The passage of time between Palenque and Guatemala

The written words have faded again. This time it is because that all elusive word time, has slipped by unnoticed in my enjoyment of how this adventure has been unfolding before my very eyes. Granted, lots of thoughts about what I’m going to discuss in my writings have filled my mind in the many miles I’ve journeyed since my last update. But they rush through me like the wind in my face as the bike pushes forward through the humid land of limestone and jungle… And it is hard to find them again once the flow of wind is not in my face anymore. I left San Cristobal more than a week ago and headed into México’s majestic Mayan temples of Palenque. Patient had left the day before and I made the ride solo through the land of the anti-political group, The Zapatistas, where the Mexican government has no reign. The signs stating this fact were so imposing on me that I couldn’t muster the will to stop and photo the warnings when I entered their small villages knowing the meaning behind their struggle for freedom.

I had plenty of time to wander and explore the city of San Cristobal de Las Casas and found that it was an interesting place, and one that I liked for numerous reasons. Built in the sixteenth century by the Spaniards the quaint city of cobblestone had a charm I had not felt or seen in any other place we had stopped. The narrow sidewalks were barely wide enough to hold one person and were hard to manage with all the taxis and traffic zooming by on the streets. The people there hold disdain for the church and its controlling power of over the mind to live freely. They don’t like the judgments passed on them for choosing a life outside of the church and that is a feeling that I have always been able to identify with. Moreover, in México, the church is something the poor and unthinking have unknowingly condemned and committed their lives too in the hopes of a better chance in afterlife (heaven) as their will to prosper has been trounced upon by the haves. In my opinion morals are morals no matter who the preachers are… They also hold contempt for the corrupt government that has long held them under foot in this society that has no middle class. There are haves and have not’s here and the have not’s started rebelling against the government long ago. On January 1, 1994, an armed non violent indigenous group calling themselves the Zapatistas, in the name of Emiliano Zapata, took over this city and demanded more freedom to farm their lands and be free from the governments corrupt agenda that was holding them down. I knew that coming into this city and was excited to see how different this place felt from the rest of the México I had been touring. Generally the southern states of México are more rebellious and we thoughtfully avoided the state of Oaxaca due to its current ongoing struggle in the capital of that state. The people there are much like the Zapatistas, although less organized and not indigenous, who are tired of being taken advantage of and are rioting and protesting in the streets until the governor of that state is removed. They have a teachers union standing behind them and I doubt that the thousands of unruly citizens will stop until they have their request filled.

As I digress… The ride to Palenque through the jungle of struggle was impressive knowing that they succeeded in winning some semblance of freedom from their oppressive government. The ever present ominous skies of Chiapas were also looming above to help add more contrast to the fleeting feelings that were going through my head. It was good to climb back atop my abused horse and get moving again after the week of lingering in Cristobal while I was down waiting for the ill-treated sprockets and chain of my chariot. I eagerly climbed in the saddle and rode fast and hard through the winding road of the revolutionaries after I topped off at a Pemex station. I knew from an email I had received from Patient that the ride was to consume nearly three hours over the course of 138 miles and settled in for the view as I twisted my way up and down the hills of the mountainous jungle. He also noted that the cool nights in the high elevation were gone for him and would be for me as well once I descended back down to the reality of México’s lowlands…

I stopped at a swimming hole to disrupt the ridiculously hot temperatures and wash away some guilt in the falls of Misol-Ha. The falls towered above me as I walked down the path that leads to the pool that lies below the one hundred foot cascade. The dense mist that rose from the force of nature splashing down was hanging in the air giving life to the wall of rock that separated the pool from the river above. The growth of moss and flora was so abundant it looked like Bob Ross himself created the picturesque scene on his canvass and showed it to the gods so they could make it true to the beauty of his work. I quickly stripped down to my bathing suit and jumped into the painting before I could surmise how to even begin to photograph this splendid scene. I also quickly forgot about the heat and humidity that was no longer boiling my mind and swam in the cool waters towards the center of the hydraulic where I could best feel the force of the cascade as it tumbled down the wall and into the deep pool that was holding me like a mother with her new born . The current was swift and kept me at bay as I struggled to reach the powerful force of gravity where the hydraulic was created. I whirled my arms with all my power and finally reached the goings-on and gave up on my struggle to feel, only to be sent rapidly without restraint back into the massive pool and away from the power of it all. After I swam some more and wondered how this place would be much different if it were in the land of lawyers and greed I was happy I stopped and enjoyed the massive falls at Misol-Ha here in México. Patient and I have had this ongoing conversation about how lawyers would have a heyday here exposing all the ripe opportunities for frivolous lawsuits and it constantly reminds us of Carlos’s “only in México” book that we now surely believe has a ton of marketable value, for both lawyers and photographers alike.

I circumnavigated the pool and found a narrow foot trail that lead behind the falls and had the opportunity to silhouette a young woman against the misty tower of water. I almost felt like a pervert but hastily came to the reminder that I am one and felt no guilt for taking a few shots of the loveliness that a woman can exude, just being a woman. Once I finished the walk and redressed for the remainder of my ride and the descent into Palenque I sat near the edge of the jungle and listened to the unseen monkeys play in the triple canopy of The Lancandon Rainforest. Twelve miles later I found myself in the city of Palenque and the hotel where Patient was holed up in the air conditioned room profusely sweating. He had toured the ruins that day and was speechless repeating the phrase “words can not do justice to the enormity of those temples…”


We awoke early the next morning and toured the ruins in the waning hours of golden light that sunrises tend shed. The humidity was strong and the sweat was quickly consuming Patient’s not so dry attire. Thirty minutes into the tour he was drenched and only the small band between the bottom of his shirt where it was overlapping his trousers remained untouched by his constant perspiration. As we ascended up and down the steep steps to the temples it looked like a rain cloud was assigned to hover above him and kept him moist with its dew. His mantra that he kept repeating yesterday rang in my ears all day as we walked in awe of the Mayans superfluous planning of this ancient empire. My photos felt awkward and forced as I tried in vain to show the scale of the temples as well as the beauty of the ornate carvings in the edifices. The carvings represented the meaning of the structure and they had all their bases covered to include everything from the smoke breathing spiritualist to the dentist… No stone was left unturned (no pun intended) by the time we exited the grounds and overall it was another mind blowing experience. To think that the city was erected in the middle of a triple canopy jungle in 4 A.D. and by the simplest means possible was and still is almost incomprehensible to my modern American mind. The Mayans held fort there until 700 A.D. when the gods took the cities last ruler and the city slowly became uninhabited with his passing.

There was little we could say to one another with such awe within our minds and thus we headed out on a four hundred mile leg of road into the limestone shelf of the Yucatan Peninsula to be at one with the feelings. We were searching for the city of Tolum and the Mayan ruins there that lined the coast of the world’s second biggest reef system. The young porous earth stretches south from Cancun into Belize, Honduras and Nicaragua and east into the salty blue underworld of the Caribbean coast’s popular diving attractions. We covered our four hundred mile goal and stopped a hundred short of the city tired and groggy from the day’s events. We settled into a hotel on the beach with a pool and a cozy room that was equipped another one of México’s waiting for the lawyers of America nuances. This one in particular had wiring emerging from an obviously bad connection in the wall that lead to a switch which controlled the waters temperature by means of the intricately spliced wires held together with nothing more thin a thin strip of black electrical tape. Even if I weren’t in ninety degree heat with ninety percent humidity I would have forgone the use of this shady system and cleansed my body in the refreshingly chilly waters emanating from that contraption. In other words my fellow friends, as tempting as it was I was still smart enough to refrain from flipping the switch whilst standing naked in the shower…

We awoke early Sat morning eager to get to Tolum and ate at one of the few restaurants that was open. The shack had a few tables of locals who were fervently stuffing burritos down their gullets. Burritos at 8:30 am you ask, well only in México is my reply. I didn’t want burritos myself but they sure seemed to be enjoying them so much that Patient was coaxed into trying one for himself. A thick black paste lined the small corn tortilla that was said to be chili negro by one of the eager beavers at a nearby table. He ate the one small burrito in three quick bites and had a flame of heat rolling out of his mouth shortly afterwards. I am so glad that I stuck with the ol’ standard of Huevos Rancheros and avoided the ring of fire that was soon to come for my pal Patient…

After breakfast was finished and Patient’s maw was sufficiently back to a normal operating temperature we mounted the steeds and blazed north to Tolum for some beachside cabanas and relaxation. There were hammocks swung up in tress and a bar that had swings instead of seats to help with the ambiance of the way too laid back resort we ended up staying at. The cabanas were meager at best, but they had everything we needed to make the stay worthwhile. Two beds, although Patient swore his was box spring not a mattress, furnished with mosquito nets sat inside a raised 12x12 concrete slab that made the foundation. The sides of the cabana were loosely dressed with thin logs that allowed the air to move freely into the structure, hence the mosquito nets on the beds. A thatched roof of palm frawns topped the building which sat a mere thirty yards off the beach. From the roof of frawns a single cord lacking a switch was dangling down towards the center of the room with a light bulb that only worked between the hours of 8 p.m. to ten p.m. For obvious reasons the light was manipulated through the means of either screwing it in or out in order to make it function. We ended up staying there for three nights while we explored the beautiful area of Tolum. The first night we tied one on at the resort as Patient let the sound of the crashing surf wash away the pain of his many tormented years managing restaurants. The beer flowed freely into our bodies as the sunset turned into night brought the daily ritual of hard rain into the beachside resort. To my amazement the deluge of water lasted a mere twenty minutes or so and left the cabana unscathed, to include the light fixture. After the deluge my mind was a bit foggy but I think that’s when we hooked up with Mr. Bacardi and the night quickly became a blur.

The next morning we were in no mood to rush things and fell into the routine of the laid back atmosphere and lazily swam, read snorkeled and swung the day away. We found more swings hung from a high deck above down on the beach made of bamboo frames topped with plastic mattresses the size of double beds. The swing helped coax us into a lethargic melee of slowing down and before we knew it the evening surge of water was pushing us off the beaches. You could see the wall of rain heading towards us as the sun was shedding its last rays of light and Patient had to run to the cabana to put his laptop away before the downpour exploded above the resort. Thirty minutes later all was well so we rode into town and had a feast of a dinner at an artistic flavored bar with brightly colored Mayan paintings adorning the walls.

The last day we had in Tolum we toured the ruins and snorkeled the reef below them. The early morning light wasn’t grand but the clouds held true to their nature and helped fill in the contrast of my photos with a nice dramatic sky. The ruins there were no where near as grand as Palenque but they were just as beautiful perched on the cliffs above the aqua blue sea and white sand beaches. We snorkeled the reefs off the beach at the site and dreamily washed a few hours away. Tolum, due to its location, was one of the last Mayan villages to fall as a result of the Spaniards invasion of México in the mid fifteen hundreds. The Spaniards then took advantage of the Mayan advantage and occupied the fort as a means to guard the coast after they stole the site from the Mayans. The humidity was high that day and we had heard and read about cenotes in the area so decided to go cool off in one after we left the ruins of Tolum and ate some lunch. A cenote is a freshwater pool of water that forms in the porous earth of limestone that makes up most of the Yucatan peninsula. Some cenotes stand out in the open above ground, but the ones we wanted to visit were the ones that collect below the ground in the numerous cave systems of the area. Because we wanted to visit those we had to acquire a guide and found one in the guide book not too far from the cabana.

We arrived with snorkels and masks in hand at the cenote anxious to explore the underworlds in the dark caverns. The guide gave us some wet suits and picked us up in his “limo” from a parking area and took us on a fifteen minute drive through the thick jungle to explore the first of two caves. He explained that because the earth is so permeable in the Yucatan that the caves water levels can change quickly if a big storm moves through the area. It reminded me of the hazards of canyoneering in the slots of the Colorado plateau where one must be cognizant of the weather in order to be safe. Once we arrived at a small clearing he pulled over and we saw a metal ladder that descended beneath the earth into a deep hole. We climbed down into the dark abyss nervous and excited all at once. He started a generator above ground and a number of spot lights, both above and under the water, came to life exposing the large circular room of the caves entrance dressed with stalactites and stalagmites. These two scientific terms refer to a formation specific to caves and they take the shape of large icicles that hang down (stalactites) and rise up (stalagmites) from the caves ceiling and floor respectively. From here on out I’ll just refer to them as icicles to ease the processes of the mind and explain if the are hanging down or rising up so that you know which icicles I’m referring too.

The water was ice cold and the wet suits were a welcome treat as we merged into the underworld of cave snorkeling. As we swam down into the cracks and crevasses of the cave a rich sense of supreme calmness radiated from within me. The eerie icicles in the cave made me feel like I was in the setting of a Wes Craven horror movie and somehow it made me feel more at ease as I explored the creepy scene. We dove down into the cracks and swam underwater through many tunnels and cracks in the vast cave. We also had to be careful when we were coming back up for air as the caves formation may fool you into in pocket where there is no air but a mass of hanging icicles ready to poke you in the head instead. We a snorkeled in a huge loop there exploring the pockets and strange geology for about forty five minutes when the guide said “times up” and we regretfully made our way back to the dock where the metal stairs ascended up towards the small beam of natural light. The guide asked us if we wanted to walk around the cave for a bit before we left and then lead us into the darkness towards the opposite side of the opening. He shined his light down into a small pool of water where once you went in it the only thing to do was dive down into a mouth of the underworld. He said that this was one of the jumping off points for the diving tours and it instantly made me wish I had my dive certification.

Once back above ground we loaded into the limo and drove ten minutes to another small clearing where we unloaded and descended another ladder that lead beneath the earth. At the bottom of this ladder was only a small area of rock that was above waterline and the vastness of open space and the generated lights from the last cave was no longer there. The guide handed us flashlights and stepped off the rocks into a shallow pool that lead us into a narrow tunnel. The water was barely deep enough to swim in and he reminded us to watch our knees on the protruding stalagmites that rose from the floor once we started swimming. We swam above the stalagmites in a twelve foot long narrow channel of the cave of more formations than I ever imagine existed. The icicles from above hung so low that if we didn’t keep a watchful eye above water as well we could have easily bumped into them with the surface of our heads as we snorkeled our way through the maze of corridors. At the end of this first narrow channel the cave opened up into a room where we stopped and turned the lights off and I don’t think I’ve ever had a better opportunity to use the “couldn’t see my hand an inch from my face” phrase to explain the utter blackness that followed. The guide brought the reality of the cave back to us with a click of his light and we followed him into the maze of narrow channels for another forty minutes before we made a loop back near the entrance. At the end of the last tunnel of icicles we came to a large room that opened to depths of thirty to forty feet. It and actually allowed us to dive down under the water after feeling so restrained in the tunnels of the maze of crazy formations we had nearly crawled through. Literally, there were times when the icicles rose up from the depths so close to me as we swam above them I used them to pull myself forward instead of kicking my legs in a swimming motion. If only I had an underwater housing for my camera… After the cenote tour ended I felt like it had been one of the best guided adventure trips Id ever indulged in. I highly recommend anyone visiting the Yucatan peninsula to partake in one.

A month had nearly passed and our tourist cards for México were about to expire. We entered Baja on the 28th of Sept and it was now the 23rd of Oct. I was becoming aware of my trip ending soon and it also occurred to me that making it to Panama was probably not going to happen. We talked about what was next on our list of places to see and things to do and came to the conclusion we should start heading south again. We awoke on the 24th and drove a hundred miles to the border of Belize and made another hassle free crossing. The national language of Belize is English and neither Patient nor I had planned on doing or seeing much in Belize so we blasted through the country in one day. We stooped in San Ignacio near the Guatemalan border and decided that we should at least stay here one night and head across the border tomorrow. San Ignacio is surrounded by rolling hills and has many beautiful attractions that draw locals and tourists here to partake in the many adventures in the area. There was a tubing tour we were interested in but it cost 70 bucks and that was defiantly out of the budget so we hung out with some Rasta’s and avoided doing much due to the high cost of everything there with the exception of food. Hell even beers were two bucks a piece. We awoke early and had our first almost American meal of flapjacks, potatoes, eggs and bacon. I hadn’t eaten potatoes or even seen them on any menu in the month we spent in México so I was happy to at least enjoy those before we rode the twelve miles to the Guatemalan border.

As most border towns do the border at Guatemala seemed sketchy and we had people hounding us to exchange money to Quetzales, the local Guatemalan currency, as soon as we pulled into the border area. We dismounted our bikes and checked ourselves out of Belize first while we thought about whether or not we should make a small exchange to get us through the border. While at the customs counter in Belize I asked what the exchange rate was and saw that the locals outside were giving a fair rate making a measly two percent on each dollar we changed. At every border we have to check ourselves and our bikes out of one country then cross the actual border and check ourselves in with immigration then find customs to declare or bikes as well in the new country. Cash seems to be the only means to pay the fees at customs and immigration for the vehicle permits so we changed twenty bucks worth between us into the local currency just to slide us through. We have both heard lengthy horror stories about being overcharged during this process but we had yet to experience them ourselves and easily moved away from the border happy to have another new stamp in our passports…

Too much rest?

As you all know when I arrived in San Cristobal de Las Casas last Wednesday I had permanently damaged my sprockets and chain that had been newly installed in San Diego before the trip began. On Thursday I had found a dealer online that shipped parts to foreign countries and rushed back to the hotel to put in a call for the parts and get them sent out ASAP. Just for peace of mind I forwent ordering the parts online because I wanted to physically talk to a live person to ensure that the parts I needed were in stock and that I could also get them sent DHL (from my understanding in the motorcycle world touring community DHL is the fastest and safest option to ship worldwide) so that they could be overnighted... Patient had brought his cell phone for emergency use and was kind enough to offer its use to me in my time of need. When I returned to the hotel he was at his Spanish language class and had left his phone in the room for me to use. He had locked his phone so that if he lost it someone couldn’t start making calls on it and run up his bill. He had also told me the combination to unlock the phone...

Once I returned to the room I hastily picked up the phone and punched in the code so that I could make the call to the shipper. I must have entered the code incorrectly because the phone asked for it again. Again the same message of error popped up after the second attempt to enter the code. The third time I entered the code I looked in my journal where I had written it down and ensure that I was using the correct one so that I could begin the process of getting back on the road. The message of error that popped up this time was one of great disappointment. The phone was now asking for a PUK code, which is entirely different than the regular passcode, in order to continue with unlocking the device. I was distraught. I knew the shop I was calling was about to close and I had not the time to walk back into the zocalo where public phones were available for my use and also knew that the order was going to have to wait another day. When Patient returned to the room I asked him for the PUK code and gave him the abridged story of the lockout... He asked me what code I had been using and we found out that I had incorrectly written down the code thus causing the problem. He had no idea of what a PUK code was and couldn’t unlock his phone either. No biggie he said, and off we went for some grub and beers. He bought me a few shots and told me not to worry because he could just go on the Cingular site and regain a PUK code.

After some tacos, beer and tequila were consumed we went to a cybercafé and he looked into regaining access to his unusable phone and I sent out a few emails to loved ones. The website was very unhelpful and he had to use the customer service email option to contact a Cingular representative directly. Friday came and went with out a response from Cingular and Patient was showing signs of a disturbing manner. I was able to use the public phone via a phone card to get my order in that was supposed to be shipped that day via overnight express. Saturday came and Patient still hadn’t received a response form Cingular and his patience could now be used as thinner to strip the thickest glaze from an antique piece of furniture. Sunday he went for a ride to a nearby canyon and avoided checking his email altogether thinking that he surely wasn’t going to get a response from Cingular on a such a holy day. Monday morning arrived in its usual overcast fashion of the rainforest fog that consumes this place and he had still yet to hear anything about his phone situation. That day he sent three or it might have even been four more emails to Cingular detailing his disgust with their company. Moreover, the last email explained that in the ten years he had been a customer who had never made a late payment and that if his money was all they wanted, they could take it and shove it up their stupid asses and cancel his contract if no response was received by the close of business that day due to their failed efforts to resolve his situation in his time of need. Mind you, I couldn’t feasibly post the real version of his disgust in their company without offending some of you so I transcribed it to you as an abridged ''clean'' version of his hatemail that was sent on that Monday morning. Shortly after this last transmission was sent he finally received a response from their customer service team with the utmost regret that they had offended him so much as to receive such a lengthy and complicated email regarding their services... They also offered him an apology and asked that he remain a loyal customer. The much needed PUK code was also assigned to unlock his phone.

Both Monday and Tuesday came and went without delivery of my overnighted parts. Patient had finished a weeks worth of Spanish classes and we discussed the option of meeting further down the road. I was tracking my package on the website and the last update was showing that it had left San Francisco on Saturday the 14th bound for international delivery. I was now getting worried about the package and this morning Patient and I went out for breakfast before he bailed out of town headed for the beautiful ruins of Palenque, one of the great Mayan cities of the 14th century. I went to a cybercafé to again check on the status of my package while he returned to the hotel to pack. As I was logging unto the website to track the package he comes back to the cafe and says with excitement that it is at the hotel. I close all the browsers I have open and hurriedly walk out of the cafe. In my haste I had forgotten to pay the cafe for their services and had to walk almost forty yards back to it before I could go to the hotel and get my parts.

I checked the package and all the parts were there so I quickly dressed and rode my shrieking moto (the noise from the distraught chain sounded like an abused soul being whipped like a banshee when it was moved) to a nearby Yamaha dealer I had found to install the parts. I could have done the job myself but the hotel we were staying in had no parking and they were kind enough to let us park in their tiled courtyard that I didn't want to mess up with the greasy job. Once I arrived at the Yamaha dealer the mechanic was on a break and the sales rep was unsure when he would return. Maybe an hour, maybe a few hours was the best answer I could get. I then walked to a Chevy dealer and found that they didn't service moto's and was frustrated with having to accept that I was either going to piss off the hotel or do the job in the street; an endeavor I wasn't up to but one I would resort to if I had to wait one to three hours for a mechanic. When I was resigned to this option and ready to ride back to the hotel and do the job myself in the street I notice a Honda dealer a few stores down from the Yamaha shop. I go in there to find that it is only a car dealer but that there is a Honda moto shop a few blocks down the rode. Back on the shrieking banshee with more odd looks from the pedestrians I ride the bike the few blocks to the Honda shop. There, a young mechanic and I discuss the job and I leave it with him and an estimated finishing time around four or five o'clock this afternoon. I walk back to the hotel where Patient was waiting and tell him the news. The ride to Palenque is supposed to take about three and a half hours and leaving that late would surely put me in or near the ruins in the cover of darkness so I decide to stay here for one more night and meet Patient tomorrow. I find a cheaper room in the same hotel and go out for one last walk in this beautiful city. I haven't taken many photos here but will load the few I have later.

Right now I am basking in the happiness of knowing that the red rocket will be all good again in a few hours and the urgency to get moving again is fading with these realizations. The week here was both bad and good in the sense of not knowing how long I would be stranded here and at the same time I was able to slow down and take more culture in. As the many miles of country I have missed blazing the roads south like a banshee myself cannot be relived or discovered again from the eyes and mind of it being a first time experience. It's all part of the grand adventure though and I shall continue on without a plan and see what will come up next as the adventure nears its turning point where I must head north and away from the feelings of freedom that have been pulsating through my veins the further I have gotten away from the consuming America I have been yearning to flee…

No rest for the wicked

The days have been long and the written words have been few. We blasted through Baja in a wink of an eye and now I am finding that we did the same through mainland México. Lucky for both of us we had our first case of viral stomach problems on the ferry ride from La Paz. It was the first day we had yet to ride the bikes and the ferry was much nicer than we thought it would be, especially the much needed bathrooms; before we entered them that is. The ferry is mainly used by the truckers commuting back and forth to Baja delivering goods to the peninsula that may as well be an island. They were drinking heavily on the ferry and we noticed it when the singing began. We were the last level to unload from the ferry when we arrived in Topolombpo at three in the morning and I was quite happy knowing that all the drunkards were ahead of me instead of behind me at that ungodly hour. We had planned on not driving at night on this trip but the ferries arrival, late or early however you want to call it, changed those plans leaving us without any other options. However, we did meet a fine steward of México on the ferry and he actually went out of his way and escorted us to a hotel in Los Mochis in the early morning hours after the long transit across the Sea of Cortes. My thanks go out to Carlos for his conversation and help on that otherwise uneventful day. It was however the only day I had dumped my dike in the thousand or so miles it took us to run down the peninsula. I was using my straps to secure the bike to the deck of the ship and thought that I had sufficiently secured one side. I proceeded to secure the other side and when I pulled the strap taught the first side came loose and the bike instantly fell over and made a loud thump as it hit the deck. I picked it back up and realized that I had used the straps incorrectly and they were not grabbing as they should have been once the tension was applied. After all that dirt and nasty sand I couldn’t believe that was the first time I had the bike on its side. Oh well, it wasn’t the first and probably won’t be the last time it will be keeled over like that…

From Los Mochis we blazed the sweaty humid pacific coast of México to Mazatlan after a brief nap in the hotel that Carlos had set up for us. In Mazatlan we actually did the unthinkable and shopped at a nearby Wal-Mart. Patient had dropped his camera one too many times on the tile floor (every floor seems to be made of tile here) of our hotel in La Paz and was in need of a new one. I went along just for the experience and ended up buying a few odds and ends for my still unsettled stomach. Carlos had mentioned that he was going to someday publish a photography book titled ´´Only in México´´ and when I was walking the streets of Mazatlan that night looking for food I saw a photo he would have loved to have for that book. I saw a family of four riding around on a scooter. Yeah you read that right, four people packed atop one scooter. The mother was driving and she had one child around three years old standing on the floorboards holding unto the handle bars with another child around eight years old sitting directly behind her with another one or two year old sitting in his lap. ´´Only in México´´ is the first though that came to my mind, and I wished that I had my camera so I could take the photo and send it to Carlos for his book about the peculiar culture that lives here in this land of beauty in both its people and topography… After the layover in Mazatlan we get another beautiful early morning sunrise before we start heading east trying to gain some ground in this gargantuan country. We toured some tequila factories in Tequila, got lost in Guadalajara and rode through the heart of the biggest city in the world. The funny thing about México is that there are two routes to take, one free, one that charges tolls. The free one is usually packed with buses, truckers and numerous insane drivers and the tolls are packed with booths asking for our precious dollars. I had intended on being cheap and taking the free routes but after the first day’s experience on those roads I realized that time is money. The free-way is no way to try and make any gains in distance as the buses and trucks spit their pollution into your lungs. The two lane roads are hazardous, no wait- more like life threatening as the game of chicken seems like the only way to travel on the free-way. Once we realized the importance of living so that we can complete this trip we quickly changed plans and upped the budget for México…

The funny thing about the roads is that no matter if you take the tolls or the free ones they all get to the next town and lead you right into the downtown area of it. Even on the toll roads once you enter the city the road suddenly ends and before you know what’s going on you are smack dab in the middle of traffic lights, one-way streets, signs that are confusing and the free-way crazy drivers that could care lees about your life on your moto.

For instance, when we came into Guadalajara Patient was leading us by means of his GPS. I was looking at the map on my tank bag and knew we needed to change roads and was looking for the new one. However, the only road signs we saw were of cities and not actual road route numbers. I kept looking at my map to try and orient us through this new way of relating but Patient was sure his GPS would lead us through the madness so I sat back and watched him find his way through the city. He was doing great until… I saw a sign that pointed towards the right that I knew we should take, but I also realized that he was too preoccupied with the computer to notice. I followed him away from our turn off and had an odd feeling that we would soon be lost. Shortly after the missed turn I see him in the fast lane looking at his GPS more than he was looking at the roads trying to find out where the hell we were and how to get on the right road. In México, I must also note that the drivers here are much more aware than the drivers we see on our freeways in the states. They actually use the fast lane as a passing lane and not a cruising lane. They don’t pass on the right making it a free for all road rage race against the rest of the traffic. Furthermore, they signal oncoming traffic with their hazards about upcoming hazards, and they also know where the fuck they’re going and are in a real fucking hurry to get the fuck there. I cuss for the sense of how it actually goes down as the road moves under foot in reality. Knowing this about the drivers here I change lanes into the center lane and stay behind Patient as he slows down to try and find not only where we are but where the road that we need to be on is located on his dainty little computerized machine located on his handlebars. Two cars are riding his ass hard and I am amazed by his resilience to ignore them and concentrate on his GPS whilst moving moderately along. He finally notices that I am in the other lane and moves over to let the traffic through…

Shortly after this he pulls over to the side of the road to relocate us on the machine. I bring up the possible missed turn now inaccessible, and restate that we are defiantly on the wrong road and need to reorient. He agrees and we get off at the next possible exit and head south unto a road that looks very bad and gets worse as it progresses. He is pointing forward like this is the right way and moves along anyway. We travel through a small village and the road shortly turns into dirt and mud puddles. After about ½ mile we take a sharp right and travel along another dirt road that I feel like is getting us somewhere back towards normalcy. Granted, I don’t even have a compass on this adventure and am only armed with maps and my somewhat twisted internal sense of direction but it has gotten me through this life so far. The road becomes normal (for México) and we are now back on track in his mind, my mind, and the computer’s mind. He races around another blob of traffic and we are coming into another sketchy barrio and I am at once skeptical before I even get to relax from the last run around. However, I follow and we soon find ourselves in an even worse off scenario than before. He looks over at me and says with a very sarcastic tone that the GPS says we are on the on onramp to the toll road we were looking for when we entered Guadalajara. I know we are on the wrong road, he knows we are on the wrong road, but we continue on… We find ourselves riding right through the middle of a Sunday afternoon flea market with looks of awe from stander bye. I am at this point enjoying the scene and smiling, waving and nodding at the community we have rolled into. Another mile rolls on and he pulls over screaming at his computer. Now you are aware why I have named my travel partner and this character Patient. Not once through all of this did he stop or slow down to reorient but he just kept preserving through the madness of being lost, confused, annoyed and frustrated. When he pulls over he looks at me and says that nothing more than throwing his GPS against the side of the dilapidated building we are next to would make him happier. He then utters that he would pay a cabbie a hundred dollars to get us back on track. I wave one down and ask for directions towards León on the autopista. He gives them and we are off again after I threw the cabbie a few pesos with me now leading. Shortly after this we see a mass of traffic that we cut through this on our sleek machines. Another added bonus of México is that the rules of the road need not be obeyed… We soon find a road that leads towards a named town on my map and stop at a Pemex (the only gas station in México) and ask a few more questions. As always, most people here can’t afford to travel so their directions are little more than another wishing well penny tossed into the gutter but they at least, in mass, have some value. We get back on a road heading the opposite direction and soon find a turn off for the toll road to México (for those of you uninformed -the capital of México is México City and it lies in the state of México and is commonly referred to as both México and D.F.). Yes this is also the same road we missed what has now been almost three hours ago… Lucky for us the town of Tequila is the next on our itinerary.

Tequila passes on without much to tell except a few distillery tours. We saw the farming of the blue agave the process of how the plant is turned into the fine tasting breath mint. Then after one night it’s off to Morelia we head amazingly without headaches. Morelia is one of México’s colonial towns that was recommended to me by a fellow friend who lives in Vail that was born and raised in México. Because the city is also a college town we find affordable accommodations right near the center of all the colonial beauty. Most towns in México are dominated by a church or churches which are usually near a block long courtyard or park commonly referred to as the zocalo. We find parking near the zocalo and split up to canvass the neighborhood when we come into town looking for hotels. This strategy has worked well so far, but that day when I returned after my half hour or so of looking to reunite and confer about prices, safe parking, and comfortability and wait for Patient to see what he found. Another fifteen minutes go by and I’m beginning to show a little concern about where he is. After another fifteen minutes pass he gets out of a shows up being escorted by the tourist police with a funny story about getting disoriented and having to take the cab back to the zocalo. After a few laughs we head to the hotel that suits our needs and tour the city on foot for the rest of the night…

D.F. is the biggest city in the world and we were quite nervous coming into it having just making a two-hour detour through a city about the same size of Denver a few days prior. We left early that day giving ourselves some extra time to find our way through the heart of the city and started making the chilly climb into the central mountains of México where D.F. sits. We reached a touch over ten thousand feet and had to put on extra clothes to stay warm on the ride. It was a nice change from the heat and humidity of Baja and the pacific coast that was now laying hundreds of miles behind us. When we ride through a pine forest in the cool mountain air it reminds me of my home in the mountains of Colorado. We arrive on the outskirts of the megalopolis and can tell that getting through this city will be a long time consuming affair even without any missed turns. The traffic is worse than any traffic I have ever dealt with living and driving on the populated ‘’one person per car roads’’ of So Cal, to include LA. We sack up and prepare for the commute right into and out of the downtown congestion. Thank god for that mechanic who righted my fan problems or else my bike would have surely boiled over or blown up from the sitting and waiting and crawling along in the mess of it all. I lead us into the city keeping a constant eye for signs with a list of towns written down and stored in the corner of my map case. Patient followed close behind tracking us on the GPS. That day the GPS did not lead us astray and we cruised right into and out of the city without a hitch. Well except for one…

We were on the outskirts of the city headed in the right direction and see our last and final sign for the city of Puebla, the way to freedom and away from the massive concrete jungle. I see a bad traffic jam in the off ramp and we come to a stop behind the mess of Semi’s, buses, taxi’s, ordinary commuters and even more commonplace the ubiquitous pickup truck’s packed so full that there is standing room only blocking the off ramp. These loaded up pickups are probably another one of Carlos’ ideas of good photos for his "only in México" book. I see another sign that says Puebla and shoot the gap between a few semis and a taxi to get around the mess. I see Patient follow me and as soon as I round the corner of the new road I’d taken I realize that it was leading us in the wrong direction and back into the mass of growth. Once I realize this I look in my rearview and see Patient waving at me like I really fucked up. I now know I did for sure and come to a stop on the side of the road. He pulls up next to me and reassures me that I fucked it up and we would have a hell of a time returning to the original exit if we continued on this route. He looks over at the side walk on the one-way road we’re on and says lets take this back the ¼ mile or so to the point where I made the wrong turn. Hell, we are in México and traffic laws seem to be worthless so I hop up on the side walk and head back to the congestion behind my fearless leader. The road curves to our right and we can’t see much of anything around the bend as we illegally commute along the walkway. However, lucky for us no one was using it as it for what is was designed and we return to the congested blockage with no apparent problems from the illegal maneuver. We scurry our way through the mess to find a broken down dump truck causing the back up and weave around him back unto the road to freedom from the masses…

We were trying to get as far away from the city as we could and pushed the bikes hard towards the gulf coast and the building ominous clouds that lye in wait. Another money grubbing booth takes another ten bucks off us and we race away from it like it was the plague trying to make up some distance after having a two and half hour layover commuting through the sixty plus miles on the artery of downtown traffic that ate up our time. We arrive at another toll and I look to my tank bag to obtain my wallet and find it not there. The map case where I had been keeping it for easy access was wide open and I realize that I am now without my wallet and my credit card. Initially I had set it up as a fake wallet in case I got robbed and had been keeping less than fifty dollars, a laminated fake color copy of my driver’s licensee and a few expired credit cards in it. However, that day I had put my real credit card in it to pay for the tolls so I wouldn’t have to carry so much cash on me. Bad Idea. We continued on and stopped about seventy miles later to rest and call in the lost card.

The next morning we try and leave early so we can get to the next city we want to visit and find that my bike won’t start. The starter is cranking fine but no combustion is getting into the engine as the starter is the only noise coming from the motor. I pull it apart and replace the plug before we can head out for the day. That causes us an hour delay and we fall short of San Cristobal de Las Casas, our intended city of arrival. We stay in what seems to be the wallet capital of the world as every store we pass has at least a shelf full of ‘em. The first hotel we stopped at even had a few Tommy Hilfiger designer wallets in their glass case where the front desk was located. Normally I don’t carry a wallet and only use a money clip but here on my trip it serves as a nice cover for all my money that I want to hide from the probing eyes that look towards it once it is pulled out of my pocket. Consequently, being money wise (more like cheap) I bargain for one and save three dollars over the nicer fine leather one that is exactly like the one I just lost and a perfect size for a few cards and a few dollars. The one I choose is a tiny Velcro style wallet and I can’t even put an ID or credit card in the intended pockets for use of said items. It does have a zippered coin pouch though and that has been a bonus. Patient laughs at me for buying a kids wallet every time I pull it out and it saddens me that I was actually being that cheap…

The next morning we move the bikes out of the lobby where we safely stored them, load them and prepare for take off when all we hear from my motor is the starter cranking. This sounds familiar and I am reasonably frustrated that I have to pull the bike apart again to check the reading on my plug. Once apart I find the plug to be in normal shape and am now at a loss for how to solve my problem. Patient thinks I may have some gunk in the carb because the plug was dry when I pulled it but we could smell gas when I was cranking the starter. He leaves for breakfast while I look further into the problem consulting my manual. He returns with some starting fluid and we give that a go. After ten more minutes of fuddling my way through the process of messing with my fuel mixture screw, plug connections and using the starting fluid she reveals no sign of functioning properly. A guy from the hotel comes to me with a mechanic and he tells me that in an hour or so he’ll have time to take apart my crab and fix it for me. Patient talks to me about leaving and reuniting in San Cristobal and I agree that he shouldn’t have to wait for me and I’ll email him when get the bike running and moving towards Cristobal. On his way out the door I give the starter one more crank and she finally gags, chokes, coughs and runs again. I put it all back together, add some carb cleaner to my fuel tank hoping to solve the problem and we head out together on what was supposed be an hour or so drive up into the mountains that many indigenous Maya people inhabit and into the beautiful city of San Cristobal de Las Casas.
The ride was absolutely stunning. It’s hard to put into words how beautiful the lush green jungle rose right from the road and into the cloud filled rainforest. Patient showed me a chart on his computer that details the elevation changes on the route and it looked like the seismographic chart of Charles Manson’s polygraph test explaining to the police that what he did was normal and sane. We started the ride at a few thousand feet and climbed up and down between that starting point and up to seven thousand feet through the winding road that appeared to be created by the manufacturer of the child’s toy Slinky. Waterfalls abound splashed their moisture unto the road creating a green mossy film a top the pavement. Sounds a little nerve racking doesn’t it? The last 28 miles of the ride took a sharp eastern heading and climbed strait up the snaking road into the cloudy mist that we could see above us up until that point. Patient was in front of me and in no time we were in the thick mist and I could barely see him enveloped in the fat dense fog that surrounded us and the hills. We came upon a few trucks and they were creeping up the foggy hill. It was all I could do to remain patient and not take my life into my hands and pass them. My patience wore thin moving so slowly and I rolled on the throttle and moved past the sluggish vehicles with the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins not knowing when the next twist in the road was or when the next oncoming car would suddenly appear from the white cloud I was riding through. The route took us a total of 128 miles and the ride took well over three awe inspiring tension filled hours of serene calmness. I know of no other way to describe the route so I shall end it with those feeble attempts to relate how stunning it was…

Along the route we passed many Mayan villages where the people were seen walking the road carrying loads of wood and working their land. Fruit stands were set up, numerous animals were seen grazing in the lushness, a burro was obstinately standing in the road; a bull was even more terrifying when we approached his willful presence in the middle road on this stunning ride. It was so engaging I only stopped once along the way to snap a few photos. I think back to the route as these words flow from my mind and am regretful that I floated through that land so swiftly trying to comprehend the entirety of it all. It is a ride I could make a thousand times and see and feel something different as each moment passes me by on each and every curve of the ride…
Once it was all over and we rolled into Cristobal I felt stronger than Buddha himself and the energy within me was hard to comprehend. We filled up on gas right away and split up finding our own way to the zocalo. I see Patient’s bike and find parking nearby and slowly dismount my ride not really believing what had transpired in both my mind and my eyes. I see Patient wave me down, take off my rain gear and walk over to the zocalo to sit and be alone for a while. I find a shoe shine stand and sink into the chair and have my dirty boots polished while I take it all in…

After we meet for lunch split up and canvass the town for hotels and settle into one I unload a few things and want to do some maintenance on my bike before I tour the scene. I notice my chain hanging down about six inches lower than it should be and can’t believe the run of luck that has struck me and my bike. I inspect the sprockets and see that they are in terrible shape and try to tighten the chain anyhow. The rear axle nut is dreadfully loose and the chain is stretched beyond help. The abused rear sprocket is causing the chain to become tight at some points and loose at other points. I need new parts immediately and decide to settle into this town while the looking and waiting begins… I read a great tagline before I left for this trip and it said that the adventure begins when plans go awry. I am now beginning to grasp the meaning of those words and am letting the trip unfold as it may from here on out. I came here without a plan or itinerary and am aware that even so these circumstances are leading me into an adventure I hadn’t thought of. We rode hard and fast to get here and this is where I had initially estimated when I’d slow down and start taking more of each town in. I can see that reality becoming more and more real as these turn of events leaves me with no other option but that. Even though I am very skeptical of religion and its powerful agenda Vaya con dios is a saying I’ve used for years. The gods have allowed me to come this far before this turn of events happened. Now I shall begin the real adventure of this trip as I wait for it reveal the meaning of why these events started happening at this moment.

Baja Norte

These photos are from the Baja Notre section of the trip. I posted that story on the advrider site and wanted to at least post the photos here for your viewing pleasure... If you click on the photos they will enlarge in a new window. My travel partner also has a blog going and if you're interested you can check out his version of the trip on his page located at: www.andrewpguyheadingsouth.blogspot.com

In the middle of the desert on the Baja 1000 race course lies Coco's Corner. He is quite a character and beyond the race and a few motorcycles every now and again, he has very few people travel through his desolate neighborhood. He collects panties from the ladies when they come in flocks to hang out and party during the race.








A window inside one of the many missions. This one happens to be designed by the same architect that designed the Eifle Tower and is located in Santa Rosilia.

a sure sign that the store located near these 3 dimensional signs sells beer...

Left overs from one nights fresh catch of the day while we toured the dirt roads of Baja's northern coast...

Another shot of coco's corner. His entire fencing system (about 50 or so square yards) is made of beer cans. This is the entrance to his lair and some more of his handy work.

A cactus grove off the side of HWY 5, the dirt section we traversed.

Back on the pavement after three days of dirt

Patient riding on a section of the northern dirt roads

Looking south right before we pull into Guerro Negro on the traverse across the peninsula to the pacific coast.

Baja Sur

By the time we arrived on the cool west coast of Baja’s Guerro Negro we conferred and decided that today would be a good day to find a nice cheap hotel and grab a shower to wash some dirt and salt off of our bodies. We found an expensive one for 25 bucks and settled into the room so we could get some food and find an internet café. I had to run to the bank and when I returned Patient was already out and about. I killed some time hanging on the boulevard sipping on a forty of Mexico finest in a brown paper bag. I sat in a plastic chair, soaked in the sun and wrote a bit in my journal as the busy street filled with the traffic of life in Guerro. Some locals stopped to chat it up with me and I made use of my meager Spanish to communicate with them. I learned from those conversations (more like utterances) that the town came to be because of its location to a lagoon that now produces more than 1/3 of the world’s salt. Another nearby lagoon is famous for its births. The gray whales start migrating south from the cold waters of Alaska in September and arrive sometime starting in November to give life in the warmer waters of Baja’s bays and lagoons. Scammon’s Lagoon lies directly south of Guerro and come November we would have had to pay double for the small room due to the flocks of tourists that come to see the phenomenon. After learning enough lessons (about two forties worth) from the locals I moved on to a nearby internet café to take care of some bullshit bills and whatnot. Patient returned from his walkabout with a funny story about looking all around town for a bar. He did find one bar, and it was all that and a little more…





It felt good being out of touch for a few days lost in the sands of Baja’s barren eastern coast and Guerro seemed like a huge bustling city compared those days. We hurried out of the city the next morning in search of remoteness again. We made a good days ride back to the east coast and into the bay of conception. The entire bay of conception is made up of numerous smaller bays that encompass a total of some fifty miles and dotted with islands and a long peninsula jutting north to protect the bay from the currents of the Sea of Cortes. We found a nice remote beach somewhere in all that mess with a few palapa’s and decided to stop for the day and take it all in. Patient had had a run in with a loosely fastened tie down right before the bay began and was reasonably frustrated with having to get the mess out of his rear brake pads in the midday heat. So when we arrived at the tired looking establishment in playa el burro he downed a beer before it even sat on the table. He ordered another and walked around the beach to try and calm his nerves. He returned a few moments later and ordered a shot of tequila, sucked in back and ordered another. At this point I realized he was in the mood to drink and watched the scene unfold. In my want of my woman I was compelled to snap a photo of this Hungarian woman who was strolling around the bar where the debauchery occured...





By the time someone came to our palapa to charge us for its use the sun had just set and night was beginning to show only the sliver of a moon that was rising in the south east. The guy wanted to know if we were interested in renting some kayaks and I haggled with him for a good full day’s price if we could get them that night and have them for the rest of the day tomorrow. Having no other business at his beach he reasoned that some was better than none and went to fetch the boats. Patient, a fine river paddler, was swimming when the deal went down and came in from the tepid sea with a smile to see the boats. He sat in one on the beach to feel it out and mentioned that it might be a little tippy. I retorted that since he was an experienced boatman that one was his. In his buzzed up state he grabbed his headlamp, lit a fire on the beach, said vamos, and off he went into the bay’s scarcely moonlit waters. I asked what the fire was for and he said we would need a beacon… I sat atop mine and quickly flipped it over. I guess that in all the stupor I’d had quite a few myself and had to pull it together to get situated atop the kayak. After the flipping of the kayak I thought better of bring my beer and left it behind on the beach and followed Patient into the dreamy bay. By the time I got the hang of it Patient was a good hundred and fifty yards ahead of me. It seemed like my boat was more swift though and in no time I was right on his tail. When he saw me gaining he stated that we were headed for the big island, so I kept on pushing the boat as hard as I could. After about another ten minutes of paddling I heard him call my name. "Jay. Jay, where are you?" I was now about thirty yards in front of him so I turned my boat around and saw him turn his lamp on and I signaled him without a vocal response. He then said, "I’m taking on a lot of water and I think my boat is sinking." Great is all that could come to my beer clogged mind. I paddled towards him and when I was about ten yards out, he leaned sideways and easily swam out of the boat. He said the boat had been taking in water for some time and thought he could still make it to the island. However, the island was further than we had anticipated and once he realized he wasn’t going to make it, he called for a rescue. I had to pull all 270lbs of him plus his water logged boat into the island. It was only a couple of hundred yards but the current near the island was strong and swift. When I hit the beach (more like volcanic rock garden) I was tired and thirsty for my tall cold beer I had left behind. We had to drain his boat and I cut my foot on the crusty lava beach. We took a short break and paddled the two miles back to the now unlit beacon. I grabbed my now warn forty and crashed into the soft sand atop my poncho and gazed at the Milky Way dreaming of finer things like Stoli, Cush, and blonde women, the one I miss most in particular.





The next morning the sun was glowing a brilliant orange and we got in the boats again for a tour of the small bay in the lustrous light. After the tour we paddled to the other side of the bay, ate at the sight where the debauchery occurred and paddled some more. We found a reef filled with fish and snorkeled into the underworld where words have no meaning and beauty lies in every breath. Patient found a school of fish about forty yards in diameter and swan in their delight in amazement of how simple things can become when you seem so small and unimportant…
After the enlightening morning we packed up and headed into Mugele, a small town north of playa el burro. We heard from a local who stopped by when Patient was dealing with his brake issue that Mugele was the capital in Baja Sur for one day each year because the Mexican Navy held off an American assault in said town decades ago. The local said that the governor was supposed to show up and a big party was going to go down in celebration of the stand off. When we rolled into Mugele it appeared that the town was uniformed of the celebration as the streets were empty. We tried to stop at an internet café instead to send some emails and whatnot but even they were bored out of their minds. The power was not working and the heat was beginning to consume me whenever I wasn’t moving trough the stale air. Patient and I were both ready to ride so we forwent the nonexistent party and headed south to Loreto.




We arrived in Loreto looking for an internet café and some food before we would continue south to the next town and stay there for the night. We found the café quickly but also found that they too were not getting any power at the moment. The security of such things is not a given here so we looked for a restaurant to kill time and await the resurgence. The heat was stifling and I was becoming cranky in its defeat of my mind and body. I noticed a restaurant with the words ‘aire condicanido’ on the window and saw many people sitting inside the building. Patient noticed the people as well and said "I guess you wanna eat there since it seems like the place where the locals eat?" I said with a wide smile, "that, and they have air!" When we walked into the building it hit me. No power, no air. Defeated again I sat anyway and asked for a menu. My mind wasn’t working well and the power issue at the café didn’t seem to correlate in the thirty steps I had to take to get to the restaurant with air. I had some very good fish tacos for a measly amount of US coin and was satisfied with the experience anyway. Moreover, half way through the meal the air was restored and I ate in the cool breezes of powered machinery… Speaking of powered machines, I had noticed a problem with my radiator fan shortly after leaving Guerro Negro and couldn’t resolve the issue myself. So we returned to the café and took care of our internet business (mine to search for a reputable shop to fix me up and Patient to work on his blog) and discussed whether or not we wanted to ride more or stay here. I was personally done riding for the day and Patient gave in to my will so I asked the lady at the café about a nearby hotel. She referred us to a somewhat pricey place but we took the room anyway because they had air and the heat was stifling that day.




I tried to take a cold shower but the stifling heat (have I mentioned that the heat was stifling yet?) must have been boiling the water in the pipes and not allowing for such a refreshing experience. In turn, I took one in lukewarm water instead. When the sun began to glow I thought it would be good to go for a stroll and get some photos around town in the late afternoon light. I made my way back to the café in search of subjects to photo on my route. When I arrived at the café the sun had already set and gone away for the day. The heat was still apparent but no longer stifling and I wanted to see if my emails were returned yet. I had found a BMW dealer in Cabo online and tried to contact them. I had also found an email for the main distributor of Kawasaki in Mexico and sent him a distress call as well. To my surprise Mr. Martin de Villa of Monterrey Kawasaki had promptly reached out to me with an offer of assistance. In today’s corporate world I have yet to find complete satisfaction in my experiences with major corporations. However, Mr. de Villa was not only offering help but he seemed sincere (as much as an email can be) as well. I returned his email and felt happy (beyond the heat of course) with how the day had progressed.



When I left the café I was standing on the sidewalk drinking the town in when I saw two very tall black men approach me form the east. I think I recognize one and call his name out as they pass me. Tommy Johnson turns and say’s "do I know you?" I’ve ran into people in far flung places before so I wasn’t too amazed that I ran into Tommy that evening in Loreto. TJ was a baller that I had worked with as a coach’s intern on the Aztecs basketball squad in college. Things like that do however always remind me that it’s nice to know that the world is much smaller than we think really is…




The next day we made the 250 mile haul down the rest of the peninsula to La Paz and found Motos Baja, a Honda dealership that Mr. de Villa hooked me up with and took the biggest city of our tour in. The kawi ran hot and I had to keep her moving to compensate for the lack of having a fan. The hot humid air wasn’t the best option to run the bike in but it was all I had to keep her running just under redline on my temperature gauge. Patient found us a hotel where they let him park in the lobby because they didn’t have a parking lot and we went our separate ways to tour the city. I found a skate park and shot a ton of photos of some kids then went for some pizza and beer. It was the first non-mexicano comida I’d eaten on the trip and pizza was a nice substitute… We had traipsed through Baja in six short days without a layover day and we both wanted one badly. We wanted a day away from the bikes and decided to take one here. On Wednesday the 4th of October we awoke, fetched my bike from Motos Baja and rode to the ferry station to get some tickets for the ferry to Mazatlan for the 5th. Upon arrival we found changes in our plans before our very eyes, as the ship was broken and not running to Mazatlan tomorrow. Friday, we ask? The attendant then explained that the ferry will run again when it’s fixed but that could be tomorrow, next week or maybe next month. Like the power that goes on and off at will we were at the mercy of the mexicano rule of maybe manana, and decided to forgo our day of rest and go ahead with the other ferry that runs to Topolobampo, 300 miles north of Mazatlan…

Hello & welcome to my new domain

Hello and welcome to my new domain. In these musings you will find a soul trying to find a better way to be. That’s right simply be. In other words, I’m trying to find a different way of living. One much different than the one I have been socially taught that is all about consumption and measuring myself up to the so called standard of what normal is. In this particular blog I am riding my motorcycle south of the US border and trying to find my new self in the confines of another culture. I had attempted to start these rambles on another webpage but had difficulty loading photos unto the site so I have now switched over to this one to host my scribbles and photos of the tour. If you care to catch-up on the prelude to this journey the webpage is located at the listing posted at the bottom of this one. Thank you for joining me and godspeed…

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