Go Zags!

Saturday afternoon never felt so good.  I have a Snickers in my belly and I’m nursing a Gatorade in bed while the cicadas buzz away.  I’m pretty spent after another night in the boiler room, but I’m absolutely stoked by the influx of new people over the last forty-eight hours.  Just when Cuernavaca was starting to get boring, Al and I came across about twenty new friends in two days and it’s a whole new city; proof that it is the social aspect that really fuels a trip like this.

Yesterday, Friday, Alex and I went to Universidad Internacional (Uninter) for the afternoon to figure out when my Gonzaga family arrived.  We walked in and immediately sat down with the head school coordinator Francisco for a half hour.  He talked to us about everything; the school, our trip, the weather, even the mosquitos.  I was saddened to hear that most of my previous professors had been laid off due to a lack of enrollment.  With the recent violence in Mexico and its amplification through American media, the school’s international student body has dropped from 200 to 50 during the past four years.  There are still plenty of local Mexican students keeping the doors open, but Uninter is not the white man stronghold that I remember it to be. 

Eventually Francisco had to get back to work and he told us that we could wander the campus and use the facilities freely.  He also said that Luis and the GU students we’re arriving at 8:00pm in the evening.  Knowing they’d be busy when they arrived, we decided to wait until Saturday to track them down.  Alex and I toured the campus and then headed for the computer lab to plug in for a bit.  We caught up on the internet for a couple hours and then went back home to cook an early dinner. 

Last Friday night in Cuernavaca had been a blast, so we were ready for another long night of Mexican entertainment.  The plan was to meet Cintia and our neighbor Leti at Los Arcos around 9:00pm.  Alex and I arrived first to learn that the bar was already full for the night.  Unless we had a table reserved, we could not enter the Salsa Bar.  With no phones, we decided to wait around half an hour to see if our friends would show up with any different ideas. 

We sat outside the main entrance for about fifteen minutes people watching… and being people watched.  At one point a group of young girls walked by and point blank took a picture of us sitting there.  Then, minutes later, they returned for a photo-op with the gringos.  It turns out that two tall white guys get the superstar treatment once in a while in Central Mexico.  A lot of people have called us the ‘Torres Gemelos’ (twin towers) and everyone thinks we are brothers (we all look the same anyway).  We posed with the girls for a few photos and they went on their way.

Then, out of nowhere, a guy and girl came up to us and invited us to their table at Los Arcos.  With no better option, we obliged; great decision.  It turned out that our table was full of Uninter employees and they had seen us walking the grounds earlier in the afternoon.  I had a great time hearing about everyone else’sUninterexperiences since I had studied there four years ago.  Eventually Cintia and Leti showed up, joined our table, and the drinks kept flowing. 

I love Los Arcos, but after three hours of screaming over Salsa music, I was ready for something else.  Alex and I were getting along very well with our three new friends Olympia, Pamela, and Daniel.  The kids are locals here in their early twenties and each of them speaks at least three languages.  We all decided to stroll to a nearby alley full of smaller bars to continue getting to know each other.

We stayed in the alley for at least another hour until everyone was tired of spending money and ready to call it a night.  On the way out we made plans with our multi-lingual trio for Saturday night and then parted ways.  Alex and I slept a little easier last night because our landlord finally gave us a screen for the lone window.  Now we can finally sleep with a light breeze and hopefully less mosquitos. 

At 10:30am we woke up, ate a quick breakfast, and took off again for Uninter.  Francisco had told us that Gonzaga would be on campus Saturday morning and I was ready to see a familiar face from the United States after six weeks in Mexico.

Looking around the campus, Alex and I immediately wen t to the only white kids we saw and introduced ourselves; of course, they were the Zags.  Luis was wandering around campus and we quickly met up with him also.  It was quite a trip seeing my former Spanish professor two years after graduation in the same place that I met him: 5,000 miles from home.  Luis is in good spirits, although a little more protective of his students this year due to the growing violence. 

I really enjoyed talking to some fellow Washingtonians about Cuernavaca, the motorcycle adventure, and Mexico in general.  I hope we opened some eyes on where you can take a Spanish degree in the future… if you’re willing to ice road truck for six months.  We hung out with the Zags for about two hours until the group split off to continue settling in.

Now, still in bed and finally rehydrated from the Gatorade, I’m about to eat my body weight in chorizo compliments of Alex’s cooking.  Cintia has been a great host but it’s time to give her a break after an entire week of putting us on.This evening we are going to meet up with some of the GU kids and show them the downtown.  After that, we will head out with Olympia and Daniel again for another night of festivities.  The world seems a lot smaller when you’re making friends. 

Work, Work, Work

Despite a stuffed nose over the last couple days, I am happy to finally announce some progress here in Cuernavaca.  At 95F degrees every afternoon, it’s very difficult to get out of bed and move around, let alone gear up and hop on a burning hot engine.  Even so, Al and I have been on the move the last two days taking care of what we promised during this ten day break.

Yesterday started late as usual.  It is so hot at night here that we simply cannot fall asleep until around 2:00am.  We stay up sweating until midnight and then start our bedtime routine: cold shower, hunt mosquitos, shower again, then lie in bed while the remaining ‘moscos’ get their fill.  Naturally, we like to sleep in until around 10:00am or later.

After a hodgepodge breakfast, Al got to work taking his muffler apart because it had a leak.  He gotit off pretty quickly and then rode my bike to a nearby ‘mofle’ shop to weld the hole shut.  If you have been following along, you may remember that I messilyreplaced my broken clutch cable about 1,400 miles ago with some spare raw materials purchased in La Paz.  It was a great temporary fix, and Wednesday, its lifespan ended while Alex was heading to the muffler shop.

The cable again snapped unpredictably and this time Alex had to deal with it on the streets of Cuernavaca alone.  Luckily, I had left all my tools and spares in my panniers and he had everything he needed.  Since we had never trusted the repair from the start, we bought a second line of cable in La Paz assuming this day would eventually come.  This time around, Alex only had to detach the cable on both ends and pull it out of the stock tubing.  The La Paz replacement and spare were both smaller diameter cables (primary reason we never trusted them) and therefore Al was able to slide the fresh one back through the tubing without disassembling the entire top end.

He came back and explained to me the ordeal.  I was pretty happy that the cable had snapped during the one stint in the last 1,400 miles that Al rode my bike.  Likewise,I was also fretting because the spare that he installed was the exact same as that which had just snapped.  It was not suitable for continuing south.  So, while Alex installed his patched muffler, I researched three possible locations where I might be able to find a DR650 clutch cable. 

I took the first three results that Google delivered for Suzuki motorcycles and pulled them up on the map.  What luck that all three were within a couple of miles of each other.  I memorized the route, sketched a rudimentary map with my three targets, and prayed that one of these places actually existed.

With Al’s bike put back together, we took off for the freeway.  Mexican street signs are pretty worthless so I always go by landmarks.  I lead onto the freeway heading north looking for the movie theater on the right side a few miles up; that was my exit.  Sure enough, the Cinemex came into view and we took the exit.  My first target was called Suzuki Motors and it was directly east on the main road.  We followed the road for about two miles until it literally dead ended in a cul-de-sac.  Great.

We turned around and rode back under the freeway heading west on the same road.  The second shop was supposed to be just a few blocks past the underpass, but again, it did not exist.  Classic.  The last Google hit was Potenza Motors.  They were to be a few miles further northwest.  We continued on, made a few U-turns while finding our bearings, and eventually got on the right street.

Finally at the crest of a long, unpromising hill, I saw the beacon of hope: a big red Suzuki sign hanging off a building surrounded by motorcycles.  Sure enough, we had found a legitimate business in Mexico through legitimate planning; I was starting to wonder if this country really understood the purpose of maps or addresses.

Inside the dealership we hit the jackpot.  Spark plugs, clutch cables, tires; they had it all… and it was all way overpriced.  Seriously, we were floored to find that everything we needed cost about 70% more in Mexico than in the states.  I was done putting this off though.  I got cheap before leaving home and thought I could make to Argentina without bringing some very important spare parts.  It is fitting that I pay nearly twice as much down for them when I had had the opportunity to swing by any motorcycle shop in Western Washington two months prior to departure.  I ended up paying $70 for a new clutch cable (which will hopefully arrive by Monday) and $15 for two spark plugs.  

Excited with our discovery of real a Suzuki dealership, Alex and I took off feeling more momentum than we have in quite a while.  We did another grocery run which should last until we take off from Cuernavaca on Monday.  That evening, we got smart and cooked dinner early with the windows open.  Then we ate and watched about six hours of American TV programming.  Thank God for the NBA finals.

This morning, we kept the momentumgoing and did some necessary maintenance on the bikes.  Most importantly, we checked our valve clearance.  Part of the 12,000 mile tune up, this was a little early on my bike (currently at 10,200mi) but now I don’t have to do it again for another four oil changes.  It wasn’t too difficult of a process, but it was definitely as deep into an engine as I have been. 

In brief, you take off the seat and gas tank so you can access the engine.  Remove the spark plugs to release engine compression and then remove the valve covers.  Check the cover O-rings and then roll the bike forward in gear until the uncovered valve sits at its highest point.  Then, use the correct feeler gauges to make sure there is appropriate clearance between the four valves and their adjustment screws.  Thanks to our friend the internet, the check went off without a hitch; our valves were spot on and we made no adjustments. 

Still in the zone, we also cleaned our air filters (Baja was not easy on them), checked tire pressure, and waxed our chains.  Somewhere in the next 1,000 miles we will replace our brake pads, but not until they are further worn.  Also on the to-do list: tires.  Alex needs a rear tire ASAP and mine is running on the last 20% of its tread.  Otherwise, these bikes are simple enough that there is not much maintenance ahead in the next 10,000 miles except for chains and flats (assuming my forks hold out over these Mexican speed bumps).

These next two days I want to check out downtown a little more and also walk through the black market here in Cuernavaca.  ‘La Fayuca’ (black market) is pretty amazing here and I want to see what these Mexican digital pirates have been up to over the past four years; as I remember, you could buy any media in any format you wanted last time I was here.  The weekend will be here soon and it will be full of more swimming, a visit to some Mexican caves, and hopefully a chance to catch up with Luis and examine the latest crop of Zags.  I’ll need to be well rested.

D.F.

Since our flash in the pan weekend of dancing, El Rollo, and archeology, Alex and I have accomplished absolutely nothing in the last forty-eight hours.  Monday we woke up around 11:00am and promptly opened our computers and turned on the TV.  After a weekend of running, it was necessary to lie around, facebook, and consume for an entire afternoon and evening.  I never even left the property; Alex actually did make it out once for about ten minutes when he went to pick up some tortillas at the Oxxo.  We watched NBA Playoffs with Spanish broadcasters during the evening and then whatever English programming we could find until bedtime.  Sometimes, you just need a day to recharge.

Our place here is a sweat lodge.  It is a typical Mexican box building with cement walls, no screens, and no air conditioning.  The mosquitos come out at dusk, so from about 6:00pm on we have to lock the place up if we don’t want to look like chicken pox victims in the morning.  As if it’s not already hot enough in the room from the evening sun, we also have to cook dinner over an open flame stovetop for about an hour.  Add two sweaty guys and an underachieving ceiling fan and the results are some very sleepless nights.  The only way for me to pass the night is to take a cold shower, throw a wet bandana around my forehead, and lay spread eagle in my underwear with no covers waiting for morning to come.

Tuesday morning Alex and I finally found motivation; we decided to run into Mexico City to replace his broken Pelican case.  Mexico City, which sits at 7,350 feet, is Mexico’s capital.  The city is also known as Mexico, Distrito Federal (Federal District), or D.F. for short.  We set off late in the morning on the free road which winds up into the same mountain range we crossed from Toluca in a different direction. 

Given our drop into D.F., I figure we climbed up to at least 8,000 feetpassing over the mountains.  The road was again great for motorcycling although at times a little exposed.  I kept trying to look out over the entirety of Mexico City on the way in, but there was a two foot cement guard wall and then sheer cliff with no shoulder right beside me… I kept my eyes on the road.  I wasn’t missing much anyway, the smog in Mexico City is among the worst in the world and you can’t see any detail peering into it.

Alex had studied Google Maps relentlessly before we left and he was fairly certain he could find the address of the local Pelican dealer.  Sure enough, within a half hour of arriving in the city limits we were on the right street looking for a business called ‘Submersibles y Acesorios’.  To our dismay,though, it did not exist.  After six weeks of dealing with these typical dysfunctional Mexican streets, somehow it never occurred to us that we could have been given inaccurate information on finding the lone Pelican dealer in the biggest city in the world (Mexico City is the world’s single largest city by area).

We continued down our target street for a few more miles hoping we would find some clues but eventually we looped around and ended up where we started.  We went to give it a second try, this time asking more questions. 

While we waited in gridlock crossing an overpass, a Mexican dual-sport rider pulled up next to us and started chatting with Alex.  Moments later, he decided to lead us to a nearby motorcycle shop that could help us out.  As soon as the traffic let up, he took off with us following.

First move, an illegal U-turn inside a construction zone.  Then, back across the freeway to the one-way highway we had just come from.  Next, zip up the highway in the wrong direction using a combination of the shoulder and the sidewalk.  It’s not how I like to ride, but when in Mexico, do as the Mexicans do.  Riding up the shoulder against the traffic, I was absolutely terrified coming within inches of scraping the jammed cars with my panniers.  What a relief when I got on the sidewalk and started dodging pedestrians!

We got to the motorcycle shop and… it turned out to be no help.  Determined, our new friend started explaining a different store about ten miles away that assuredly sold Pelican cases.  He gave us fuzzy directions, shook our hands, and we took off, this time moving with the traffic.  Twenty minutes later we were on the correct street looking for a new store called ‘Pelea’.  Our friend had said that Pelea would be next to Six Flags.  You can imagine, there are a lot of stores next to a Mexican Six Flags.  We found the theme park but never the Pelican dealer.

At one point I saw a Pelea truck driving down the road.  I weaved some traffic, caught up, and asked the passenger where the store was at a stoplight; he just pointed forward and the truck pulled away.  Al and I followed the truck for a bit but eventually we gave up.  We were dehydrated, exhausted, and pushing our luck with the Mexico City traffic.  On top of that, the elevation was getting to me; I had a headache and weak all over, not myself.  It took us a half hour to get back on the free road to Cuernavaca where we flew home trying to beat the impending rain.  I got some drops on my visor, but the downpour never came. 

After an hour of my carb barely survive the elevation, we finally dropped into Cuernavaca around 6:30pm and rehydrated.  We eventually ate some leftovers, watched a terrible Samuel L. Jackson movie, and then went to Los Arcos again for a couple drinks.  It was a good day, albeit unproductive.  Somewhere along the way in D.F. we stopped at a motorcycle shop and picked up a fresh rear tube… so we did get something done.  Now Alex and I both have one in perfect condition and one peppered with patches.

I also got some Starbucks in the big city; the aroma and taste sent me straight back to Seattle.  As if I didn’t already feel at home, the Mexican guard at the Mexican Starbucks used to work in Lynnwood, WA.  Go figure.  And since the world isn’t small enough already, I just learned some very cool news concerning this weekend.  My college Spanish professor, Luis, is flying into Cuernavaca this Friday like he does every year for the exchange program.  To think I met Luis here four years ago and now we are reuniting as I finally put my Spanish minor to use on this incredible adventure.   

Until then, the plan is simple: keep shopping and making repairs.

Bitsey

This weekend my sister, Lynn, delivered some terrible news.  My grandmother Bitsey passed away Saturday morning.  It was the culmination of a long and drawn out process that has been deteriorating for the last three years, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Bitsey was full of love and cheer her entire life.  I am grateful for every chance I got to be with her over the last 24 years.  Even though she lived 2,000 miles away in Williams Bay, WI, my parents took Lynn and me out to the Midwest twice a year throughout our youths to connect with our roots.  My fondest childhood memories include all the time I spent with Bitsey whether it was playing with her toy dogs on the floor, opening presents Christmas morning, relaxing on the porch at Pikewood, or going out to dinner at The Village. 

A month before this motorcycle adventure I made one last trip to Wisconsin to seeBitsey and all my other relatives.  I packed a lot into the quick four-day visit, but most important now was the afternoon that I got to see Bitsey in her home.  She didn’t say much and obviously lacked strength, but the excitement in her eye was still there and her smile as I always remembered it. 

People say that when you come back from a journey such as the one I’m on right now, nothing at home has changed.  Well, that may generally be the case, but I’m no longer convinced.  Fast times and new experiences suddenly don’t seem so magnificent when they are in the way of family reunions and goodbyes.  I considered a flight from Mexico City to Chicago for Thursday’s funeral but it is simply not feasible.  For that, I am eternally saddened. 

I could go on for hours, but those memories are for me and me only.  Everyone please keep Bitsey in your hearts and prayers now that she is finally free. 

Hit the Ground Running

Mexico is known as ‘la tierra de manana’ (the land of the big tomorrow); with the combination of laid back Mexican culture and extreme heat, everything can always be taken care of the next day.  With both of us under this spell, it’s a wonder that Alex and I ever made it to Cuernavaca at all.  Somehow, after three days of hard riding, we trudged in right on time.  And even though we’ve been in no hurry since we arrived, this has been one of the most action-packed weekends of the trip.

Al and I intended to wake up at 7:00am again on Friday for our final leg to Cuernavaca.  I made plans with Cintia via Skype to meet in the town center at 1:00pm.  But after the past 1000 kilometers of hard riding under the Mexican sun, we didn’t get out of our hotel until around 9:30am.  As usual, we were trying to avoid the tolls so we chose to ride over a twisty windy mountain road to get there.  According to Google, the ride from Toluca to Cuernavaca takes about an hour and a half… if you know where you’re going.

We started out in the morning and took the first high volume road we encountered.  Over the past few days of wandering through Mexico it came to our attention that when we follow the main roads, they always lead to where we want to go.  Because every street here loops around on itself, there are eventually see signs leading to the destination if you stick it out.  Friday morning, that was not the case. 

The two of us rode through Toluca at least thirty minutes before deciding that we simply had no clue how to get to Cuernavaca.  We stopped at an Oxxo (Mexico’s AM/PM) and started asking for directions. 

The peculiar thing about Mexicans is that they want to help so much that sometimes they will start making up directions to a place even though they have no clue how to get there.  This happened about three times to me before I finally met a lady who actually knew the area.  I never caught her name, but this professionally dressed, middle-aged, Mexican woman sat down in her SUV and drew me a map, wrote step-by-step directions, and also listed all the little towns we would be riding through.  She is a veterinarian and an excellent cartographer. 

Pulling away a hint of a sense of direction, Alex and I took off towards the mountains following our Post -it Note map.  Sure enough, the veterinarian angel had sent us in the right direction and we were making great time weaving through the Toluca traffic.  What Google didn’t tell us was that we were riding right into the middle of BFE Mexico and there would be absolutely no street signs leading to Cuernavaca.  Many Mexicans don’t usually travel far from where they were born; so naturally, the road signs only list the next couple villages on the road… not the major cities 100km further.

We must have turned around and asked for directions five times during the next hour and a half trying to find the one road leading over the mountain range into Cuernavaca.  The ride sent us through the most authentic Mexican villages I have yet seen; think of the guy from your imagination who is wearing a sombrero while sitting on a donkey wearing a fat mustache and a pancho… yepI waved to him as I rode by.  Finally, though, we made it to the Y in the road and Cuernavaca was assuredly to the left.

A word on Mexican roads, they are absolute shit.  There are no guard rails.  The white and yellow lines are faded beyond recognition.  The potholes are either three inches deep or filled in two inches higher than necessary.  The shoulder (if there is one)  is actually a passing lane (or a parking spot).  There are strawberry vendors on the side of the freeway.  And on top of all of it are non-marked speed bumps of varying sizes indiscriminately placed everywhere you might be inclined to go fast.  Like I mentioned, though, somehow it all flows better than the constant gridlock we encounter every day in the United States.

With only an hour left until our meeting time, Alex and I hit the mountain road to Cuernavaca hard.  After being pulled over by some cheerful cops who checked ourID’s, we sped off into the best ride of the entire trip.  The two-lane road climbed high into an evergreen ambiance with huge peaks looming over us in every direction.  The higher we went the more I felt like I was crossing Hwy 20 in the Northern Cascades.  We passed through farm fields, forests, and mountain lakes in some of the freshest air Mexico has to offer.  On top of the beautiful scenery, the tarmac was perfect for any motorcycle.  There were so many back-to-back turns that my arms were already tired by the time we made it to the pass.  Even better, it was all third and fourth gear riding which gives a very broad power range to take any turn at any speed.

At the topwas a Mexican national park called Lagunas de Zampoala.  From what I saw, it is a series of little lagoons tucked in the bottom of a series of valleys amongst the dense coniferous forest.  We didn’t enter because we were already cutting it close on our reunion with Cintia, but we both agreed toreturn and visit the park in the next few days before we head further south.  It was too amazing to not go back.  With twenty minutes to spare, Al and I rode into Cuernavaca and started following the signs for the town center.  Despite getting completely lost for a few miles, we arrived at the meeting place (Burger King) only ten minutes late.

Since then, Cintia has had us running rabid through Cuernavaca for the last three days.  After the initial salutations, she immediately took us to our new home about ten minutes away.  Alex and I are sharing a one room apartment with a kitchen and two beds in a gated community.  The owner, who obviously is made of Mexican money, wanted $45/night but we eventually argued him down to about $37 (still too much but it suits us well).  After a quick shower we went out for lunch and then made another huge grocery run.  If we’re paying nearly $20/night for rent, neither us is going to spend a peso on food outside of our own kitchen for the next week. 

Then it was off to the races.  Cintia took us in her car to one of my favorite bars in Cuernavaca, Los Arcos.  Los Arcos is a salsa dance bar that always has live music and plenty of covered outside seating.  The bar is planted right in the center of the town square so there is plenty of foot traffic and deep Mexican culture everywhere.  We had a great time meeting her friends and occasionally hitting the dance floor until about 12:00am… then we went to another salsa club.

Cintia next drove us and her friends to another bar called Carlos ‘n Charlie’s.  I never made it there four years ago and it’s a shame.  I have never seen dancing so suggestive yet so innocent in my life.  Both the men and the women exhibited a passion for expression that simply does not exist on the American dance floor.  I had a great time but around 2:00am the last 1,200 km caught up with me and I powered down.  Everyone else kept moving for another hour but I had to go outside, cool down, and rehydrate in the meantime.Finally, around 3:30am, Alex and I were delivered home by Cintia’s 100% sober driving.  We collapsed into bed with daylight approaching. 

Six hours later Cintia was at the door again ready to head to El Rollo, Mexico’s largest waterpark.  We got to El Rollo around 12:30pm and instantly sprinted to my absolute favorite ride.

Like all waterparks, El Rollo has a lazy river.  Ironically, though, the Mexican lazy river is the choppiest, fastest moving loop of water I have ever experienced.  The reason its torrential source.  On one corner of the loop is a man-made surf wave like you would on any cruise ship.  Water is flooded towards an upward sloped wall so people can pay to take a boogie board out and surf the ‘wave’.  Directly behind the sloped wall is a pit where the surf water pummels in and roars down an eight foot wide drain spout.

In Mexico, somehow they came up with the idea to let as many people as want pile into that pit and get swept away together.  It sounds basic, but it is the best attraction I have ever been to aside from Disneyland’s Indiana Jones ride.  The surfing wave ebbs and flows, so during the low about twenty people run in and hunker down waiting for the tsunami to rush in.  Depending on where you are, you can hold out quite a long time but eventually you will be swept away. 

I cannot explain how exciting it is to hold out against a tidal wave as long as possible until it finally takes control.  As it sends everyone towards the drain, you end up cutting down other people on the way which means it is a mass of spattering bodies draining out the end where eventually everyone is dropped into the lazy river.  The currents at the end are so intense that you can be sucked under water for ten seconds at a time without getting a chance to breath.  Just plant your feet, hold your breath, and when in doubt, grab a Mexican kid to get to the surface.  I think we went through the routine about twenty times on Saturday.

Aside from the lazy river, El Rollo is full of plenty of other attractions that have no weight limits or other common safety precautions.  We rode as many as we could but the river was where our money was spent.  The three of us left around 6:00pm exhausted and waterlogged.  Al and I got home, cooked heaps of carne asada, and had a taco buffet until we could no longer move.  That night the mosquitos had a feeding frenzy in our room and Al and I woke up absolutely covered in bites.  Since then we have been sleeping with the windows shut in an 85F degree room with concrete walls.  I consider it a strong warning for when we make it to malaria country.

Then, just ten hours later on Sunday, Cintia was knocking down the door again with more plans for the gringo visitors.  After a quick breakfast we were on the road again heading towards a Mexican archeological site called Xochicalco (pronounced Hoe-Chicago according to me).  Xochicalco is a set of ruins built into the top of a hill with stairs leading everywhere and little pyramids protruding from the top.  The most intersting part of the tor was the cultural dance taking place in the main quad under the highest point.

There were about thirty people all dressed in authentic indigenous Mexican garb including feather-filled headpieces and rattling nutshell ankle bracelets.  There was a line of drums in the middle with an old sage woman chanting and calling for resistance to the evils of the world.  Although it was scorchingly hot out, we sat and watched for at least an hour.  Most importantly, Cintia’s younger sister was one of the dancers.  After the ceremony ended we walked down to the quad to meet all the Mexican hippies.It was a whole new side of Mexico getting to knowCintia’s sister Graciela, a Spanish teacher, and her boyfriend, a documentary photographer, as well as a slew of other eclectic Mexicans who were all fired up after their big day.

Xochicalco left me so dehydrated that all I could do was go home, gorge on chorizo, and watch CSI: Miami in English.  I hate CSI, but I was at the edge of my seat last night; Alex and I have been speaking only Spanish for the past 72 hours so it was nice not to strain my brain just understand basic communication. 

Today, Monday, Alex and I are finally getting a break while Cintia is at work (she is an English teacher).  Three days done in Cuernavaca and it has delivered quite well.  We are here until next Sunday so these next few days we will be running all our errands before another weekend of intensity.  I just got sad news from the north that both Charlie and Sarah went down since we’ve been gone.  Sarah hit a pothole on a dirt road and hurt her shoulder during the inevitable laydown.  Charlie had his front tire valve stem blow out at 60mph.  That means his tire went flat instantly, he lost control after battling the wobble, and skidded across the pavement with his bike for about 100 feet.  His shoulder and wrist are messed up, but otherwise his damages sound minor.  That leaves me as the last bike standing; I’ll keep saying my prayers. 

The Devil's Backbone

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Alex and I left Mazatlan around 10:00am and headed east into the mountains over the ‘Devil’s Backbone’.  The route is known to be dangerous not because of banditos, but rather because of a plethora of semi-trucks that all crowd your lane on the sharp corners.  To my dismay, this was most definitely the case.

The Devil’s Backbone is a major thoroughfare for trucking because it is the most direct route east towards the Gulf of Mexico.  Unfortunately, it is also some of the most technical and strenuous riding I have encountered so far; lots of ups and downs and blind corners.  In the U.S., trucks would not be allowed on this road.  The corners are so sharp that the semis absolutely have to take up half the other lane just to round the apex.  As a former trucker myself, I was terrified by what these people are willing to do with a fifty-five foot trailer behind them. 

At one point we saw three semis barreling down a small straightaway one after another with a sharp, blind right-hand turn ahead.  The second in line began to pass the first.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  Minutes ago I could have ripped around that corner right into his grill.  Then, just as the one made it back into the correct lane, the third went for a pass into the corner.  Absolutely blind, one semi was passing another going down a mountain pass.  I can only hope they were using their CB’s.  It is the only possible answer.  Or they are just idiots, like the one we saw that had tipped over coming around a curve.  Diesel and tomatoes all over the road; yum.

To remedy the deathtrap, the Mexican government is currently building a much safer road alongside the Devil’s Backbone with Chinese investment funding.  I turns out that the Chinese are willing to pay for this endeavor because it is cheaper to truck their exports across mainland Mexico than it is to pay for passage at the Panama Canal.  The road opens soon, and as I mentioned it will host the world’s tallest bridge (higher than the Empire State Building).

Alex and I stopped at the top of the mountain pass to get some gorditas two hours into our ride.  We pulled up next to another biker named Sergio who was also eating and started asking him about his BMW.  The conversation was slow to start but soon we were chatting all about the motorcycle weekend and tourism in Mexico.  It turns out that Sergio is the photographer, writer, and editor of his own quarterly magazine.  He rides his bike all around his home state and highlights all the little gems he comes across (basically what I’m doing but he made it a career).  He has 13,000 magazines in circulation plus a prosperous internet presence.  I’m inspired.

Check out Sergio’s magazine Coahuila at www.nacapa.com.  He studied in Wisconsin in his youth so he goes out of his way to write some articles in English for us gringos.  He is also a dedicated environmentalist in the middle of a lawsuit with Coca Cola concerning the recycling of their bottles in Mexico.  I told him I would spread his word everywhere I go.

After taking a few photos together Sergio decided he would ride with us to Durango.  There he would spend the night and Al and I would continue on.  We all took off and made great time until we were about five miles from Durango… and Alex ran out of gas.  Prepared for this, I pulled out my 1 liter bottle of extra fuel, dropped it in his tank, and we kept going.  Within a mile we came to a toll station.  It was my turn to pay, so while I dealt with the money Alex sped ahead. 

I didn’t see Alex for about two hours after that.  He had a hair up his ass to push ahead into the monstrous city of Durango and somehow meet up with us once we got in.  I think the fear of running bone dry again had something to do with it.  Anyway, Sergio and I went into Durango using the first exit we saw.  We stopped at the first gas station we saw and realized that Alex was nowhere in sight.  For a 6’5” gringo, he was very easy to lose in a city of Durango’s scope.

Sergio and I went back to the main highway and tried another exit.  Again we went to the first gas station.  They had seen Alex; they had also watched him ride off into the sunset.  So… I lost my wingman in one of Mexico’s more dangerous cities and I was clinging to a journalist for survival… awesome.  Sergio let me use his iPhone to facebook a plan to Alex and then I followed Sergio to his hotel.  At the hotel, I got online and Al had responded that he would meet us there.  He showed up at about a half hour later to much relief.  Thanks Zuckerberg.

We thanked Sergio for all his help and moved towards Durango’s town center to find a hostel.  To our advantage, Sarah and Charlie were still here and we found them at their hostel in the main tourism district.  Al and I got a cheap room for the night and tomorrow we depart very early.  We didn’t make as good of time as hoped today and we still have fourteen hours of road ahead before Cuernavaca on Friday.  It is great to see Charlie and Sarah again; they have some big plans that sound awesome, but I can’t be swung from my hot date with Cintia.

Durango isn’t the safest city.  The Durango police are currently exhuming a mass cartel grave and the latest body count was 104.  Last night only three people were killed in the city.  And apparently the municipal and federal police have gunfights against each other every so often.  How nice.  That said, the police presence is very impressive here on the main strip.  There is at least one cop car per block with the officers milling about everywhere.  I’m not sure who they really work for, but it makes me feel a little safer.  Rest assured, I will not be going out drinking in Durango.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Of the 1,100 kilometers to Cuernavaca, Alex and I knocked out 500 today and it was not without the usual hassles of adventure travel.  We got off to our earliest start (8:30am) since Day 2 in northern California and hit the road at a quick clip.  After lazing around in the Mazatlan sun for seven days it felt good to suit up, open the throttle, and watch the surrounding vegetation change all over again.  Overall, today was a great success.  We ran into little traffic and had no trouble passing that which did slow us down.  Furthermore, we managed to pay only 16 pesos in tolls by navigating only free roads.  You wouldn’t think Mexican toll roads add up to much, but it costs around $110 U.S. to get from Mazatlan to Mexico City on the main highways. 

Al and I intended to camp tonight to offset the elevated gas expenditures for the day.  Around 3:30pm we pulled into Aguascalientes and did a quick Wal-Mart stop.  We spent $15 on the next three meals and kept moving south.  When it’s 90F degrees out, there is really no point in stopping until sunset if you plan on pitching a tent on the side of the road.  You will only be much more sunburnt and exposed to snooping Mexicans if you post up before dusk.  Naturally, then, we planned to ride until we could no longer and then find camp there.

Well as the mid-afternoon heat wore on I quickly realized that the riding from dawn to dusk gig was pushing it a little too far.  South of Aguascalientes I started to feel the effects of heat exhaustion and they were playing out in my riding.  I was not braking as early as I should have, I wasn’t shifting on point, and everything just started to feel loose.  Time to stop: immediately.  Heat exhaustion sucks walking around the fairgrounds, but it is terrifying at light speed on a motorcycle.

I pulled over just after a construction zone, doused myself in with half a Nalgene of water, and drank the rest.  I put on some sunscreen and took out my earplugs.  Alex was in a bit better condition but we were both about done for the day.  After about ten minutes I felt back in control and we rode to the next town, Lagos de Moreno.  We stopped at a taco stand and gabbed with a Mexican geezer for a half hour and rehydrated.  The old guy told us where to find a cheap hotel for the night and at $9 each, that sounded way better waiting for the sun to go down.

Somehow we got lost on the two kilometer ride to the hotel and ended up in a nearby neighborhood.  I asked directions again about the hotel.  Ready to fall into bed and sip Gatorade, I pulled away only to find that my rear tire was absolutely flat.  A flat tire is an immediate emergency because if you roll very far on it, you risk destroying the tube between the rim and the rubber.  Confident and experienced, Alex and I pulled over, hopped off the bikes, and tore right into the operation.

Three hours later, in complete darkness, we finally had my tire back on the bike.  The puncture was pretty incredible.  A double-ended piece of sharp steel had somehow folded in half and ended up with both points buried in my tube.  Unfolded, it would have been about four inches long.  We pulled out the tube, patched the two holes, and put the wheel back together. 

Changing a tire is very difficult even when goes well.  You have to ‘break the bead’ which means popping the inner tire rubber off the rim’s lip (lay the wheel down on the ground and jump on it as you shove a tire iron in there).  Then you have to stretch that inner rubber over the huge rim so you can get at the tube.  You pull the tube out and if you’re smart you take the tire all the way off and inspect it for particles or damage.  Then you put it all back together and yadda yadda forty minutes of your life just passed if you are an ace.

Today, Alex and I were not aces.  After patching the two holes and putting the wheel back together we pumped up the tube only to learn that there was a third hole that we missed.  Take it all apart again and patch the third hole.  Then we pinched the tube while trying to squeeze the tire back on the rim on the second try.  Pinching is when you catch part of the tube under your tire iron as you stretch the rubber tire back onto the rim; it is very easy to do and requires yet another patch.  We patched the pinch, put it all back together again and pumped up the tire. 

The sun was setting, but we had finally succeeded.  I put the wheel back on my bike, joked around with some Mexicans who were watching, and loaded up all my gear.  I was absolutely exhausted; covered in grease, sweat, and mosquitos.  I put my helmet on and as I mounted the bike I realized that my tire was flat again.  You can imagine the words that came out of my mouth.  Alex and I were defeated.

It was now dark so Alex went to get our hotel while I started dissecting my entire rear end yet again.  Once he left to book a room, my situation dawned on me.  I was the only gringo in a lonely town in Mexico in the dark, obviously overwhelmed by a worthless flat tire.  My gear was spread everywhere and there was one guy in particular watching my every move and not saying a word.  I kept my cool and worked away completely on guard.  I kept looking over to him and smiling and he would barely nod.  I just had to tell myself that he is probably like every other Mexican I’ve met: awesome.  Ok, it wasn’t that scary; there was a store right next to me and plenty of people milling about, but still my security threat level was somewhere between yellow and orange.

Al returned and I was about half-way done.  I went into the store, borrowed a basin full of water and did a full check of my spare tube: no bubbles, no leaks.  This time, in complete darkness, we managed to put the wheel together without pinching the tube and I am proud to say that it is still holding air two hours later.  The hotel is a tiny hole in the wall and Alex and I will be sharing a double bed tonight.  We have another 600 kilometers to go starting tomorrow at 7:00am.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Tired and absolutely soaked, Alex and I pulled into our hotel this evening around 6:30pm.  We had been on the move since 8:30am through widely varied roads all over central Mexico.  From Lagos de Moreno we kept making our way south avoiding every single toll road all the way to Morelia.  This method saved us a lot of cash, but also added at least 100km extra to our route.  Being cheapskates, we were quite proud.

Our target city at departure was Morelia and we arrived there around 2:00pm.  Then things got a little interesting.  Al and I followed the signs for the free road to Mexico City for about forty-five minutes as we toured through Morelia in stop and go traffic.  It wasn’t until twenty-five miles later that we arrived in the exact same place we started.  Enraged, we pulled over, studied the road, and found our mistake.  A very misleading sign had put us on a giant loop around the city; Mexican cities aren’t built on a grid… more on a spoke and hub chaotic nightmare.

Back on the right track Al and I sped off towards Mexico City on the free road.  To our surprise, not five minutes into the drive we came across a toll station.  We grudgingly paid the $2 and hoped to find the free road somewhere beyond the toll.  Twenty minutes later we came to another toll; this one was $10.  We were averaging $.20/kilometer at this rate and not happy about it.  After asking a few Mexicans, we found out that the toll road was the only feasible way to reach our destination and in total it would  cost us around $25 for the next 200 kilometers.

We bit the bullet and paid the man.  Two more hours of high-rev fifth gear riding put us sixty miles out of Toluca, the last big town before Cuernavaca.  Ahead were dark clouds and low visibility, but I wasn’t worried.  Al and I had put our waterproof liners in our jackets and we only had about an hour to go until Toluca.

There’s not much to say about the rest of the drive other than that Al and I got very wet.  The dark clouds turned out to be a deluge lightning storm and we rode right through the center for at least an hour.  Without the liners in my pants, everything from my belly button down to my big toe was saturated… including my boots which filled with water dripping down my leg.  Next time, we’ll throw the pant liners on when we encounter Mexican rain.

There is a happy ending.  We are in the best hotel yet and it was only $20 dollars.  The room comes with its own garage, a functioning shower with hot water, a king sized bed, and a wide variety of adult channels.  More importantly, we are only two hours from Cuernavaca.  Barring any of the very possible road warrior issues that we regularly encounter, we should be hitting the town with Cintia tomorrow evening as planned. 

It has been a long hard push to get here over the last two days.  In my opinion, one flat tire is better than anything mechanical problems.  The bikes did very well although Alex’s fuel mixture ratio needs to be tweaked since he is burning more gas than I am.  I definitely experienced the drawback of a carbureted engine during this haul.  With less oxygen in the air at these higher altitudes, my engine simply cannot pump out the same firepower it did at sea level.  It only really mattered when I was trying to go uphill at 80mph, but any higher and I will have to fiddle with my fuel mixture screw and find a better air to fuel ratio.

Tomorrow we intend to meet up with Cintia early afternoon in the town center of Cuernavaca.  Apparently she has lined up a room for Alex and me to rent near downtown.  If the place is up to our standards (a prison cell would suffice) then we will book it for at least a week. 

We have been looking forward to Cuernavaca as a base to take care of some pressing issues.  Due to its proximity to Mexico City, Cuernavaca will be the ideal spot to get some clutch cables, tire tubes, spark plugs, and a new Pelican case for Alex.  And with Guatemala finally within reaching distance, the incessant urge to move south has dulled slightly.  If we’re lucky, maybe Charlie and Sarah can catch up by the time we feel like moving on; if not, we’re all going to the same direction anyway.

Jim and Cindy

As I mentioned, when I arrived in Mazatlan I had no intention of staying here more than one or two days.  Well, it’s just a hard place to leave.  Sunday and Monday night Alex and I are staying in Jim and Cindy’s empty condo on the beach for $25/night.  Jim is the BMW rider from Ballard, WA that we met at the motorcycle convention.  Then Alex rode with him through the entire parade. 

Jim is an excellent rider on such a huge bike.  He’s an Alaskan fisherman five months a year and the rest of the time he hangs out where he wants.  Cindy, Jim’s wife, is a restaurant manager in Ballard in her time off she also comes down to warm up in Mazatlan.  They live in a condo on the northern beach of Mazatlan and also rent one out in the same building.  Al and I are sharing a two story, two balcony, two bedroom, two bathroom palace right now and it is awesome.  The beach is just down the stairs and there are eight foot waves breaking on the beach.  We have been spending a lot of time body surfing lately.

Yesterday we moved in, did a grocery run, and played in the waves.  As the sun set Al and I hung out in the main patio talking with a bunch of retirees who showered us in snacks and beer.  Then Jim took us upstairs and started pouring tequila shots… for four hours one after another.  We drank more than a liter and it gets fuzzy after that.  I remember being very excited that Osama bin Laden is dead.  Jim and Cindy hosted us and fed us until about 10:30pm.  By that time, it was obviously time to go home and pass out. 

We were planning to go for a ride today with Jim but no one showed much excitement for it this morning.  I think we all enjoyed vacation a little too much last night.  So today we are relaxing, playing in the waves, and eating $30 in groceries.  May 1^st is a holiday in Mexico and since it fell on a Sunday this year, so is Monday.  Tomorrow, we will finally get out of Mazatlan and head towards Cuernavaca.

We finally have a route planned for the next 700 miles.  Tomorrow we start moving towards Durango over the Sierra Madre mountain range.  Apparently the views are breathtaking and they are currently constructing the world’s tallest bridge along the way.  From Durango, we’ll go south as far as we can and hopefully camp somewhere.  Then Wednesday through Thursday we will push inland.  That puts us in Cuernavaca on Friday and gives us time for a breakdown or whatever else will come our way. 

It is incredible how much you don’t get to see on this trip even though you have all the time in the world.  Pull out a decent map of Mexico and you begin to see just how big it is.  Already we passed up the legendary Copper Canyon which is said to be four times larger and 1,000 feet deeper than our Grand Canyon.  If we ever want to get to South America, we just have to bite off huge chunks at a time and skip everything in between.  It doesn’t help that we are on Mexican time right now.

My riding gear is starting to get a funk to it, but otherwise has been unstoppable.  At 95F degrees it’s still hot air blowing in your face even at 70mph.  Therefore, I have been soaking my undershirts before departure.  The wet shirt sticks to your body and acts as air conditioning in any heat.  It only lasts for about an hour, but more water is easy to find.

My bike has been great as well coming up to 10,000 miles on the odometer.  I’ve changed the oil once and waxed the chain regularly.  The flat tire on Day 2 and a couple times flooding the carburetor have been the only issues so far.  I’ve got my packing routine down to science so I know where everything is and keep it all tidy.  I left a camp pillow at the apartment yesterday; just freeing up some space for food as we head into the woods.  Any stuff sack with a jacket in it makes a better pillow anyway.