but
it has a lively international feel to it. We were actually south of the main
part of town, but this was perfect for me: one small strip of shops along the
water and that was it. We found a good place for dinner where I had some of
the best BBQ pork ribs I’ve had in a long time. That night there was a
live band at the pool, and when they were done playing there was a TV playing
in the background for the rest of the night. And for the first time in my life
I slept under mosquito netting! I didn’t notice that the mosquitoes were
bad, but why take a chance?
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More luxury, this time in Puerto Escondido |
Fuzzy but beautiful sunset |
Day 29 –
Puerto Escondido – Puerto Angel
24 miles
I was going to leave the group that day and head back to Seattle on my own.
I had a timeframe that I had to stick to while the rest of the group had none.
Because of the confusion of who wanted to do what and where they wanted to go,
no real decisions were made until almost 11:30. I knew that the road north to
Oaxaca (my next destination) would be a full day’s ride, so I chose to
stay one more day and get a fresh start in the morning. The rest of the group
was enjoying the casual pace of Puerto Escondido and was already intending to
stay. That’s when we found out that our cabana had been rented to someone
else and there were no more available where we were. Since we had to pack up
to move anyway we decided to move to a different town and headed to Puerto Angel,
a short hop down the road. We found a very quaint little place just off the
beach with more mosquito netting over the beds. We walked along the short beach,
stopping to help some locals get their fishing boat off the sand and into the
bay. At our hotel there was a nice couple that had been in Puerto Angel for
a while and they invited us to join them for dinner. We agreed and later met
them at a local restaurant. It was pleasant to talk with them (they were from
California) and find out how long they’d been in Mexico and what they
were up to. It was a late night at the restaurant and we went to bed as soon
as we got back to the hotel. I had repacked my bike completely back in Puerto
Escondido so I was prepared to just get up and go in the morning. I was ready
to head north.
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A well-made walkway along the shore |
Local kids play soccer on the beach |
Day 30 –Puerto
Angel – Oaxaca
117 miles
The bike was packed and I only had to put my gear on in order to be ready for
the first step towards home. I had breakfast with the guys before taking off
on my own and was on the road by 8:30, getting a good start on what was rumored
to be a tightly curved and poorly maintained road. The rumors were true. I had
chosen to take RT 175 north to Oaxaca, as the other option (RT 131) was supposed
to have large sections of gravel and be in even worse shape then RT 175. And
seeing as my main goal was to get home as quickly and safely as possible, the
prospect of riding twisted gravel roads alone did not appeal to me. I started
out enjoying the lush, almost jungle-like vegetation of the southern side of
the mountains. This would be as close as I would get to “jungle”
so I tried to appreciate the hanging vines, the fat leaves and the intense greens
as I entered the beginning of 150 kilometers of curves. The pavement did indeed
leave much to be desired and I took my time rounding corners and climbing over
passes. This was the single worse paved road I was on in all of Mexico. There
were almost no towns or villages along this route, although I was still surprised
to see the occasional cluster of buildings perched high on a hillside in seemingly
random and isolated locations. As the road climbed over mountain passes, the
lushness decreased, leaving pine and other deciduous trees to reign over the
slopes. I could see the evidence of the vast clear cutting that I had heard
about in the state of Oaxaca, the first that I had really noticed so far. With
the change in vegetation came a change in temperature: it had gotten quite a
bit cooler than the 90 degrees I had left on the coast. I had the pleasure of
watching a local woman herd her goats to another location while I stopped to
put on a sweater. After 94 miles of fun, the road finally crested its last ridge
and dropped down into an expanse of land that stretched off to the distant hills.
I was to pass by more farmland and larger towns during the remaining journey
to Oaxaca. Despite appearing flat, there were actually a number of ravines and
hills in he landscape that kept me on my toes and made the ride a bit more interesting
than straight-lining it for an hour.
I entered Oaxaca not knowing where I was going or what I was looking for. Until this point, I had been at the mercy of Mark and James’ decisions and route-finding skills. Now I had to take the reins and find my own way, without aid of GPS or detailed maps. This was to be interesting, to say the least. I rode around along narrow one-way streets in the thick traffic trying to find either the main market or an affordable hotel. I stopped at a couple of hotels, but was concerned about the high rates, as I was on a tight budget and no longer had the pleasure of splitting the cost three ways. I should also mention that until now, both Mark and I had relied heavily on James for most communication with the locals, as neither of us spoke much Spanish (I spoke none at all). So now I was on my own with a vocabulary of about two dozen words and almost no comprehension of what was said to me. This would make for a truly interesting return home. Through blind luck, I found exactly what I had been looking for: a hostel. I would have my own bunk in a room with another girl and share the common showers for the incredibly low price of $6. It was one of the most comfortable and quiet night’s sleep I was to experience during my entire time in Mexico.
Oaxaca’s market is huge! After I tucked my bike and gear away at the hostel, I went out on foot and explored the city. It’s a large, well laid-out city and very modern by Mexican standards. I walked through the main plaza and thought it curious when a man caught a pigeon with his bare hands and stuffed it into a bag he was carrying. I’m not sure if I want to know what he planned to do with it. I discovered the main market quite by accident, as it is entirely enclosed in a building and not easily detectable from every other storefront in the city. Within the walls of that building you can find everything for sale, from handmade blankets and rugs, to morsels of chocolate, to chicken innards, to hand carved objects d’art. I eventually managed to find my way out of the market and back to the hostel. It was chilly that night, but I had two blankets and soon drifted off to sleep to the happy sounds of quiet conversations, a guitar strumming softly and slightly off-key singing.
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Getting ready to head out on my own |
Cornfields on the hillsides |
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Massive deforestation in the state
of Oaxaca |
Stopping for a local traffic jam |
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Not all roads are well maintained |
But they're almost all well-engineered |
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Fabulous roads and no traffic |
A cozy hostel in Oaxaca |
Day 31 –
Oaxaca - Puebla
194 miles
The next morning I was eager to get on the road. I woke up early and had a hard
time waiting for the small breakfast that was included in my $6 room fee. It
was a quick ride out of the city on RT 190 before turning northward on RT135.
This would keep me away from Mexico City, a place I had no desire to see, let
alone ride through. RT 135 was a good road with consistent cornering and grand
views. The road followed the contours of the ridges closely and I could see
its scarred path for miles ahead of me, cut sharply into the rocky hillsides.
To my surprise there were a number of bicyclists climbing the same mountain
I was descending – apparently it was a bit of a race, as there were support
vehicles and fancy gear on display. I had to slow down as I passed a couple
herding their cattle up the road ahead of me. I never knew what I’d find
around the next corner. The pine forests had given way to leafless trees and
tall cacti and I soon found myself at the bottom of a long valley that followed
a wide and rich river. Agriculture had once again become king and the small
towns that had sprung up to support the farms were offering me topes to navigate
over. The road flattened out and I passed through more towns and topes, ever
on my quest for Puebla. I saw a state road crew maintaining the median of the
highway I was on, trimming back the grass using handheld scythes and sickles.
It didn’t seem terribly efficient and I once again marveled at the contrast
between Mexico’s modern achievements and the old fashioned methods they
still used for various jobs.
I had forgotten about the volcanoes that are near Puebla until I rounded a bend and was struck by the sudden appearance of a massive, obviously volcanic mountain. It stuck up into the sky out of nowhere, tendrils of steam drifting from its peak. I was mesmerized by it for the rest of the ride into Puebla, at least until I reached the city. Then I was overcome with the sheer size, congestion and general dirtiness of the place. I strove to get through Puebla as quickly as possible but, due to the nature of Mexican signs, I wasn’t sure what direction that should be. I guessed and apparently guessed correctly, for I was soon approaching the outer limits of the city. This led to another quandary: just how far could I ride before I ran out of hotel options? The towns listed on my map were never guaranteed to have a gas station let alone a hotel and it was getting very cold at night. I wanted to make sure that I had somewhere warm to sleep, so I stopped at the next hotel I found. It was an odd setup in that I passed under an archway and was immediately presented with dozens of garage doors around a circular drive. In the middle of all of this is the “reception desk”, where I paid for my room. They opened one of the garage doors, I pulled in my bike (dropping it on the slick tile floor when I hit the brakes too hard) and from within the security of my garage I then entered my hotel room. My room was very nicely appointed with a large bed, a clean and updated bath area and a TV with a remote control (the first one I had seen so far in Mexico). I thought that I had hit the jackpot. I pulled out my camp stove to heat up water so that I could make oatmeal for dinner (an advantage of having an attached garage to your hotel room) and then checked out the hot water situation. Nope, not hot. I skipped the shower that evening and crawled into bed to be entertained by Mexican TV. To my chagrin the remote did not work and to make matters worse, the room was freezing cold. There are no heaters in Mexican hotels except for the ones way up in the mountains. I asked the hotel for a second blanket, set the TV to a decent music station and curled up under the covers with my book. It was a very, very cold night.
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No more lush coastal forests |
The road cut into the hillside |
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Roads that go forver, but have curves! |
Looking back down the valley I just traversed |
Day 32 –
Puebla – Queretaro
238 miles
The next morning, I geared up wearing every layer I could get my hands on. I
repacked the bike and, despite the coldness outside (as compared to the coldness
inside the room), was very glad to be heading away from Puebla that morning.
I had difficulty finding route 136 (as I mentioned, most Mexican towns are very
poorly marked) but the local Pemex gas station once again came through with
their helpful and friendly service. I was soon heading north towards Pachuca
with my final destination for the day to be Queretaro. On the map it looked
like a fairly easy route so I was surprised when I found that I was lost. Not
entirely lost, just no longer on the road I thought I was on. The road had started
out newly paved and fast with a lot of semi caravans. A cold, low cloud cover
prevented the sun from warming up the land or burning off the fog in the valleys.
I stopped at a truck stop in an effort to warm up my innards and was pleased
to find that they offered hot chocolate as well as toast and eggs. “Toast”
of course, not being anything like what I would find in the States. No, when
you order “toast” in Mexico you get a slice of white bread that
has indeed been toasted, but then left cold, unbuttered and without jam or jelly.
It wasn’t the most satisfying breakfast I’ve ever had, but it did
the job of warming me up. The towns I passed through were larger than I was
used to seeing and there was little untilled land after leaving Puebla. I did
notice a huge increase in dead dogs by the side of the road. I will liken the
dog in Mexico to the deer in Pennsylvania: after a certain point you’ve
seen so many of them that you start to forget that they were once living creatures.
This was brought home to me as I was running across a fairly flat and open section
of road and saw a group of people on each side of the road before me. I slowed
down as I approached them and was surprised when a small dog ran out on a direct
path to my front tire. I braked hard enough to slow down and swerved away from
the dog just as he realized that this was a bad idea and tried to stop. I continued
past the dog and checked my mirrors to see if he was ok. I looked back just
in time to see the dog bounce off the bumper of the pickup truck behind me.
I cringed and shook my head. The truck didn’t slow down. In fact, it sped
up and passed me.
It was shortly after this that I found myself not where I thought I was. I had just passed the town of Apan and was heading north when my inner compass informed me that this was “not right.” I ignored it for a couple more miles, but felt that it was better to check things out now before I got too far in what might be the wrong direction. I had passed a Police truck with three policemen standing around and considered asking them, but decided to ask someone else instead. There had been a “Y” in the road and I went back to that point. I had originally chosen the right leg and the people I asked (from what I could understand) were telling me that the right leg was correct. I thanked them and went back to my original route. It still felt very wrong, so this time I stopped by the policemen and asked them the same question: Donde esta Pachuca? They got a huge kick out of the fact that this single American girl on a motorcycle who couldn’t speak a lick of Spanish was asking for directions. Well, they tried to explain to me where I should be going but there were way too many words that I didn’t understand. Wasn’t it painfully obvious in my original question that my knowledge of Spanish was limited and that I wouldn’t understand their rapid responses? Then the driver got a big grin on his face and indicated that I should follow them. They all jumped into the truck, turned on the lights and escorted me back to town. Mid-way through town, my escort stopped across the street from another police truck and they began to converse. They gestured frequently in my direction and laughed, but it was friendly and I didn’t feel uncomfortable. One of the men came and told me that the other truck would take me the rest of the way. More lights came on and I was lead out of Apan to the proper road to Pachuca. It was very entertaining for me and they appeared to enjoy themselves. Quite honestly, I think they were bored until I came along. I reached Queretaro at an early enough hour that evening to allow me to find a good hotel near the downtown square and walk around looking at shops. It was a clean, busy town, with a great variety of stores and activities. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have liked to explore it more. As it was, I had a relatively warm room, an almost-hot shower, a TV with no pretensions of a remote control and a good book. I was set for the evening.
Day 33 –
Queretaro – Sombrerete
345 miles
It was hazy when I left Querataro and still cold. What about all those tales
of a warm Mexico? I was on the road by 8:30 and had high expectations of reaching
Durango for the night. It’s difficult to judge just how long it will take
to ride from one city to the next by simply looking at the map. What looks like
a three-hour ride may actually take me 6 hours just because of the number of
curves, quality of pavement or the frequency of topes. Or it may only take two
hours because it’s arrow-straight with no roadblocks to speak of. So when
looking at the map that morning and planning on my next evening’s destination,
I hoped for Durango. There was nothing notable on the ride from Querataro to
San Luis Potosi. It was a fast and fairly uninteresting road that led directly
to the next town and not much else. From the road, San Luis Potosi itself was
disgusting: smog hung over the valley in a thick layer and the town sprawled
out for miles, encompassing the surrounding hillsides as well as the valley
floor. I got some relief from the monotony of the landscape while leaving San
Luis Potosi, but it was to be short-lived. The hills rose up slightly and the
exposed rocks were soft and eroded like worn teeth. No sooner had I settled
into a good pace of dashing through the curves, when they straightened out and
I was left with wide open spaces and distant mesas. For 70 kilometers the road
was straight and fast – I would make good time today.
The lack of road signs in the towns was a constant source of confusion for me. If the town was very small then the road would go straight though with no or very few turns. If it was a city then there was the occasional sign to point me in the right direction. But some of the towns were sized right between the two and would have me taking turn after turn, looking for the main road exiting out the other side. I soon developed a system to aid my route finding skills: follow the bus. Mexico has a national bus system much like Greyhound in the States that would travel through almost every town in the country. I quickly realized that the buses would take the most direct route through each town and I learned to follow them. This worked well every time except once. This particular time I was in quite a large town, hopelessly wandering around when I saw a bus go past me. I followed it, matching every turn and lane change for a number of blocks. I was feeling rather pleased with myself for using this little trick until the bus took one more turn – into the bus yard. I had been duped. I sighed and turned the other way to start over, fortunately finding a directional road sign not more than five blocks later and was soon back on the main road system.
At Zacatacus I stopped to visit Frederico, the man who has the motorcycle-friendly hotel whom we met the last time I was in town, but he wasn’t around. I left him a message and hung around the city for a little while, but the urge to make it further that day was too strong to resist. I pulled the bike out of Zacatacus and headed north. This was to be the first road that I had traveled on more than once in Mexico and it brought on an interesting feeling of déjà vu. It had been weeks since I had been on it and I had seen so much since then that it felt unreal to be on it again. But no road is ever the same twice and the weather gave the ride a much different feel than the first time I had been there. The first time it was sunny and warm; this time it was cold and overcast and I could see heavy rain falling in the valley to my right. I was pleased at my decision to come this way. This was also the fourth time during the trip that I would cross The Tropic of Cancer and this time I remembered to stop and take a picture.
I had forgotten just how long it took to traverse this section of road and soon realized that I would not make it to Durango that night. I recalled how much we had enjoyed our lunch in Sombrerete and I decided to stay there for the night. What a great choice! The hotel I found not only had hot water, but water pressure as well! The bed was very comfortable and the TV came with a remote. The remote didn’t work of course, but it was a nice touch. And, unusual for most Mexican hotels, this one had carpeting. I don’t think I had seen carpeting since I had stayed in Zacatacus. The hotel room was quiet, too. I had found heaven and slept like the dead.
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Breaking out of the mountains
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Crossing the Tropic of Cancer (for the 2nd time) |
Day 34 –
Sombrerete - Parral
325 miles
I was ready to go at 7:30, but I couldn’t get out of the parking lot.
I had pulled my bike up onto the curb next to a truck parked at a 45-degree
angle on one side and a heavy cast iron table set on the other side. Sometime
that night, a car parked behind my bike, blocking it in completely. After I
anxiously paced around the parking lot for half an hour, the owner came down
and moved his car. I was finally off to Durango and points north. The weather
hadn’t changed at all and I had continued to put on all layers of clothing
and gear before I hit the road. Durango wasn’t much further from Sombrerete
and I stopped only long enough to withdraw enough money to get me through the
rest of the trip. I was now on my way to Parral, a town that I knew nothing
about, but it looked big enough to have a decent hotel and was well on the way
home.
There is nothing between Durango and Parral. The road runs down the center of an incredibly wide valley, verging more on the definition of a plain, and was edged by ancient, rounded mountains. I could see that the area had plenty of rain in recent times, as the lake levels were very high. The evidence of the rains was also apparent in the high clouds that continued to haunt my journey. But they didn’t open up on me and the ride was a dry one. The valley eventually narrowed and the road started to twist and climb. I was again amazed at the absolute nothingness in this area. I passed through less than a handful of towns in the seven hours I was riding and saw little in the way of human alteration to the landscape. About half way to Parral the sun finally managed to punch its way through the clouds and I felt the beginnings of warmth. I’m not sure when I reached Parral. The $2.50 watch I picked up in Oaxaca might have been wrong. I thought it was 3:30, but the clock in the hotel said 2:30. I didn’t know what lay ahead of me for hotel choices, so I decided to stay there anyway and make a short day of it. The daylight was short this time of year and the overcast skies lead to early evenings. Parral was a nice town and not too big to walk around. The people I met were very friendly and they helped me find an out-of-the way Internet café where I caught up on my email. It was Saturday night in Parral and I could hear a lot of activity from the plaza nearby. There was no TV in my room, which was fine by me, and I took my book out into the lobby to make myself comfortable on one of the couches there. That’s when I heard the rain. Not just a subtle pitter-patter on the roof. No, this was a maelstrom. It poured and poured and then it poured some more. The water gushed down the gutters with force, washing off the dusty streets of the town. I only hoped that it would blow over by morning. I spoke with a local who knew some English and asked about Copper Canyon to the west and the likelihood of rain there for the next day. He shook his head: “No, rain won’t be a problem. It will be snowing.” I wanted to ride through Copper Canyon, but there was no way I was about to risk riding through snow by myself just to do it. I decided that I’d wait and see what weather the dawn brought and make my plans from there. Meanwhile, the warm heavy blankets were calling to me and the rain on the window was a comforting sound.
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Friendly escort to Pachuca |
Anticipating the approaching storm |
Day 35 –
Parral – Basaseachi
280 miles
I pulled the covers back and peered out the window. From my fourth floor window
all I could see was the building across the street and layers of fog. Apparently
Copper Canyon would have to wait for another time. It was still raining slightly
when I headed out of town and I spent 30 minutes looking for RT 24 to head directly
north. I finally gave up and headed for RT 45, figuring that I might as well
get somewhere, even if it was slightly out of the way. About 30 minutes later
I saw a sign that told me I was on RT 24 – I’m not sure how that
happened but I wasn’t going to complain about it. The fog and drizzle
plagued me for the rest of the day, lightening up occasionally to give me a
sneak peek at what sort of landscape I was passing through. Most of it was low
rolling hills and scrub brush. The dampness in the air chilled me, but it felt
good to be on the road and I was still dry underneath all my gear. I missed
my waterproof winter gloves but once again my heated grips came to the rescue.
After 3 hours the rain let up and I stopped for lunch in Cuauhtemoc. I found
an inviting floor heater in the corner of the restaurant and placed my soggy
gloves on the edges to dry out while I ate my breakfast and relaxed for a bit.
I was all set for the cold and damp when I left and I wasn’t terribly
surprised when it started to rain again. Fortunately it didn’t last long
and the roads eventually dried out, even though the sun never made an appearance.
At a gas stop I met eight guys from the Chihuahua area riding big touring bikes, something I hadn’t seen much of on this trip. Almost all Mexican bikes I had seen up until then were little 125cc’s that buzzed around the towns and cities delivering pizzas and parts. I talked with the riders about the roads and asked for directions and suggestions. One of them gave me some very good information on towns and travel times. He suggested that I stop at Basaseachi, a town that wasn’t even listed on my map. I thanked them and continued on my way west, wondering how far I would get before the sun started to dip towards the horizon. I didn’t get too far, as the road I was on was full of tight curves and kept my speeds down much more than I had anticipated. When I saw the sign for Basaseachi I stopped and studied my map. The next town that had been suggested didn’t look that far away but the motorcyclists at the gas station had warned of rockslides and lots of curves. I wasn’t sure if I could make it there before nightfall and the last thing I wanted was to be on these narrow roads in the dark. I took the pull off to Basaseachi.
There is an 800’ waterfall at the other end of town that drops down into a large canyon – it was very beautiful and worth the detour and hike to see it. The town itself consisted of perhaps three-dozen structures, so I was surprised when the first four hotels I stopped at were full. I was very pleased to find a room at the other end of town for 100 pesos, complete with a TV and a wood-burning stove. Oh how I loved the stove that night! The proprietor handed me the key to the room, a towel, a bar of soap and a (new) roll of toilet paper. No washcloth though. I didn’t see one washcloth the entire time I was in Mexico. The TV was quite humorous, as there was only one channel that I could find. Since I planned on reading and was only looking for some background noise, I wasn’t too concerned about it. Only when the channel started to change randomly did my curiosity pique. I had seen this happen once before, in northern British Columbia, where the “one channel” was actually brought in via satellite to the owner’s house and then distributed to all TVs in the hotel. I was at the mercy of the hotel owners. They finally settled on an old Arnold Schwartzenegger film and I sat back to watch. Not ten minutes later there was a bright flash and the room went dark. An ominous rolling boom echoed in the mountains and I could hear the rain pouring off the roof outside my door. “The Terminator” had been terminated and I was left with the comforting warmth of my flickering fire. It was another good night’s sleep.
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I'm still following the clouds |
Returning to the mountains |
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The Flintstone-like rocks fascinated
me |
No rain, but the roads are still wet |
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The view across the valley from the
top of the falls |
Looking down from the top of the falls - that's
800' down |
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Not much to look at, but for $10 you
don't complain |
The happiest motel room I'd had in days |
Day 36 –
Basaseachi – Altar
352 miles
I was surprised to wake up to an actual sunrise the next morning. The storm
had passed over during the night and I was left with what promised to be a cheerful
and warm day. The roads were drying out as the sun hit them and the clouds were
high and fluffy against a blue sky. It would be a good day. And the roads were
equally as good. I don’t believe there was one straight stretch of road
in the first 5½ hours of riding and I saw only five vehicles in that
entire time. The views were amazing, with visibility reaching for miles over
a series of ridgelines. I frequently noted how blessed I was not to have yesterday’s
weather on this road. This was also the most treacherous stretch of road I had
encountered and it had nothing to do with pavement. I frequently came around
a corner only to be face to face with a sharp-horned steer, or skittish burros,
or rock slides that covered the entire lane, or combinations of the above. There
was a bank of fog that lasted for 15 miles, complete with six burros that were
munching the grass along the sides of the road. I scared three cows that tried
to outrun me for a little bit before darting off to into the underbrush. The
rockslides were frequent and the potholes occasional, all of which made for
an interesting ride.
Eventually the twisties stopped, and there was no question when that happened. I went the next 60 miles without once changing directions. Miles of wide-open ranchlands, good pavement and sunshine brought me into Hermasillo, my planned destination for the night. However it was still early in the day and I could see that the next stretch of road was a toll road, which meant that it would be in relatively good repair and fast. I would shoot for the next major town, Altar. I left Hermosillo, paid my 55 peso toll and rolled on the throttle. The gas mileage would suffer, but it felt good to fly. I was never worried about speeding in Mexico – speed enforcement appeared to be very low on the list of priorities and this toll road was no different. I saw two police cars and they were both busy helping drivers whose cars had mechanical problems. They had no interest in my speeding bullet drive-by. Not to mention the numerous cars and trucks that passed me as well; sometimes I felt like I was standing still. I did have one scare on this road. I was flying along and a car had just passed me. Up ahead an animal transport trailer was parked on the right hand side of the road. Just as the car in front of me approached it a large bull came tearing out from behind the trailer and straight for the highway. I could see that I was on an imminent collision course with this massive creature and immediately braked and planned for an uncomfortable outcome. That’s when the bull saw the car in front of me and decided that perhaps this wasn’t the best direction to flee in. His front hooves dug deeply into the dirt as he slid to a stop, just in time to avoid the lane I was in. I looked over and saw the panicked face of the cowboy who was attempting to catch this wild-looking creature. That was a close call.
As I neared Altar, I started making wild plans to ride all night and get as close to the border as possible by morning. I’d done an all-night ride before, so that wasn’t a problem. But what would be a problem was twofold: bad roads and bad headlights. I found out the next day that the roads weren’t that bad along this section, but the KLR’s lighting system leaves much to be desired and I couldn’t see the road well enough to be comfortable. I rode well beyond nightfall before reaching Altar and once again had to hunt around for a reasonably priced and available room. The room was unremarkable and I had finished my book so there was little to distract myself with. I went to bed very early with the intention of getting up and making a mad dash for the border.
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The clouds parted to give me this
view |
Looking like a great day for a ride! |
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Mexican road hazzards abound |
I love this guy! |
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Not something you want to see in a
full lean at 9/10ths |
Obviously I've left the mountains again |
Day 37 –
Altar – San Marcos
436 miles
I was on the road earlier than I had been for the entire trip and was rewarded
with a sunrise in my mirrors and a full moon setting over the mountains in front
of me. I was in the desert and spring had arrived. There was a sense of freshness
to the green bushes that surrounded me on this last leg of my trip. The road
was not challenging and I marveled at the not-so-distant mountains that marked
the border between the United States and Mexico and thought of the desperate
souls who attempt to cross the desert and mountains to get to the other side.
Acres of purple flowers carpeted the ground and bunches of cheerful yellow flowers
sprung up along the way. I also saw some large white flowers along the roadside
and while individually beautiful, when seen en masse, they reminded me of the
litter I had seen throughout the rest of the country. I would have stopped to
take pictures of the flowers, but the road was narrow with rare pullouts, and
the traffic was heavy enough to discourage stopping on the road itself.
After a few hours I reached Mexicali, a place that did not appeal to me a