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.