Goodbye, Guardian Angel

We both got the feeling it was time to leave Real, and as the sun arose in the cold the next morning, we knew it was time to go.

Lassie had finally gone home the previous day after hours of continuing to stay with us, and I asked Kim if she wanted to go see her again on the way out. She did of course. I must say I’ve never seen, felt, or experienced the presence of a dog like Lassie. It was as if an angel or guardian had come to be with us, and the dog had so much personality it seemed a bit surreal.

We paid our hotel bill, loaded the bikes and struggled them off the high sidewalk, riding down the steep street to a coffee shop for some warmth and breakfast. Two men were there from Prince George, Canada, having just driven in the night before. We had a great time talking with them before firing up the bikes again for the ride to see Lassie and then to head down the dangerous back road from Real to the peyote filled valley below.

Oh.Dios.Mio.!!!

As we rode back out to the edge of town, I saw Alejandro in the cemetery as I passed the gate, but continued on. We parked the bikes and shot a couple of pics before finding Lassie in the front yard of her owner’s home. She ran to Kim and loved on her a bit before running to me and jumping up. She assumed her position in the lead and guided us towards town, but we wandered to our bikes instead.

I wondered how she would react to the motorcycles, having tried to attack other rider’s bikes a couple days before. Indeed, she barked at Kim when she started the bike and moved, though not with intensity. She ran to my bike as well but was subdued, almost as if she overcame her instinct. It was sweet to watch her run down the street behind Kim as we headed back. I saw Alejandro on the street and stopped to say goodbye for a moment. Lassie chased Kim again, finally giving up and letting us go. It was a bit difficult as we’d both gotten pretty attached.

Last damn thing I ever expected was to meet a dog in Mexico that would steal my heart...

The Road Of Death

As we left Lassie behind, distracted by something behind an old red truck, we rolled over the rough cobblestones toward the old plaza and the steep downhill twists that led out to the old and somewhat dangerous road out the back side of Real.

Kim wanted to ride it, though I wasn't too thrilled at the prospect of her on the narrow downhill with severe drops. I wanted to ride it as well, but was a bit wary since Kim doesn't have a lot of rough time on the 1200. In addition, a couple of locals said not to go on it, as it wasn't in good shape at the time. It's quite narrow, rough and rocky, cut into the side of the mountain and with 1000’ drop offs. The old Willys jeeps that serve as taxis make the slow trek up and down in 4WD low., taking up the entire width of the road. There would be no way to pass if we caught one coming up and that added to my concerns.

A couple of years previous, I’d ridden it with my friend Hank, and it had a lot of loose rock and debris, some of which deflected his motorcycle towards the edge and miraculously he somehow managed to turn the heavy beast before going off the edge and certain death below. The road has crosses where people had perished, and for some time it was the main road into the town, still functioning as the conduit to the small villages and couple of towns in valley below.

But previous to reaching the road down, we had to stop here and there for blocked streets, jeeps, horses and citizens. Stopping on a street doesn't sound too difficult, however the cobblestones are large, finding a spot that isn't severely off camber, covered with engine oil or easy to get a foot down is not easy in Real. If you go, be prepared to ride around trying to find a place for your feet. It's easier for me with my long legs, but much more of a challenge for Kim despite her lowered suspension. We had opted for a bit more height for clearance than for her to be totally flat footed.

Because getting a bike stopped, or worse, turned around on one of the streets isn't fun, I went ahead and scouted the way, telling The Butterfly through the headset what lay ahead until we finally cleared the village and hit the road out.

Pausing at the top so that she could get a sense, we walked a ways down and then came back to the bike.

When MotoHank and I had ridden it a couple years before, the stone road had been covered with caliché, which filled the spaces between the rocks. However heavy rains had occurred and there was no filler this time - only the rocks and holes.

My friend Hank at the easy bottom section a couple of years before, just having almost died on the high sections, which aren’t visible in this photo

The first high section wasn't too bad, despite being rough with a steep drop-off, and Kim did well despite my hearing her voice stuttering from the bumps. We stopped at the bottom of the first section and found a spot to get off the bikes to scout the next section down. It was steeper and in worse shape than the previous, and the cross on the outcropping at the beginning of the next section serving as a warning for all who come.

Kim was shaking both from nerves and effort, and after walking the next section a bit we started down. There were severe potholes and gaps in the rocks, and I was seriously concerned for her. We took it in 2 sections, trying to get stopped before sharp, blind turns and seeing what was ahead. At one point Kim had to help lift my leg to get back on my bike, since the off camber was so steep I couldn't get back on the beast.

Neither of us got video from the worst section, as we were so focused on getting through it the thought of turning on the camera was the last thing on our minds. As I was first and trying to warn her of severe potholes and where to be around curves, I couldn’t see her, only hearing her breathing and wrestling, fully expecting to hear her go down. I was so focused on staying upright, I knew if she did it would take a while to find a spot where I could stop the bike to go back and help her. There was no stopping until we got near the bottom and into a smooth section in a tight curve, where we took a breather in disbelief we’d actually made it. The locals had of course been right about the terrible shape of the road, far rougher than a couple of years before. After the fear abated, we both began laughing from the adrenaline rush.

I was incredibly proud of Kim, as well as somewhat amazed that she had made the entire trip down and had not dropped the bike. A 5'5", 125 lb woman had manhandled a heavily loaded R1200GS down a road that is breathtaking in good condition and damn scary in bad. I told her never to complain about any other roads after that. Seriously though, it was quite a feather in her cap and a major relief to me.

Real De Catorce has had an uptick of tourists and growth compared to my initial visits, and though progress is slow, I’ve already seen minor improvements on the road out the backside, reflectors having been installed on the sheer edges. I suspect the road will eventually have guardrails and be widened. The rest of the way down was still rough and tricky, though nothing at the difficulty of the top sections, and when we finally stopped in the small village of Catorce for a breather, we were both ready for one.

The road from Real goes down into a large valley where the old railway lies, with Estacion Catorce and Wadley being the main communities. Wadley is famous for the Bohemian tourists who seek the peyote and cheap lodging, hitching rides up the mountain to Real De Catorce on the weekends to sell handmade jewelry and other items to Mexican tourists.

Our plan had been to take the back road down, hitting Charcas on the way west to Zacatecas, our next major destination. However, Luis, the young man we'd met in Real, had invited us to stay at his family home in Matehuala. He was renovating it and wanted us to see it, so we decided to head back to Matehuala instead. We'd bumped into him that morning in Real, when leaving and he confirmed to meet us that night.

Reaching the blacktop, we raced east paralleling the railroad, skies blue and filled with puffy white clouds reminiscent of west Texas. To the left, we passed a monument marking the Tropic of Cancer and swung back around to take pics.

Shortly after, we hit a small, dusty village for a break and a snack, rolling along the dirt streets past huts made of tin and wood with cactus for fences, until circling back to the iglesia on the barren, concrete square. Doors would open as we rode past houses, only to quickly close, then to open again and watch us, not realizing we could see them in our rear view mirrors.

The dusty square was vacant, and a tiny pinch of shade lay along the fence in front of the church where Kim made a snack of tortillas, boiled eggs and avocado, followed by a bite from a coconut candy roll for dessert.

The old church bell sported two bullet holes, reminiscent of an old spaghetti western, but a reality and not a fantasy. Satisfied, we headed out in the hot sun for Matehuala, a lone man waving to us as we rode away.

As the sun sank lower on our way east, I spotted an old dome and tower hidden amongst the trees off the main road. We took the next turn for a small village and rode in looking for the church. It was not to be found or seen, as the village lay behind a large dirt embankment. Finally giving up and heading back to the main road, I went back to the place I'd spotted it. There was a road that was fenced off, so again we went back into the old village, finally turning onto a dusty street that seemed a bit more traveled and led over an ancient stone bridge. From there it followed a line of tall trees and stopped in front of some heavily built militaristic stone buildings. In the midst was an old church with a beautiful courtyard. We bailed off the bikes and Kim wandered over to an old stone water tank, discovering a sleeping possum who took no notice of us.

The old place appeared to have been a heavily fortified hacienda, as there were gun ports on the roof lines of the derelict buildings, as well as remainders of walkways around the interior of the walls for sentries. What this place was I would love to know, but now it sat fenced and forlorn.

The heat drove us back onto the highway for Matehuala, as we were tiring, and really hot. We arrived at the main square, Plaza de Armas, around four to rest and wait for Luis, who'd said he'd meet us around seven.

As the clock ticked to eight, I finally got a text that he'd just arrived and would meet us for dinner on the square. By 8:30 he'd arrived and introduced us to his wife, who seemed a little tense. After speaking to Luis it became apparent why. Luis was working in Dallas and rarely home to be with his wife, this being his last night in Matehuala.

We could tell it was a bit awkward and Kim suggested we go for a short walk to let them discuss the situation. We decided to stay in a hotel instead and when we returned to tell him, we could tell it was a relief for him. He was a bit embarrassed but did ask us to come tour his place. We walked the few blocks to the house and checked out his renovations, then headed for a motel and crashed hard.

Zig-Zagging to Zacatecas

From Matehuala, we headed westerly for the city of Zacatecas, hoping to avoid the main highways. Easier said than done as there are few roads in general, but reversing back the way we'd come towards Charcas through the Altiplano was the best way.

There was not a cloud in the sky as we flew along through the massive valley in crisp morning air, always watching the roadside for stray cattle, goats, mules or horses. The miles flew by, an endless stretch of barren landscape and rare but random, a man sitting under a scrub tree in the shade. Likely shepherds, but a big smile erupting from a sun blackened face as we'd wave.

The town of Charcas was a pleasant site, much larger than the tiny dust covered villages we'd passed through, their residents eyeing our passing with suspicious but veiled intensity. The main road into Charcas led to the church, through traffic in tight rough streets filled with Volkswagen Rabbits and other old vehicles.

At the turn to the plaza we were waved away by a slim policeman with a face mask, redirecting traffic for the tiny school that had just let out for lunch. We eventually found our way back to the plaza through the maze of tiny streets, riding the wrong way up one-way streets to make our goal.

We found a spot on the crowded square next to a "papas" vendor and it wasn't long before the sight of fresh made potato chips sucked us in for a snack, washed down with a burning flush of Coca-Cola.

Across the street and in front of the church lay a long line of people waiting to get into a business that looked like a Western Union sort of place. There must have been two hundred, each with a sheet of paper in their hands. Kim surmised it may be folks waiting to receive money from relatives in the U.S., but whatever it was, it was a long slow process.

Google showed only a single gas station in the town, a Pemex we'd passed on the way in, so we reversed back to fill up. The attendant was afraid to look at me, until I tapped him and pointed to myself, saying "José". He broke into a big smile and tried to communicate, pointing to the stickers on Kim's bike. As we waited in the shade after filling up, he gingerly came over several feet away and shyly tried to take a picture of us with his cell phone. I waved him over and he handed his phone to another gas attendant, coming near the bike. I pulled him over and put my arm around him for the picture and he was all smiles, waving at us as we rode away.

My GPS said Zacatecas was still hours away, which didn't make too much sense as we'd been riding a few hours already. The road led further into the desert, getting rougher and narrower as it went. I watched as the GPS showed us on a loop, that I assumed was the best way to Zac. After another hour or so, I realized I hadn't switched the navigation preference from "shortest" to "fastest" and we were now on a ridiculously slow and painful out-of-the-way trip through village after village. By the time I'd realized the mistake and made the switch to "fastest", we'd passed the break point and it showed to continue on the same route.

In dusty village after dusty village, we crossed endless topes it seemed, until finally being stopped by a funeral procession to the graveyard in a larger town.

The long stretches were barren, our traveling companions being sky high dust devils and parades of trash and the ever-present tattered shopping bags trapped in branches along the roadsides.

The trip was long, slow and tedious until we finally reached the main highway for our last hour to Zacatecas. We arrived at our AirBNB host's home close to dark, peeled out of our smelly riding gear and chilled a little while.

After a rest, we walked for the city center, up steep streets, huffing and puffing until we got a vista of the golden city lights and cathedral, as well as the illuminated mountain bluff above the city, "La Bufa". It was a spectacular sight and Kim was thrilled to see such a beautiful, European style city after so many dusty little villages.

We wandered the beautifully lit streets in the cold air, finding a little taco place on a pedestrian square across from an old church. The owner showered us with great food and attention, speaking a tiny bit of English. As she attended to us, she began sharing her story. She'd worked in Arlington, Texas for many years, then Austin, but recently had been refused a renewed visa. The Omni Hotel in Austin was asking her to come back and work for them, but she was unable and asked us to pray that a way would be made. Her only alternative would be to pay the "coyotes" $8,000 U.S. to take her illegally, but she couldn't afford it or the danger.

While we were eating, I'd noticed a man standing in the shadows a hundred feet away or so, whom I recognized from seeing him earlier on the streets. He watched us from the shadows the entire time we ate, but I didn't tell Kim until we started walking again. He trailed us a ways until I stopped and looked directly at him, Kim doing the same. I dropped my camera into my messenger bag and took it off to carry by hand. Kim asked why and I explained that it would weight the bag in case I needed to use it as a weapon.

We walked a block or so, suspicious and heads on swivels until we ducked into a tourist shop that was closing. As soon as we got inside, I turned and looked back out the doorway, just as a guy on a dirt bike pulled up and stopped on the opposite side of the street, the helmeted rider looking directly at us through the doorway. I stared at him and he stared at me, the entire time my thoughts racing back to movies where the bad guys used motorcycles. He looked again, then took off. Kim and I looked at each other, then bought a bottle of Mezcal and a Zacatecas decal for the bikes. Kim put the bottle in a plastic bag, emulating my earlier camera-in-bag action and prepared to use it. We gingerly approached the door and looked out, only to see a traffic light. We both burst out laughing when we realized it was just a random motorcyclist who’d had to stop for the traffic light that fed into our suspicious minds.

We slowly walked back to our host's home in the dark, enjoying the city streets. As it turns out, the bottle of Mezcal bottle was used to knock out two people that evening.

The next morning our host Graciela made us breakfast before we left, her pug Macarena entertaining us by getting drunk in the warm sun.

We rode through Zacatecas, an absolutely beautiful European style city with steep, flagstone streets, museums, churches, markets and plazas. The town sits below a huge bluff, "La Bufa", which features a church and plaza with statues of Francisco "Pancho" Villa and others from the revolution. Which Mexican revolution I'm never sure...

We rode to the top and sat watching the city below for a while until the desire to ride the steep streets and explore neighborhoods overwhelmed us.

Kim had found a Couchsurfing couple who agreed to host us for a night, our first experience doing so. Our friends Fanda and Kaschka had insisted we try it back when we met them in Alaska, since they had had great experiences all across Russia and Mongolia, as well as the US. Anyway, we were to meet our hosts around 4 and had the entire day free to wander.

We rode the old center of town before heading for the higher hillside neighborhoods, the steep and narrow streets proving a lot more butt-clenching than expected. Several times we dead-ended on little streets so steep that it was hairy getting turned back down.

At one point on an easier street, I was accelerating uphill when this happened...

Luckily he was unhurt, but I’ll never forget the loud thunk of whatever his head hit, and it added to the crazy traffic and streets.

Late that afternoon, we made our way to the address we'd been given and rolled up to a small apartment home with gated parking. Our host "Ben" came out to greet us and open the gate. After clambering off and getting out of our sweat sack jackets, we got to know each other a bit better.

Ben was actually "Benoit", a young French guy who'd traveled extensively and taught language classes through the French Alliance downtown. We met his beloved, Gaby, a native Zacatecan who owned a small boutique and spa nearby. She had prepared a late lunch for us. After resting a bit, that evening Kim took advantage of Gaby's spa for a massage - her shoulders were tight as a drum from the last day or two - while Ben took me to a small brew pub in the area that featured beer from almost every country in the world.

That night after Gaby's place closed, her family met us for dinner at a small local taco place that had home brewed beer. We had much fun and stayed out too late. Despite our lack of Spanish, we communicated enough and Ben's translation certainly helped. The next day, Ben had a class cancellation and decided to give us a tour of the town. We took the bus to the center and arrived to find a big celebration going on. Apparently it was a tilapia festival - MotoHank had warned us that Mexico used any event to celebrate and boy was he right.

After wandering through tilapia heaven we made our way down to an old market for lunch, then around the downtown area, visiting the amazing catedral(s) and several museums.

The most interesting was the Mask Museum, now incorporated into the ruins of an old cathedral that had a roof collapse sometime in the past. The museum featured masks of all sorts from Mexico and we were in there for hours. The grounds of the museum are beautiful as well and quite relaxing. Ben left us after a great lunch for a class and we wandered the streets until late, catching a bus back.

That evening about 9, Gaby and Ben wanted to take us out so we took a taxi back downtown to a rooftop bar overlooking the city. Bad disco music, good bebidas and outstanding views made the night great.

Next on the agenda was to take us to the oldest cantina in Zacatecas. Gaby explained in broken English that Cantinas had always been male only, filled with man stuff - naked pictures of women, vomit, urine and fist fights. Women were never allowed in, but times had changed and the cantinas were dying out due to a lack of business, so they now allowed anyone and everyone. Sounded like it could be interesting...

When we arrived, the little place was packed. Sticking out like white sore thumbs, we stood and watched the proceedings, laughter and lousy singing, with eyes upon us and sideways glances, musicians and beggars. I noticed the very same man who'd been shadowing us our first evening, and he came over with a sly smile and welcomed us to Zacatecas. It was a very, very odd moment but we faked our way through it. The rest of the evening he watched us.

One nicely dressed man in a suit at the bar kept his eyes on Kim for most of the time that we stood there, eventually getting up and coming over to look us directly in the face. He then began speaking loudly in Spanish, the word "Trump" being the only word we understood. I glanced at Gaby, whose face clearly showed her disdain and upset at what was happening. He continued to speak, and though we knew where the conversation was going, Ben engaged him for a while to deflect his anger. After a while, Ben seemed to have calmed him and then began explaining that the man was a lawyer who had been denied entry to the U.S. recently and was very upset at Trump. I shook his hand, clasped his arm and looked him in the eyes, asking Ben to tell him we had come to Mexico because we loved the nation and her people. His drunken tension eased slightly when he heard it, but continued his verbal barrage.

Ben was not interpreting, for our benefit of course, and when the guy finally stopped for a moment, Ben said he was drunk and also not quite right in the head. This tension continued for a while, then Ben said the man wanted to apologize to us personally, since he had nothing against us but was just angry at Trump.

He showed us his laminated lawyer credentials and then asked for a pen, writing his address and name on the back of one of our cards, telling Ben that one of his uncles had been a Nobel Prize winner. Eventually he faded away, the anger gone and we went back to our conversation, Gaby embarrassed at the situation.

A moment or two later, I noticed two women at the table in front of us turning to stare, then speaking to the men at the table. They turned back to us with big smiles and Ben said they were inviting us to sit down. We all squeezed around and then began communicating, Ben working his butt off as a broken English translator. Ben only spoke a little English, having learned it from tourists while working in Playa Del Carmen.

Our new friends were lively and fun, the two guys being a lawyer and an architect, respectively. They ordered rounds of Mezcal and cervezas, laughing and asking questions about us and our trip south. The night wore on until the bar closed and they invited us to go to another place for dancing, seeming genuinely disappointed that we could not go. They gave us all big hugs and kisses, laughing and waving goodbye as we wandered back down the streets in the early morning hours.

The friendliness of the people we've met here and there on this trip has been quite amazing. Over and over people have come up to us to welcome and offer help if needed, in big towns and small villages, at roadside stops and in stores.

It was with some real sadness that we packed up the next morning for Durango. Zacatecas was a city Kim and I both feel we could live in. Cultured, clean, beautiful and welcoming, as we discussed on our headsets heading north for our next destination.

Thoughts From The Road

So, Kim and I finally had time to do a map based on the GPS tracks from our adventure so far... the Alaska portion showed just under 19,000 miles according to my GPS tracks. Both of us were shocked and it was good to get a perspective on the miles and saddle time for sure!

Our Czech buds Fanda and Kaschka met up with us here for a day before racing south for Central and South America. They spent a month in San Blas and are all rested up and ready - probably catching a sailing ship in Panama in late April. Officially they are now "Francisco y Caterina" for the Latin countries, having dropped “Frank and Kate” for their north American adventures.

Sorry for the delays in updating the blog, but Kim took me to the doctor due to me being lethargic and unresponsive, wanting to just eat and take naps. I was diagnosed as having a bad case of “Mañana Fever” plus a little bit of boogie-woogie flu.

It has been so interesting in Mexico, in so many ways, almost all positive. As mentioned previously, the colonial cities are beautiful and the people of Mexico have been incredibly kind and welcoming - even from a culture who have rights to their feelings of the gringos - the food has been great, the culture fascinating and the terrain and roads really fun.

I have no claim to any degree of expertise on their culture and lifestyle, but I will share what I've seen and felt. The sense of "live and let live", as we describe it, has been refreshing. The sense that you can do what you want, as long as it doesn't hurt another, has been a great counterpoint to what I feel in the U.S. No one gets freaky if a car is parked a little too far in the street, or traffic has to wait for a truck to dump a pile of firewood in the street and then toss the pieces two at a time to the sidewalk.

We have felt some low-key dislike for us, usually displayed by being ignored in a small shop, or being skipped while waiting for a table, waitresses seating Mexican families from behind us in line, but rarely any open dislike.

The funniest example was the other day in a small, shaded plaza that Kim and I were resting in. There were a few men, a bit intoxicated I might add, one of whom wanted to display his dislike of the gringos sitting nearby. For the longest time he was shouting to his friends, directed for our benefit, in some language I couldn't seem to understand. Finally, I realized he was trying to use curse words he'd probably heard in US rap music, but his native and drunken tongue couldn't quite make the pronunciation. Of course "Tromp" was easy to understand, but the words "MOTHER F*CK TROMP! SH*T!” were entirely unintelligible for the longest. The word "NIGG*Z" was also used. I realized he was trying to use language he'd probably filed away from some radio rap.

I wanted to burst out laughing but kept silent, some of the other park patrons no doubt feeling the tension of the moment. Kim and I sat there like Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip, or better yet, Lloyd Christmas and Harry Dunne, acting oblivious to the ramblings until they got bored and waddled away one by one. I only mention this because I was wondering how the election might have an effect on our travels, and it has been very little.

Trump eventually comes up and of course, they always clarify that they like us, just not our president. However, each incident of minor tension has been drowned by a thousand smiles and warm welcomes. Time and again, we have pulled up to a plaza in a large city or tiny town and someone has come to greet us with a big smile and a warm welcome in broken English. We have been really blown away by the people here. We've been invited into homes for meals and time with families, just sitting and attempting to communicate with no common language other than the spirit of man.

On To Durango

It was a beautiful day as we waved goodbye to our host Gabriela, her partner Ben having left earlier to teach a French class. We really enjoyed the time with them and were invited back to stay. Though tired from our late night at the cantina, the generosity and embrace by the locals we'd shared left us quite filled...

Adios Gaby!

Durango was our destination, this time taking the “cuota”, or tollway, in order to make time north. The high desert air was crisp despite the bright sunshine as the miles fell under our wheels.

Out of hunger and boredom, we stopped in Sain Alto for a butt break and some street food - always the best food btw - before pushing on for Durango under the descending sun.

Our adopted friends Fanda and Kaćka, whom I will from now on refer to as “the Glimmer Twins” because I’m tired of waiting for the "ć” to come up when typing, and also because they change their names in each country, had stayed in Durango a month earlier in the midst of the Pemex fuel hike protests. They were unable leave for a few days, due to the gas stations being shut down by protesters over the 30% jump in gasoline prices.

That price increase is noticeable ,compared to my previous trips. Typically Kim's 1200 costs about 300 pesos - roughly $15 US at the current 20 pesos per dollar rate - and the GSA closer to 550 pesos when empty. Other than gas, prices in Mexico are very cheap right now... Three street gorditas and a Coke are roughy 40 pesos which is about $2. Cokes, or a bottle of water, are roughly 8 pesos which is 40¢...

By the time we rolled into the big city, it was late in the day and hotter than hell. Being such a large town, I had no idea where are the main plaza was and couldn’t see any church towers, so I trusted my GPS to get us to "Durango Centro”. Of course that was foolish, and we ended up in a crappy neighborhood with nothing but endless, broken-down little casas after idling in traffic for what seemed like hours. We were crabby-ass beeotches, hot, tired, sick of smelling diesel and starving. A hamburguesa stand on a corner seemed an answer. We were the only patrons and of course they had music blaring intensely, in combination with some incredibly loud jackhammer compressor on the street. By the time we were finished we felt like we had the crap beat out of us.

The sun was setting but the heat was not. On my Google maps app I spotted what appeared to be a large park with a revolutionary sounding name so I figured that must be close to the center. We eventually made it through non-stop stop and go traffic, relieved to get off the bikes. The unfortunate thing was it was getting late and we had no hotel, an all too common experience...

As we sat on the bikes, Kim searching for hotels on her phone, an older couple walked quickly across the street to us. They did not speak English but made it very clear that they wanted to welcome us to Durango. It was a very nice gesture and their smiles and kindness lifted our spirits. As Kim continued her phone search, I walked through the large plaza and over towards the church looking for hotels. In this location I knew they'd be pricey, however, adjacent to the iglesia I found a nice hotel with a room rate of $20 for a couple. I asked about parking for the motos and the reception girl pointed to the interior lobby.

Feeling like a caveman who'd just killed a small dinosaur, I was excited to find Kim again. We fired up the bikes and rode a block or so, turning into the pedestrian area and riding to the hotel door. Though I’d read of it being common in foreign countries, it was kind of fun riding a motorcycle into the lobby of a nice hotel for the first time.

The hotel room was right on the front, facing the church with a good balcony and great view. It felt so good to cool off and chill out before heading out for an evening stroll. Kim did point out that we were now directly by the church’s bell tower and sleep might prove a challenge.

The plaza was a beehive of activity, some form of political protest or something was going on for hours on a loudspeaker. Due to the intensity of the orators, I wasn't sure if we would be witnessing another revolution in the plaza or if it was just a “whatever” moment. It's always interesting in Mexico. In any case, it would just be something to watch with a cerveza and a taco.

We decided an ice cream was a good solution to counteract the heat of the day, and managed to spend almost the same amount of money on two fancy ice cream cones as we did on the hotel room. Despite getting killed by tourist prices on the street, we enjoyed an evening stroll in the park and down the promenade. There was a street band playing for tips, doing an amazing job playing Beatles music with some Creedence Clearwater thrown in.

It turned out to be an evening we both enjoyed, compensating for the afternoon's brutal heat, traffic and fatigue. We were also quite pleased to find out that the church bells stopped ringing at seven. Woo hoo!

Mazatlan & The Pacific

The next morning we packed the bikes in the lobby, trying for several minutes to figure out how to turn the scoots around to ride out the front door. Several policeman sat in the lobby, possibly on break, but fascinated to watch us and but trying to appear aloof and uninterested. After much figuring and eyeballing, the only solution was to get on the bikes and walk them backwards out the narrow entry the same way we’d come in.

Outside we double checked our gear and turned the headsets on before riding through the pedestrian walkway and diving into the flow of traffic.

Our quest for the day was to reach Mazatlan, riding “El Espinosa Del Diablo”, or The Devil’s Backbone in English, on the way. I knew little about it other than hearing it was an incredibly twisty road that was not to be missed.

We took the tollway from Durango towards Mazatlan, exiting for the little town of El Salto to connect with the Devil's Backbone. El Salto sat high in forested mountains. It seemed incongruous to see wooden houses and forests after passing through so much of the dry desert areas, with only homes made of mud brick and plaster. As far as landscape it seemed as if we were in Northern Arizona or Southern Colorado.

The road climbed in elevation and soon we were glimpsing views of valleys far below. The road was in great condition and became very twisty. It was a beautiful day and the hours passed as we wove our way high in the mountains at eight or 9000 feet.

Had we stayed on the tollway, which is an impressive road in itself, we would have been in Mazatlan in 2 1/2 hours. After riding about two hours on the Backbone, I laughed when my GPS said it was still two hours and fifteen minutes to Mazatlan.

We stopped at a few overlooks, the last being a view of a valley to either side, the overlook being on a narrow land bridge between two mountains. Kim had commented on what a great bicycling road it would be, as there was very little traffic and the road was amazing.

It so happened that a young man on a bicycle was parked at the overlook. He looked Hispanic and we were both surprised when he answered in very clear English, with no accent, that he was from Norway and was making his way South for central America.

After a few hours on the road we were quite hungry and ready for a break. I'd always told Kim that if she stuck with me, it would be like joining the "Finer Things In Life Club" and we would dine in the finest places. Today was no exception…

Our lunch break was interrupted by an incredibly skinny dog who looked as if he were starving to death. The poor guy had an infected toe as well, swollen to the size of a lemon. Kim went to a lot of trouble preparing a little snack for him, but he would have nothing to do with it. I've never seen a starving dog who was such a picky eater, but then again maybe that's why he was starving.

From there we slowly wove our way down in elevation until we finally reconnected with the tollway. There were amazing bridges and several tunnels that we passed through, the tollway itself quite a beautiful ride.

As the sun dropped lower in the sky, beginning to blind us as we moved westward, Mazatlan eventually appeared. We had found out from someone along the way that Carnaval was happening this same weekend. Indeed the town was packed as we rode through to find the beachfront, the road along the beach absolutely packed with parked cars and chairs.

It was fun to see the Pacific for the first time in Mexico. We had to search extensively but finally found two gaps between cars and were able to park the bikes. It was a bit warm but we walked and looked at the waterfront before shedding our boots and walking in the surf. Something cold seemed in order so we watched the sun set with a couple of cervezas.

Thankfully Kim had set up with a couch surfer in Mazatlan before we had left Durango, otherwise we would never have found a hotel. However, the couch surfer had not responded to our texts and we had no address. As night set in with no response we began to wonder what to do, either continue waiting or make a vain attempt to find a hotel. As it got dark on the beach we decided to find the main Plaza. After wandering around a bit on the traffic bloated streets we eventually made the Plaza in the dark but could not find a spot for the bikes. Kim saw something as we rode past but we were in heavy traffic and it took a while to get back to the plaza. Indeed we scored parking places for the bikes and sat in the plaza until almost 10 PM. Kim continued to send texts that went unanswered.

After such a long day of riding we were both shot and decided to go for a hotel, heading through town for the outskirts in hopes there might be a vacancy. Towards the edge of town the only hotels we found were the auto-hotels, the ones designed for discrete sexual encounters. By 10 o'clock we'd decided that even one of those would do.

We pulled in and tried to figure out what to do. There was only one entrance and a car was stopped at the self-pay credit card station, with it’s flashers going. As we sat, I saw a woman disappearing into what I thought was an office and got off the bike to go inquire about a room. As I made my way in, it was not an office, but rather a large laundry room full of young women, half of whom were wearing Carnaval type masks, folding sheets and linens. They all stared at me as if I were a freak, and I stared back the same way.

After a pause, they continued working and one older lady walked past me, heading out of the room. I tried to inquire about a room but she simply pointed to the credit card machine and said "200 pesos”. For some reason the car was still parked there and I really had no interest in swiping my credit card in a “ho" motel in Mexico, so I told Kim we would seek something else. The idea wasn't met with pleasure since we were both absolutely exhausted and hungry. The thought of wandering the streets of Mazatlan in the dark just was not appealing.

A couple of blocks away we pulled into a large parking lot to attempt a Google search of the nearby area, when Kim got a response from our couch-surfing host. She had apparently been at work untilt 10 o'clock, having not told us this ahead of time. Amazingly, her address was somewhat near, so we followed the GPS to her neighborhood. There was a taco stand on the corner and we simply couldn't pass it, doing a U-turn and pulling the bikes in to the stares of the locals eating there.

It felt a little odd eating at the table with so many people staring at us, but the tacos were absolutely fantastic, and even if they weren't, we were so hungry they seemed to be. After washing it all down with a couple of Cokes we rode the few blocks away to find the house. It's always interesting going to a total stranger's house to stay, but the family was very inviting and our host, Elizabeth, was very happy we could come. She told us we were her first couch surfing guests, as people had requested staying with her before, but no one had ever shown up.

We slept well that night and Elizabeth's mother had prepared breakfast for us in the morning. Elizabeth spoke broken English but was excited that we had come. The entire family gathered and her parents wanted to know much about us and our situation. When they found that our destination was San Blas, her father indicated through Elizabeth that they had a long time family friend in a little town called La Concha, who had lived in Los Angeles for several years and spoke some English.

While they were discussing this I googled the town and saw that it was on the free road on our way south. I piped up and told Elizabeth we would ride through La Concha. When she shared this with her father he got very excited and immediately got on the cell phone. After his phone conversation, Elizabeth said their friend, named José, would wait for us at the town square. Kim looked at me a little surprised but she's always up for most anything.

We said our goodbyes and took lots of photos for each other before heading out, her father insisting that the BMW logo be visible in the shots.

We decided another beachfront ride was in order and headed back that direction, to find that the parade was already assembling early in the morning. At a brief stop in front of an Oxxo, an American in the parking lot struck up conversation about our trip and life in Mazatlan. He was informative and had lived in the area for many years. He was building a large house on 20 acres in El Salto, a very cheap place to live, where he would stay in the summer since it was much cooler, then would come back to his condo in Mazatlan for the cooler months.

After working our way around blocked streets and past floats pulled by tractors, we got on the main road south for Nayarit. We've found that most of the free roads have police checkpoints on them, typically located under bridges where it's shady, and though they have stopped and searched people in front of us and behind us we’ve always just been waved through. The free road towards La Concha was no different this day either.

Eventually we needed gas and a break, swinging through the little town of Esquinapa, where we found the square - busy as heck as usual - and sat in the shade to cool off. In short order children came around and Kim asked if they’d like to sit on the bike for a “foto”. I could see the watchful eye of a mother across the street at a taco stand, then suddenly the kids ran back over to her and disappeared. We figured that was the end of that, but in a few moments the kids emerged again, having changed into nicer shirts and followed by their father. We indicated taking a picture and he smiled, helping the kids onto each of our bikes.

They climbed down, excited at the experience and we geared up in the heat for the road again, circling the square and finding the main road again, sweltering in the heat of stop and go traffic in the little towns.

Our travels went unmolested, finally reaching the town of La Concha, being waved through another checkpoint before finding the turnoff that seemed to head for a distant church tower. Our host had told us that José would be waiting on the square for us, since the townsfolk would be suspicious of two motorcyclists showing up.

We found the small plaza and circled the block before parking under the shade of a tree. No one was in sight, save for a boy and girl on a bicycle who rode over and stared at us.

A few minutes passed, until I saw an older man coming across the plaza to us. It was José and he welcomed us, asking if we needed anything before waving us towards his house which sat right on the square. It’s always a bit strange meeting someone you don’t know, but he spoke broken English, having lived in East LA for a few years.

He asked us in, telling us we could stay as long as we liked with him, showing us his home and bedroom for us to stay in.

We explained that we just stopped to say hello as we had to make San Blas. He still wanted us to stay and after talking a while, asked if we were hungry. Indeed we were and he said he knew a great place on the highway. I offered to let him ride with me and he was pleased as punch.

His 90 year old mother lived just down the street and he wanted to introduce us, so we stopped in. As we walked in, she had been asleep on the couch and was in a state of shock to suddenly have two Americans standing in her little living room. She straightened herself up some as Kim and I sat staring and smiling. José returned from the kitchen with a large glass of water for each of us. I could see the terror in Kim’s eyes as both our thoughts were the same - was it tap water? Would this be our first bout of Montezuma's revenge? If we refused to drink it would we offend our host? I had seen a portion of a blue bottle on the kitchen floor out of the corner of my eye when we walked in, so I prayed it was truly filtered water and took a drink. Kim stared at me for a bit - maybe waiting to see if I died - then gingerly took a few sips.

It was finally time for lunch, and as we stood up I tried to see into the kitchen inconspicuously to see if it was a blue jug of filtered water. The die was cast so it really didn’t matter and Jose climbed onto the back of my bike, pointing where to turn as our bikes purred through the dusty town.

On the highway he insisted I ride through the checkpoint and stop there. Indeed all the officers and officials knew him and began laughing and shouting. They all got a big kick out of seeing him on my bike, but none more than him. I imagine that was the news for a couple of days, José on the back of a big expensive bike with a big expensive gringo.

The little cocina was a couple blocks away and a true Mexican food experience. Some small chickens and a little girl were running around the floor, as well as a dog or two, but the food smelled great. He told us what to get and in short order it came out fresh and hot, all the while the girls who worked there trying to watch us without being obvious. The food was delicious, and as we sat another man came in, sitting down and reading the newspaper. José informed me he was the priest of the church there.

As Kim explored outside, José pulled a well worn and ragged picture from his wallet, telling me it was the only picture he had of his deceased wife, whom he missed very much. I asked if I could borrow it for a moment and took it outside, laying it down on a red tablecloth sporting an image of the Virgin Mary and several burning candles. I shot a copy of the picture and then gave it back to him, telling him I would send him a retouched digital copy through Elizabeth's family in Mazatlan.

Though it felt good to relax and José’s offer of a place to stay was tempting, we had a host waiting in San Blas for us and we needed to move on. We rode José home and said our goodbyes, he insisting we call him and come see him again.

I punched in San Blas on the GPS and hit “fastest” route and we were off. Again we were waved through a checkpoint and after what seemed forever, made the road for the coast, a narrow and busy route. We arrived as the sun was low, staying on the main drag which led down to the beach, passing a park that featured the remains of a crashed airliner - guessing it had been recovered after the crash by the naval base there.

It was hot and we were tired, peeling off the bikes at a little restaurant on the beautiful beach. A cold margarita sounded wonderful and we ordered, only to find they they had nothing but Micheladas. Okay, that works we thought, only to be served the most disgusting brown drink we’ve ever had. Kim couldn’t take a sip, and I managed maybe three. Honestly, it could have been dishwater (or worse) with beer and chill powder.

Bummed, Kim pulled her phone to find the address for the night, only to realize it was online and we had no cell service. Asking about wifi got a laugh, and by this time it was dark. San Blas is NOT a happenin’ place and it took a lot of exploring to find a cafe with wifi. By this time we were a couple of hours late for our host, but finally got the address and followed the GPS to a dark neighborhood where we sat for a few moments unsure of the house. Luckily our host Pat heard the bikes and came out to wave us into the yard. It felt great to get off the bikes and into Pat’s beautiful home. She had traveled extensively, settling in San Blas with her partner Doug, who was retired from the U.N., having traveled all over the world in his job. Pat was awesome, opening her home and sharing her adventures with us. Sleep came easily that night.

San Blas Sunshine

After a great night's sleep, Pat was anxious to show us around the area a bit the next morning. We'd have been happy to stay inside her lovely home and just enjoy the relaxation, breeze and flowers, but duty called.

As we walked to the car with her dog, suddenly two other dogs showed up and the fight began. In an attempt to stop it, The Butterfly swung her backpack at the aggressor dog, forgetting her steel water thermos was inside. The loud “gong” sound got all of our attention, not the least of which was the dog's. I fully expected the dog to be dead from the sound of the blow. It worked however, the fight was instantly over and I'm sure Kim passed into legend in the local dog community... "La Mariposa de Hierro es una gringo peligroso!" they would bark around campfires for many years to come.

I squeezed into the front seat of Pat's car and she proceeded to drive us up the hillside to the old fort that overlooks the city. It was quite old, and we explored the ruins of the original church and the crazy trees nearby. Old cannons were still exhibited on the walls and it was interesting to try to imagine the past in this place.

In conversation she mentioned crocodiles, much to my surprise as I didn't realize they were this far north. The mosquitoes were quite crazy in the area and we made use of her repellent, but it didn't do much good. We'd brought our swim trunks since she had mentioned a favorite beach and after the short drive outside of town we pulled into the crocodile viewing area. Sure enough, there were a few small ones around and Pat mentioned that the barricade between them and us had only been erected recently. Apparently before you could simply walk up to the edge of the water and take your chances.

The general laziness of the crocodiles was having its effect on us and we were anxious to do our own imitations, lying like logs on the beach. She continued driving us around until we reached a deserted beach with a few little cabanas. We were informed that there was hardly ever anyone here and this day was no exception.

A light lunch of fish tacos seemed appropriate and timely. No one’s in a rush in Mexico, but such a simple order of tacos seemed to be taking at least an hour. I was nearing getting up to go see what was up, when about that time I saw a young boy carrying a huge fish down the beach to the kitchen. Don’t know if they had just caught it or if he’d walked all the way to the town fish market, but it was certainly fresh. No complaints baby!

The empty beach, the sound of the waves and the sunshine was incredibly relaxing. The water was cool but not cold and swimming was great. It was followed by lounge time in hammocks, and we were in heaven. The Glimmer Twins had been here earlier and had stayed for a long time. It was easy to see why.

After our swim we returned with Pat, and later went for a long walk into town, ending up at the beach in the evening. It felt so good to be there, and despite the mosquitoes, we were sad we couldn't spend a few extra days in San Blas.

Crashed airliner. Razor sharp chunks of sheet metal. Perfect theme for a kid's park!

Our initial travel plans had been to go straight from Texas to the town of Guanajuato, to spend some time there and immerse ourselves in the culture of Mexico, both to adapt our thinking and learn a little Spanish. We'd found a place there for an extended stay, but it wouldn’t be available for 3 weeks, so we’d decided to take our tour out to the Pacific for that time, but now we had to be there in a couple of days. Staying at the beach was quite a temptation for each of us, but we’d committed to the apartment and need to get there.

The next morning we said our goodbyes and headed for our next destination, Guadalajara, which was roughly half way to Guanajuato. We wanted to take one last ride down to the waterfront in San Blas, but the road was blocked by a parade of school children so we abandoned that idea and headed down the coastal road for the huge city of Guadalajara.

Doug and Pat - awesome folks and awesome hosts

The road was narrow with no shoulders, running through mangrove swamps and eventually leading up into lush jungle-like terrain, twisting its way high up the hillsides and into the mountains. It was a fun ride, eventually cresting and winding down into the more desert-like valley.

A quick stop in Chapalilla for a plaza lunch

The valleys were full of bluish smoke as the farmers were burning fields in preparation for spring planting. It didn't take long to begin to see carpets of blue agave as we approached the town of Tequila. It was interesting seeing the orderly lines of agave plants in the dry and hilly terrain. I’d received a little instruction on the difference between tequila and mezcal, both being essentially the same except that “tequila” had become a trademark of the liquor produced from the blue agave in that region. I guess it would be something like the Champagne region of France.

The temperature was warm as we rode into the town of Tequila. We stopped in the downtown section and perused the little tourist shops. We did not have a lot of time to tour some of the old places unfortunately. We still had to make Guadalajara and we would hit just about rush-hour. I'd plugged in the address for our next host, but neither my GPS or Google seemed to understand it. Google showed a small store at that address and my Garmin couldn't even find the name of the street, of course. I wish Google would make its own GPS unit, as this expensive Zumo with its Mexico maps are missing so many roads in comparison. It also has a “dumb” search feature, being unable to find roads unless you spell it exactly the way Garmin entered it, which in a foreign country can be maddening with all it’s variations and versions of names, especially such long ones as are common in Mexico.

The traffic was quite thick and watching the cars and GPS simultaneously was a challenge. Eventually we found the street and drove back and forth trying to locate the address. In frustration I finally pulled over to the small abbarotes to get out of the sun and let Kim text our host. There was a gated parking area next to the store with a huge Great Dane snarling and barking at us intensely. He was quite intimidating and in short order Kim received a text that the little store was our host's mother's shop and the Great Dane was our host's dog.

Our host would not be there for a few more hours but mama came out of the house and ordered the dogs to be silent and to stand in the corner, which they did. It was with great trepidation that we rolled our bikes into that gated parking area with the huge Great Dane standing there staring at us. Apparently he was afraid enough of mama to do exactly as he was told. I stayed in all of my riding gear until we had brown-nosed the dog sufficiently and he calmed down a bit, accepting our presence.

Mama!

Mama was very sweet and though she didn't speak English, welcomed us into the house and showed us our upstairs bedroom. We were hot and tired and laid down on the bed for a nap. It seems I'd just dozed off when we heard voices and looked up to see our host "Chuy" and his sister Fabi standing in the doorway staring at us. It was a bit embarrassing laying there in our spandex undies and shirts. We jumped up and got dressed, meeting them downstairs since they wanted to go out for the evening. Chuy spoke English well and his sister Fabiola only a little. We piled in their car and went out to a little bistro with outstanding coffee. We had a lot of fun talking and then went for a long walk around the neighborhood. We were up until the wee hours before finally passing out.

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Guanajuato

We'd all had such a good time the night before that we regretted having to leave the next morning. Both Chuy and Fabiola asked us to return and spend more time with them and we promised we would. They were such wonderful and interesting people and we have had such good luck doing the couch surfing thing!

Our destination that morning was Guanajuato and we were excited. Kim and I had briefly visited the town one afternoon on a previous trip to San Miguel, two up on my old 1100. We'd had no idea what to expect on that first trip, being led into the maze of underground tunnels beneath the city, finally parking the bike near some light streaming in from above and accidentally finding ourselves in the main Jardin of the city.

Guanajuato was beautiful with its colorful homes and buildings nestled all around the hillsides, and its narrow twisting streets and alleyways called for continuous exploration. We ended up staying far too long that afternoon and had to ride back to San Miguel in the dark. Nevertheless we couldn't forget how much we loved Guanajuato and it seemed the perfect place to return and spend some time.

Your choice of roads in Mexico are either the “libre”, the older and slower original roads, or the “cuota”, newer tollways which are nice, smooth and fast. The free roads are more interesting, if not a bit more dangerous and challenging, but they also take you through many of the small towns. We try to save as much money as possible because the tolls do add up.

The GPS routed us through Guadalajara and past a brand new BMW motorcycle dealership that appeared to be preparing to open, then down along Lake Chapala and myriad other directions, including the heart of Léon before getting us to Guanajuato. Coming into the town can be quite confusing with multiple road convergences, traffic and traffic circles, as well as controlled lanes that you find yourself in with no warning.

Of course we missed our first traffic circle turn due to the sluggishness of the GPS and had to cheat our way back around on sidewalks, grass and rough private parking areas. There is a street called the “Panoramica” that runs the perimeter of the hills above Guanajuato, and our apartment was located there somewhere. My experience previously in the tunnels had been a bit intimidating, getting lost and confused and I was determined to avoid them, if possible. Knowing the GPS signal would be lost and the two of us would be trying to negotiate the tunnels with traffic, as well as the knowledge that the open streets are very steep had me a bit on edge. The narrow streets are steep, filled with taxis and cars, and making sudden sharp turns into other crowded streets, with no way to stop at the top or see oncoming traffic. Though Kim has developed into a very good rider, it can be a bit overwhelming.

We did pretty well, GPS taking us on a new road with a new tunnel into the edge of the old town. We idled our way through the crazy traffic until the street led into a tunnel. After the tunnel, we were to make a turn but with the GPS lag and traffic right on our tails we missed the steep, sharp, uphill right just at the tunnel exit, and found ourselves back down in the maze of underground tunnels again. It's not to say that we don't enjoy the subterranean areas, because we both did. In fact they're quite cool to ride through both literally and figuratively, but it is extremely easy to get lost as there are intersections and turns all through them.

After probably 30 or 45 minutes we had made our way back around to the place where we'd initially missed our turn. This time we took it by force and kept the bikes pointed uphill, until the street dead ended into the Panoramica. However, the street came in at an extreme angle requiring a very sharp turn up the wrong direction, off camber and over a huge lump. Thank God we both hit it in a break between buses and taxis, as our momentum carried us into the far lane.

Having made the turn and breathing a sigh of relief, we realized our next turn would be the reverse of that, going uphill into a small neighborhood. I dove in with Kim behind and we had to make very sharp switchbacks and blind narrow corners until we got to the place I thought was the apartment. We stopped in front of a beautiful home with some fancy toys in the driveway and the same address number. I texted the landlord and told her we were waiting out in front of the blue house. I saw the curtains open and a woman staring at us from inside the home suspiciously.

Our landlord texted back that she was waiting outside, but we could not see her. After a while she texted again that we must be in the wrong place, as she was standing across from the blue house and we were not there. I double checked Google maps and my GPS and we were at the correct address according to both. We were hot and tired and ready to get off the bikes, but luckily she texted me a location pin on Google. It showed the apartment to be a block over from us. Kim was having none of it and told me I could find the apartment and then return to let her follow. The streets were a bit intimidating and Kim needed a break.

Indeed, it required a trip through an alley and a dirt road to find the apartment nearby. Kim made the trek behind me and we were pleased to pull up in front of a beautiful home with gated parking. Our landlord and her daughter were gracious and enjoyable, showing us the little private apartment attached to the home with an outstanding view of the city. As we dumped our gear inside and cooled off with showers after a very long day, we were greeted by a view of the sunset and the night lights of the city from our balcony.

Christo Rey, Friends & San Miguel

Ah Guanajuato, an endless maze of twisting, steep, narrow, flagstone streets and alleyways, filled with colors, textures, flowers, light, churches and people. It is an old city with a fascinating flow, as if the streets and alleys are rivers of life flowing with the movement of children, well dressed men and women, cars, scooters and old men leading heavy-laden burros.

The buildings lie scattered on the hillsides like piles of colorful Lego blocks, where old and new converge seamlessly in the dance that is Mexico. We never tired of walking down into the city from our high perch above, a gentle, living creature pulsing until the late hours, endlessly fascinating.

We were so happy to get into a place where we could unload the bikes and relax for a while after so much time on the road felt great. The view from the private apartment was so nice we just did nothing for a few days, leaving the doors and windows open and sitting on the balcony until our eyes couldn't stay open any longer.

The city is very nice, as are the people, though a bit more reserved. Occasionally we felt the cold shoulder of dislike, being ignored while waiting to pay for groceries or to get a table in a taco place. The indigenous folks seemed to have a more open dislike, but again, we were smothered in graciousness and smiles by the vast majority of people.

The Mercado downtown was a maze of vendors selling meats, chicken feet, pork skins and everything else. The huge steel structure was designed by Gustave Eiffel, somewhat of a surprise admittedly. However his steel structure did well when lightning struck while we were inside. During a gentle rain while staring at bloody animal parts on the tables, suddenly breakers popped on a post next to me, followed by a flash of light a millisecond later and a resounding boom. Folks all looked up for a second, then went back to selling.

MMMM Carnitas baby!

From our balcony each day, we could see a large building on the horizon, somewhat reminiscent of a monastery though hard to make out in the distance. I eventually located it on Google Earth and with some research found it to be a huge monument to Christ - Christo Rey. We made it a priority for a day trip out of town and headed out through the countryside. It was a nice road with plenty of twists, with a short lunch in the small town of Mineral de La Luz on the way.

We ate some seriously spicy tacos on the square, to the sideways glances of the local folks. We caught the interest of a few shady looking characters on a corner, whom we deemed "The Banditos" and they disappeared about the time we started gearing up. I told Kim to get her backpack and steel thermos ready in case someone needed a head knockin'

Upon arrival at the monument, the steep, spiraling, rough cobblestone road to the top proved a workout, as it was a traffic jam of tour buses and vehicles literally idling their way up. The bikes were getting hot and rattly and we were debating our choice by the time we finally got a parking spot.

Atop the mountain stood a massive seventy-five foot statue of Christ, the circular plaza filled with the faithful, many coming on their knees to the sanctuary. I must say we were both touched by the scene - certainly more than expected and we left with a couple of watering eyes at the sincerity of some of the people we saw.

The views were great but as the day waned we fired up the bikes and rolled our way down, following the road back for "home." Rounding a curve policemen waved us down, an overturned BMW car having taken the road too fast - not surprisingly as it was a road for fun.

The weather in Guanajuato was cool with daytime temps maxing about 80, with gentle rain showers occasionally in the day. Evenings were chilly with winds swirling through the streets. Street food was fantastic and plentiful, but with the university there were plenty of sushi and pizza places. In fact we've seen a great number of both throughout Mexico.

Anniversary serenade...

The Glimmer Twins, Fanda and Kaschka, contacted us from Morelia, which was 2 hours away and said they wanted to see us briefly before continuing on south. We were excited to see them again after so many months. They arrived late in the afternoon and we all shared the tiny apartment for the night after a walk down through the city and back up.

The next day they were going to ride to San Miguel de Allende for an afternoon on their way to Queretaro. We decided to accompany them for the day, but as we all caught up on internet stuff the day slipped away. By the time we left it was a bit late and my tooth infection was really kicking my butt. When we finally made SMA the Glimmer Twins had to leave almost immediately, which was a shame since it's a beautiful place.

We'd managed to find a host for the night and after telling the Twins goodbye headed over to her home. The next day we wandered the streets of the beautiful city, stopping in the jardins for breaks, only to be driven away by the conversations of the endless gringos. Though San Miguel has always been known as an American friendly place, its recent vote as the best city in the world to live in by a major magazine has brought a surge of new residents and visitors. Even our friend said it has been changing for the worse.

Evening in San Miguel

Aw.Sum.Ta.Cos.

After a day exploring, we headed back to Guanajuato and our apartment. It felt really good to have a place to unwind and begin getting a sense of life in such a nice town. We spent a few days just doing nothing but relaxing, something I've not done in years, and walking the streets until late, climbing the super steep street to our place each night. The walkway to the top was a serious butt kicker.

One day after returning from a ride, two workmen were leaving the house and the younger came over excitedly. In broken English he tried to communicate and we all waved our arms a bit. He said he would like to practice English as he was trying to learn, so we said we'd be happy to. Alejandro was his name and he said he worked at the GM plant all night but would contact us soon. I gave him a card and he smiled and shook our hands excitedly before leaving.

For all you photographers out there, you know the struggle to find the right gear and the ability to carry it all. My camera system had been split between a body and two zooms in my home-modified tank bag, with a backup body and three primes in a padded pack in the tail case. I wanted to evolve my system into one case that easily carried the whole shebang when on the streets, yet was still thin enough to save room on the bike. I have been sorely disappointed in the usual camera bag manufacturers and their reluctance to produce slim, minimalist cases. Nothing like buying a small camera and having to put it in a soccer ball sized case, entirely defeating the purpose.

But anyway, I had been looking for a low profile street carry case that didn't scream camera, and Kim spotted a guy selling handmade leather bags on the steps of a mezcal bar. I pointed to his bags and then began showing my camera and lenses, opening one of his bags and indicating dividers for lenses and such. He immediately understood, measuring the bodies and each lens with his fingers... three fingers for this and 4 fingers for that, etc. He indicated to return the next day at 8 pm and we shook hands.

The next day I carried all my gear down, and after some street exploration ended up at his bar location. He produced the leather bag, made exactly as I imagined and extremely well constructed. I was happy as a clam and the $45 US was a bargain. It has worked brilliantly and looks nothing like a camera bag.

We'd forgotten abut Alejandro - almost - when I got a text from him inviting us to his home for breakfast a day later. He sent a Google pin and I plugged the coordinates into the GPS. We headed out the next day for the meal, admittedly a bit uneasy at being invited to an unknown home 30 miles away, but as we rolled up to the area, an older man in a metal shop came out to wave us down. We circled back and parked the bikes on the edge of the main road and Alejandro appeared. He was excited and showed us the older man's metal shop, where he fabricated iron gates and such.

We were then led into his house adjacent and introduced us to his wife Fernanda, who was a bit apprehensive and guarded. She began working in the kitchen and we sat with Alejandro and his little daughter in the living room. Alejandro explained in poor English that he wanted to learn and improve his life, being in the maintenance department for GM at night, then attending college in the afternoons.

He shared that he had often approached Americans to ask them to converse with him but they refused or ignored him. Apparently we were the first to respond. A couple of minutes later were were summoned to the table for the first round of brunch, a hot bowl of menudo and tortilla chips. Alejandro explained that the older man was his father-in-law and they lived at his home with him.

A moment later the older man appeared for lunch sitting with us silently. As the next course came to the table, he began filling a coffee mug with water and I pointed to it. He stopped and looked at me curiously, then I jokingly said "Tequila?"... He burst into laughter and a huge smile, Alejandro simultaneously laughing out loud and shouting that his father LOVED tequila and baseball. The older man stood and indicated to wait, returning a few minutes later with a small wooden cask.

Alejandro told us that this little cask was always full of the best tequila and was near his father-in-law at all times in his shop. Needless to say a small celebration broke out around the table and he insisted we all have a shot.

The older man's name was José (a great name I might add) and he had played baseball fanatically most of his life, still playing every Sunday as a catcher in the stadium in Guanajuato. Faded pictures of teams adorned the walls of the home to attest to his love of the sport.

Lunch was finished and we knew it was time to go. We were so humbled to have been invited into their lives and treated so graciously, that it was hard to know how to say thanks but we tried. Kim invited Alejandro and his family to have dinner with us one evening in town, and we explored the welding shop before leaving, Jose proudly showing the intricacy of his metalwork by his forge.

As we started to gear up, Fernanda watched intently, and then Kim asked if she'd like a ride. She broke into a beaming smile and immediately came over. She climbed on my GS and indicated which way to go, heading through the little town and back so that her friends could see her.

We said our goodbye's, and Jose indicated to me to return with "Mi casa es su casa!" as we rolled away. Heading back into GTO to ride the streets, a gentle rain started and I spotted the sign for the "Museo de Momias". We wound our way up to it, not without a few missed turns, and parked in the rain. The museum is small, but houses a great collection of mummified bodies from the early 20th century, whom as best I can understand, were removed from their burial crypts when the cemetery crypt wall needed repairs and were found in such great states of preservation. The clothing and details were amazing to see and though a bit macabre, we enjoyed seeing the museum.

Afterwards we wandered around behind it to discover the huge cemetery, its walls lined with small crypts and a large section of it under repair. A worker said in broken English that the wall had begun to collapse and they were redoing the entire wall. It would be interesting to see if the mummified remains of other residents were being removed for the process.

The rains had stopped and we worked back to the bikes, heading up to the Panoramic a different direction and stopping briefly at a supermarket. As we loaded the bikes with food, a man and his daughter came over to say hello. He spoke English well and offered his business card in case we needed "anything whatsoever" in Guanajuato. He said he loved motorcycles and just wanted to say hello. I gave him a sticker and he got excited, saying he had a collection for his bike. We rode back up to the apartment and the relaxing overlook for the evening.

A Color Palette of Beauty

There are many hidden treasures in Guanajuato, narrow alleys just wide enough to squeeze through, artisan shops tucked into unseen corners, street food vendors and entertainers, not mention the mosaic of colors and textures. Included in the mix are the roaring diesels of buses that seem impossible to fit, yet manage to squeeze through places hard to believe.

Birthday serenade

The afternoon rains lasted a few days, but were then followed by smoky days and evenings, as farmers across Mexico began burning their fields for spring. In fact the time we've been in Mexico has been colored with haze and smoke. Many vistas remain hidden as the nation seems to be in a constant state of smoky blue.

Street food was plentiful, as were restaurants of all sorts, but our favorites were outside the Mercado where we always felt so loved and welcome...

Random weirdness - never figured out the dude in the black hoodie. He checked out our bikes and stayed around entirely covered. Maybe he was just shy...

Guanajuato is known as a good spot for learning Spanish, as it is a destination relatively few American tourists go. The school we chose was Escuela Falcon, a small, busy, but laid back learning center. The plan was to take an hour a day for two weeks to get some basic skills and build off that in other classes further south. Group classes were $45 US per week for an hour a day. Kim and I qualified as a group and our maestro was Pavel, a civil engineer with his own business. We met daily and when I asked why he taught in addition to running a successful company, he said he really loved to teach. It also kept his English sharper being able to hear it from students.

Pavel - maestro of Spanish language, ingeniero civil

We enjoyed the course and though at a 1st grade level, it did help very much. Comprehension has improved though conversation has a loooooong way to go. It kickstarted our minds and that was what I had hoped for.

If you visit Mexico, the one constant you will experience, aside from exhaust fumes, will be dogs. They are everywhere at all times, on the tollways, highways, roads, streets, alleys, restaurants and rooftops. Many times a day you will face them while riding, always when least expected. Spending time in the cities we've noticed some characteristics of them however. The rooftop dogs and dogs in yards tend to be very aggressive and vicious, while the thousands of dogs running the streets seem quite happy and laid back. Understandable, but what struck us was the number of pit bulls running the streets. Neither of us like pits due to experiences with them in the US, and I'll admit late a at night when alone in a street and seeing three of them loping towards us kicked up the adrenaline many times. What's really interesting though, is the street dogs, pits included, seem to be absolutely unaggressive. It seems the dogs reflect the laid back personalities of the citizens of Mexico, instead of the aggressive attitude seen in the US. It's been a real interesting experience indeed.

Dolores Hidalgo is a town roughly an hour from GTO so a ride was planned for the day, also as an excuse to ride the tunnels out of town. Dolores Hidalgo is the town where the active revolution against Spain actually began in earnest. Manuel Hidalgo was a priest in the small town, who organized or inspired a peasant revolt where 10,000 farmers began a march on Guanajuato, the rich mining center where the Spanish elite ruled.

This group of farmers was known as the "Insurgentes" and they eventually took the city, finally dislodging the Spanish soldiers and rich families from a fortress established in the town's granary, the "Alhondiga". History says a lone miner, "Pipila" carried a huge slab of stone on his back like a turtle shell to protect him from the bullets as he carried fire to the front door, burning it down and allowing the peasants to storm the fortress. Bullet and cannon marks still cover the Alhondiga in Guanajuato, now a museum.

Anyway, the road they took to Guanajuato also happens to be a great motorcycle road.

Leaving GTO

We rode high into the hills and the winding road was fun to ride, eventually dropping us down into the town of Hidalgo and the inevitable hot, stop and go, one car at a time pace through the packed streets trying to find the main plaza. After a detour to the wrong church tower, we eventually dog paddled our way to the main one and got off the bikes seeking shade.

Folks had mentioned that Dolores Hidalgo was known for ice cream and it was true. Almost every vendor in the plaza sold it one form or other. We couldn't resist and it felt great to cool down and watch the folks and fiesta of life on a Sunday afternoon.

As we've traveled, our routine has been to find the plaza, unwind and watch the activities in each town. It is sort of a comfort to know that every place you go, there will be at least one central location to park and relax while seeking a place to stay for the night. And the entertainment, though always the same - vendors with balloons, trinkets, pork skin, elotes, gorditas, etc - is always different.

Lunch at the mercado of course - BTW Coke is the answer to everything - digests questionable food, kills bacteria, dissolves grease and cholesterol clots, you name it... actually we have found it to help keep our stomachs in line tho

The ride back in the setting sun through the mountains was fun, albeit never boring with the random cluster of goats running through little towns, or wishy washy dogs on the road as you approach.

As our time in Guanajuato wore away, we wanted to see a performance in the main theater, Teatro Juarez. It is a cornerstone of the central area near the garden, the steps always littered with people watching the street performers or just watching the constant throng of crowds. It's also the gathering place for the street minstrels of the city.

As it turns out, we were contacted by a couple from England I'd met very briefly in Alaska. Tibor and Anna were riding two up on an 1150GS at the time, and neither of us can remember where we briefly spoke, but they were in Mexico on the way south as well. I'd bumped into them at MotoHank's place after we'd returned from Alaska as they came through Texas. In fact, The Glimmer Twins had been at Hank's at the same time. It was quite strange to be at his shop when Fanda and Kaschka arrived, followed by Tibor and Anna, then a German man, Jens Becker. Jens had met The Glimmer Twins in South Korea. What a small world it is. Especially in Dilley, Texas. But I digress.

Tibor and Anna, Brit cits but from Hungary and Lithuania, rode to Guanajuato from Guadalajara to meet us and we were able to spend a day with them. Teatro Juarez had had a dance group we'd missed, but there was a performance by a soprano one evening that we all had the chance to see. It was an evening of songs by soprano Conchita Julian, who'd sung with Placido Domigo and others of the genre. Despite understanding none of the words, the passion and beauty of song is universal and the old theatre was a spectacularly beautiful place to experience it.

The next day Tibor and Anna had to leave, but it had been great to see them. Their journey to south America was to continue, however they were returning to Texas to ship the bike back for a period of time before returning in a few months. After language class, Kim spotted the soprano, Ms. Julian, walking with her entourage from a hotel. We stalked her briefly until they stopped for a while, then went up to tell her how much we enjoyed the performance. She spoke little English, but she was happy to speak with us, inviting her family and friends over to meet us. We ended up talking for almost an hour, her group embracing us and laughing, taking selfies and such. It was a lot of fun and we were invited by one of her benefactors to come with her to a photography exhibit in Léon. It was an unexpected pleasure and characterized the Mexico experience for us.

[IMG]https://photos.smugmug.com/Galleries/The-Trip-II-Mexico/i-KqzGTtQ/0/L/DSC06157-L.jpg[/IMG]

The days blended together, as did the nights, the evenings having a magical feel with the ever-present period minstrels singing in the streets. There are several groups of street minstrels who lead group tours around the city, walking through the tiny streets, singing and dancing. Since the tourists who come are almost all Mexican, the crowd is boisterous and jovial. One hears song and music echoing closer and further through the evening darkness of the city, and we followed along many nights just for the joy of it.

There are statues of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza throughout the city, the town having become the center of a worldwide festival in honor of the author Cervantes. It is a part of their culture and we happened to catch a random rehearsal for an open air stage performance in front of a church. A lot of fun.

The only thing we never enjoyed in Guanajuato, was the walk back UP to our apartment. For days we tried a few different routes down and up the hill, but the streets of the city are very limited and the walkways can literally be hundreds and thousands of steep, handmade stone steps. It's a beeotch. Our main route down and up was something we figured we'd beat in a few days as our legs and lungs got used to the altitude and the steep angle of the street. It didn't happen. Though my performance improved initially, the tooth infection got to me, methinks, as I just couldn't improve. That is, until one day when I heard some noise behind me on the uphill climb. I looked back to see two old local women in their 80's gaining on me. What really spurred me on however, was the fact that one was on a walker and the other had a cane. I suddenly appeared next to Kim who was on a steep stairway about 25 yards ahead, much to her surprise. All I could wheeze out was "Hurry, they're gaining on us" before everything went hazy blue in my pre-heart attack and stroke moment. Still, the exercise was great. I guess. Let's be honest, to be fair, one of the old ladies should have been carrying the other one. Just sayin'...

Our time to leave Guanajuato was approaching and it was with real sadness that we faced a final couple of nights and days, walking and riding as much as we could in the town. On our last ride through the twisty streets, we stopped to wait for a parking spot and were approached by a young guy and girl, obviously from northern climes. Indeed they were. Canadians, Jaeson and Coady, were on a year long trip to South America in a Volkswagen van. We enjoyed talking with them and met later for some live local music and a cerveza.

The day we left, we both said we felt like we could stay there and find a place to live. Guanajuato is a beautiful mix of life, culture and color. The original name was Indian, Quanax-huato, meaning "the place of frogs". Pavel told us the local saying was "a place where even a frog can become king". Hmmmm, so you're tellin' me there's a chance!

A Walk In The City

A collection of images from a day on the streets of Guanajuato

Morelia, Michoacan

It was with sadness that we packed up to leave Guanajuato.

It was truly one of the richest life experiences I've had and Kimberly felt much the same. Each day was filled with color, culture, music, good food and for the first time in my life, I really felt like I was on a vacation.

Our landlord, Maria Luz and her daughter, had been so sweet and helpful, we considered them almost family.

We took a final ride down the steep streets into the bustle of downtown, then into the tunnels for an exit south towards Morelia. The route was to take as many of the free roads as we could before having to make time in the heat on the tollways.

Lunch called and we found a roadside taco stand, where Kim had an encounter with a jalapeño. The aforementioned pepper kicked ass and took down her name. The night before we'd had a meal with a grilled pepper that wasn't too hot, and when our lunch food came with a big green grilled pepper Kim unthinkingly scooped out the seeds with her finger and took a big bite.

I wasn't paying attention and asked her about the food. There was silence, then I noticed the tears streaming down her face. A warm Pepsi didn't help much, but she was able to speak again after a few moments. I felt sorry for her but there isn't much you can do!

A couple of moments later she walked to the bikes for something, when I suddenly heard her yelling my name. I ran over to find her in severe pain, having inadvertently rubbed her eye with the finger she'd used to scoop out the seeds. A couple of minutes of pouring drinking water into her eye finally brought some relief but it was not a good lunch date!

Our route was to take us across a couple of lakes on the way to Morelia, and as we neared the region the tell-tale, cone-shaped mountains of dormant volcanoes began to appear on either side of the road. We weren't in Kansas no more Toto.

The entire nation of Mexico seemed extremely dry and I was disappointed to find the lakes dry as a bone.

Arriving in Morelia about 4, we found the main plaza, filled with tents and vendors, as the week of Semana Santa had begun. Traffic was thick and people were everywhere, stopping to stare at us as we looked to park the bikes. We squeezed into a spot next to some other small motos and headed for the nearest concrete bench to peel out of the hot gear and boots.

Morelia was a beautiful colonial city, more organized and European in its grid-like layout than say, Guanajuato, but striking in it's wealth and stunning cathedrals. It was impressive and very clean as well.

Locking our helmets and jackets to the bikes, we made the large circle around the plaza, watching local Indian performers doing a traditional dance with loud clacking wooden sandals, their backs bent as if old men and wearing masks with long blonde hair made of rope. We were to find out later that it was a historical dance mocking the Spaniards from the past.

Some dude with these trained birds was making a killing. Folks were lined up to pay lots of pesos for the birds to pick their fortunes.

We've decided this might be our ticket to fortune when we return to the U.S.

Stares were more prevalent here than in the other places we've visited, a good sign that gringos were a bit more rare in this area. We made the rounds and waited on a bench for our host to meet us, and while doing so a fair skinned man sitting nearby began a conversation. He was a native of Morelia, but had lived in Chicago for 10 years before having to return to Mexico after his travel visa had expired. He wasn't a happy man, as he had to leave his wife and son there and hadn't seen them in several years. There was no bitterness towards the U.S., and in fact he wanted to live there again. He said Mexico was just so poor and politicians so corrupt that it was very hard to live. Fifty dollars a week is about the average income he told me, and it took six years to be able to buy a car, so he said local people don't have much hope for the future.

He was a nice guy and said he had heard us speaking English and wanted to practice his again. He asked us to say a prayer that he would be able to return to his son some day. We talked a while longer until our host found us, and we said our goodbyes, riding behind our new friend on his café racer into an old neighborhood for the evening.

Alan, our Couch-surfing host and his cafe racer

Alan and his girlfriend Valerua, had a small child, Mattias, who kept us entertained until Alan had to return to the main plaza to deliver his bike to it's new owner. Alan had decided to sell his bike so that he and his wife could open a taco stand out of their home.

We were wanting to see some of the entertainment happening that night in preparation for the Holy Week and all rode together back downtown. A while later, his wife and son arrived and we wandered the streets with them, ending up in a coffee shop and talking until late in the night.

Our digs were an upstairs bedroom across the street from a club of sorts, the sounds of ranchero music playing loud and live late into the morning hours. At 5 am, I was awakened to three loud explosions that sounded like a 12 gauge shotgun about 50 feet away, only to hear the tolling of a church bell a moment later. Semana Santa had begun with the celebration of massive fireworks at 5 am, 6 am and randomly forever over the next week.

The next day was Palm Sunday, and we explored the city a bit on the bikes, seeing various churches with people carrying beautifully decorated and woven palm fronds. Having slept little the night before due to the noise, we found a plaza or two to nap in.

After a while we headed for a large park I saw on Google maps and discovered it was actually a zoo. We were intrigued, had to visit and found a spot for the bikes. Entry was about $1.00 US.

Forget U.S. zoos. Here the animals were up close and personal, often behind chain link fences and newly erected ropes were only about 18-24" from the fence. It's an easy reach to stick your fingers in the tiger cage, or better yet a hyena.

They had several tigers, including a white Siberian that was amazing. We watched him for a long time, until he suddenly sensed someone coming down the pathway on the other side and quickly moved into a hiding position. We watched as a young kid and adult walked past the cage, the tiger suddenly stalking, then leaping at the youth, protected only by a chain link fence. We weren't sure what it was about the kid, but the tiger had nothing but eyes for him. It was a bit creepy seeing how he would have taken someone down in the wild.

The zoo was far more interesting than an American zoo, I guess because if you really wanted to, you could have your hand bitten off pretty easily, but it's the closest either of us have ever been to wild(-ish?) animals and it was actually fun.

The evening was spent in the plaza looking at the myriad vendors and our inevitable people-watching. At one point while sitting on a bench, a guy with a weird vibe came over and squeezed between me and another couple, eyes on my leather camera pouch. I wrapped it's strap around my wrist and then got up and walked away. He definitely had a bad spirit and probably bad intentions, but if so he needed to polish his theft technique a bit more.

One thing I can say, there is no shortage of food nor food vendors in Mexico!

Mr. Peanut's bitter brother

Patzcuaro & Isla Janitzio

Our hosts were young and a lot of fun, Alan being obsessed with cafe racers and having sold his bike the night previous to fund a taco stand they wanted to run from their home. As we prepared to leave that next morning, Valerua's brother and family arrived to see the parade. They were so sweet and excited to see the bikes that I gave all the kids a ride before we left. It was a lot of fun.

From Morelia, our destination was Patzcuaro, by way of Quiroga where we'd been told the best carnitas were to be found. Carnitas are slow cooked pork, braised in oil until it falls apart and then fried til slightly crispy. By noon, we'd rolled into Carnitaville and indeed the plaza was swarmed with carnitas vendors. We partook and enjoyed immensely, wandering the artesanal leather shops along the streets.

If you ever wondered whatever happened to "Klackers"or "Knockers", they are alive and well in Mexico

Jésus Malverde, patron saint of the narcos

The heat finally drove us to the bikes and the road south for Patzcuaro. We stopped off to see the archeological ruins in Tzintzuntzan, walking the massive stone structures and trying to cool off in the sparse shade.

From Tzintzuntzan (I feel sexy saying it quickly) we headed on. Kim had found a host in Patzcuaro, and we made the last hour into the town as the sky turned orange from the sunset. The heat had taken it's toll that day, and my GPS was again out of it's mind, sending us on a nightmare route through the town that lead absolutely nowhere but into dead end streets and one way alleys. We were both hot and cranky and I was tempted to take it out on the Garmin with the heel of my boot but didn't... The Garmin maps of Mexico are terrible, and if I didn't have Google maps, Sygic and Navigon apps on my phone we'd still be lost somewhere in Mexico. Garmin can get us from one place to another on main roads, but beyond that I stop and use an app, then find the coordinates and program them into the Garmin. When Google builds a GPS I'll be the first buyer.

Anyway, the square was absolutely slammed with vendors and white tents around the perimeter, a bit off-putting but we got off the bikes and sat in the shade with a cappuccino for a bit, scarfing down a piece of chocolate cake and some homemade fruit cookies. Folks in native costume arrived for a dance performance on a small stage in the plaza. We watched and enjoyed as the day slipped into night.

People stared intently at us, but always broke into big smiles if we smiled, and the place had a good feel to it.

It was late when our host, Bruno, texted us a location pin and we headed up into a dark and isolated neighborhood of huge homes. It seemed odd, but the electric gates to an isolated home opened and welcomed us in. Bruno was a guy in his 30's, a world traveler and professional sand volleyball player who lived in Italy much of the year. With my suspicious mind, it seemed odd that a young guy could have such a huge home in a new neighborhood, a new 4x4 and travel so much. Your mind plays tricks and he finally told us his father and he owned a construction company and this was the model home. We stayed up late talking history and the culture of Mexico, Bruno filled with pride of his heritage.

He left early but showed us how to get out of the estate through the steel gates, and we rolled out to spend the day in Patzcuaro. There are three large islands in the lake nearby, Isla Janitzio being the main one and we decided to take a boat ride over for the morning. Ravenous for breakfast we found some street tacos near the docks that were absolutely the best food we've had yet in Mexico. We waited a while for a tour bus load to get their tickets and on board the little ferries to the island before proceeding.

The old boat pilot was training the young boy - maybe his grandson - to eventually take over the business

A strange sound from the prop

Fisherman still ply the lake in canoes with nets, but now they mainly catch tips from tourists

Kids waiting on the dock for the tour boats to arrive. The little bastards.

The boat ride over was a bit stifling since the heat was already up for the day, but the island had a charm to it. Though touristy, it was pretty, with very steep twisted streets and the peak was adorned with a huge monument.

We took an ice cream break and an older gentleman, a professor from Mexico City, struck up conversation, inevitably turning to Trump. We talked for a long time before leaving for the climb to the top of the island.

The steps lead up through a maze of vendors, cocinas, and stores, Kim sampling her first batch of whole-fried minnows straight from the lake. Tasty indeed! I barely got any, once she tried the first one.

Mucho Pozolé

On the way up, a shriveled old lady sitting in a doorway selling breads called to us, her weak voice just above a whisper. Kim looked at me with a sad face and I leaned in to hear her. She grabbed my hand and held tightly, saying much that I didn't understand. I knew she was selling breads, but she was saying "Dios!" and other things and not letting go. She had a strong grip and as I pulled gently to remove my hand from hers, the grip tightened to one of iron. I was in an awkward position, half twisted and leaning, and she pulled me in further. About to fall on her, all I wanted to do was buy some bread and escape, but she kept on talking, crushing my hand and pulling. After what seemed like 15 minutes I was able to convince her to let go for "dinero" and bought a loaf from her to escape.

I got robbed by a little old lady selling bread! And I didn't even see it comin!

I was a bit ticked at the hard sell and said "foto" when I gave her the money, getting a shot or two. Man, did she have a strong grip and a great schtick for robbing tourists! I'd wanted to just pull my hand free, but figured she'd have fallen over and the locals would have seen a big gringo having tossed a sweet old lady to the sidewalk. The next scene would have been Kim and I being carried, bound, to the ruins at Tzintzuntzan to be sacrificed on the high altar. All in all I think it was a better deal to just accept the larceny.

At the top of the island, we watched people and looked over the haze filled valley, spotting a road down the backside. As we walked down, Kim spotted some overhead cables that stretched way down and across to the next island, quite far away.

As we wound a bit further down, lo and behold, one of the lines was a zip-line from Isla Janitzio to the next island over, Tecueno. We watched as two guys did the run, the distance being so far the lines were invisible. Later I measured the distance on the map and it was just over a kilometer!

Hardest working construction workers! It's been interesting watching building in Mexico. All by hand and strong backs carrying everything up steep slopes and rickety handmade ladders.

Kim was caught by a large fresh fish near the docks

The boat trip back was a slow and sleepy ride, occasionally catching a gust of cool breeze or the tiniest bit of spray through a window, the heat, humidity and haze slowly swallowing Isla Janitzio into it's gray grasp as we made Patzcuaro for the night.

Uncomfortable In Uruapan

The "nice new day" arrived much too early, to the deafening sound of explosions, the monster fireworks announcing something to do with Semana Santa.

We stumbled to the breakfast area to find it swamped with officers and weapons. We sat quietly amidst about 50 brown-skinned and black-clad men, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Breakfast was good and the men were courteous but somewhat enamored with the blonde woman at my table, methinks. The previous night, we were definitely the topic of conversation, as it doesn't seem many gringos come this far down, at least based on the stares and stops of onlookers and street-goers. One can't help but feel conspicuous and wondering about the “Trump” issue is always at the forefront of your mind.

The heat of the city made us fodder for the hotel room, chilling some, repacking gear, washing out clothing and trying to catch up on things. The day slipped away until we felt it was time to head out in lessening heat for a walk and some pics.

The city was busy, and the people were swarming about. Neither of us felt particularly comfortable, as the stares weren't followed by smiles like we've seen in other areas. There seemed to be a tension and harshness in the air that probably echoed the tension of the region for so many years. I don't make sweeping statements based on one trip to a place, but Kim felt the same as I - a certain “unease” to the town and to our spirits. As travelers floating through so many regions, you begin to sense things, unable to pinpoint any specific reason, and in this case it was strong.

We explored the streets looking for interesting things and people, doing some street shooting but feeling as conspicuous as the gringos that we were. Cars would pass and people would stick their heads out the windows or circle the block to look at us. At one corner, I stood for a few minutes waiting to capture a shot, when a young woman walked up across the street. She stopped, obviously not wanting to be in the photo. We tried to indicate to her to go ahead and that I wouldn't shoot, but she stared with disgust, then shot us the big finger and began shouting at us.

Across the street, an older woman and younger girl had been sitting for a while, unconcerned with us, but when the girl began yelling they stood and joined in. I assume they were family members, but the mother began shouting at us and waving her hands. It was a tense situation. Being in an “iffy” neighborhood with angry locals, I calmed TIB down a bit and told her we needed to bail out asap. An older man near me on the street tried to tell me what was going on, but spoke Spanish too quickly for me to comprehend. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was telling me what she was saying and for us to go away quickly. I wasn't entirely sure whether he was trying to help us, or was joining in with the others.

We walked away and after a few blocks, entered the mercado to find some food, people watching us intently and unfriendly. We didn't feel comfortable, eating some enchiladas quickly and heading back for the hotel.

Exiting the elevator and turning the corner for the hallway to our room, two guarding Federalés stepped aside to let us pass, which seemed a bit odd. Then we saw down the opposite hallway and understood. The hallway was filled with officers... and some “affectionate” women who were NOT dressed like nuns. Kim and I did our Sergeant Schultz "I zee nothing!" routines and hit our room. Man what a day.

Uruapan is a busy, bustling city, a little dirty but still an interesting place. Within the city limits lies a National Park, and the surrounding region is filled with great roads and places to see. One of those, and one of the main reasons we’d ridden down, is the remains of a church buried by lava from the eruption of the Paricutín volcano in the 1950's. The entire town surrounding the church was buried in lava, only the tall church towers visible above the black crust.

We got a reasonably early start for the place, and after riding into the surrounding mountains, we reached a dirt turnoff that my GPS insisted was the proper turn to get to the town. I’d had an old GPS track of the route, but it didn't seem to be working. We took the dirt road up into the mountains, passing through farm after farm of avocado trees. The road was decent, with the occasional rain ruts and such, climbing higher and higher in the pine forests. After a while a local rider on a little bike passed us, a surprised look on his face.

As we continued on, the road began to branch off and get narrower and rougher. Several times I had to run ahead up through rough sections to see if the road was doable. Kim did great in the long uphills as we got deeper into the forest. From the GPS I could tell we weren't getting anywhere near the church and my alarm bells were going off. Riding deep into mountain terrain on little used tracks in the state of Michoacan can lead to places you don't want to go. The region is a haven for narcos and there are outbreaks of violence and war with the Federales frequently, the region seeing beheadings and villagers hung from bridges. I felt uneasy about our winding deep into the mountains on an ever disappearing track and finally called it. We backtracked back out to the main road, losing a couple of hours in the process of our little detour.

Back on the main road, we followed it for miles until it turned to gravel and we saw some hand-painted signs for "San Juan Parangaricutiro", the remnants of the buried village. Eventually we reached the valley floor, with long stretches of black volcanic sand and the requisite wallowing on the loaded bikes. Kim went down a couple of times on the 1200, and if my legs hadn't been so long for dabbing, I'd have bitten sand a couple or three times myself. GS’s are notoriously bad in sand or mud. Eventually the sand washes led into harder tracks through massive lava fields, piled high around us.

Volcan Paricutin

Black lava fields ahead!

Riding through the lava fields was surreal, as if being on the moon. Here and there along the road bulldozed through the porous rock fields, were shrines and memorials. The little road winding between high mounds of black lava was a very interesting experience.

To one side lay the silhouette of the volcano, and to the other the lone bell tower of the church rising from the black lava fields, incongruent and surreal.

At the turn off for the church, the sand was deep and tricky until we reached a parking area where the huts of the local indigenous folks making hand ground blue corn tortillas and food for the tourists stood. Again, Santa Semana had struck with tons of people on vacation. BTW, something I didn't know was that the "blue" corn tortillas got their color from a mold or fungus, thus the blue coloration...

It was hot and we were tired, but clambering around on the high piles of jagged lava engulfing and surrounding the church were engaging. To one end, we found the original altar which had survived. To the other end were the remains of the entry, the wall of lava having burst through the front doors and into the church, filling it.

"Knock Knock", "Who's there?", "Lava", "Lava Who?”, "I just lava how you've decorated the place!"

Kim wormed a way into a couple of rooms and the bell tower, the original spiral steps leading down into pitch darkness.

As you can see, they teach 'em the “Gringo Finger” early...

We spent quite a while at the ruins, a remarkable place and worth the effort despite the heat. If you are ever in the region it's worth the work to get there.

As the day waned, we struggled the bikes out of the sand in the parking area and back onto the sandy road, heading for the village of Anguhuan. The road quickly turned into 4 miles of deep, black volcanic sand and after an hour we'd only made a couple of miles, the soft stuff being a foot deep or more much of the way. After burning clutches and sweat-filled boots, we finally made some red dirt and rocks as the road led up into the hills. The rough and rocky road was far preferable to the sand, and eventually we made blacktop as the sun sank low. It was a race back to Uruapan to try and get some cool air through our hot riding gear.

We were starving when we made the hotel, a taco place across the street satisfying our ravenous stomachs. It had been a long, hard day, but the ruins were worth the trouble.

A Thousand Curves to Valle De Bravo

The next morning we made the breakfast room, this time filled with Mexican tourists as well as the police. The TV was going and a dramatic news show came on, showing an atomic explosion, pictures of Trump, eerie music and a deep, serious voiceover. The entire room turned to watch the dramatic show. Though we couldn't understand it, we never felt so “gringo” and alone. The room was filled with tension, people looking at us with sideways glances. We both wanted to leave as soon as possible. It was an awkward time, and breakfast couldn't be over fast enough.

We loaded the bikes and headed out, stopping within the city at the Cupatitzio National Park for a few hours before leaving Uruapan. The park is a dichotomy, a beautiful, lush jungle with a clear river, natural waterfalls with hand-built stone water features and walkways. It resides within the dirty urban sprawl and it's hard to believe it's there. Definitely see it if you go through.

This guy made some great cash diving from a tree - he had a great routine

By the time we got out of the park, I knew our intended goal of Valle De Bravo by way of the “Mil Cumbres” would be a long push, and we probably wouldn't quite make it. From Uruapan, we backtracked through Patzcuaro and Morelia, turning east for the "thousand curves" through the mountains.

As I've mentioned before, Mexico has some fantastic motorcycle roads, seeming as if they were designed for bikes, with banked curves, twists and beautiful scenery going on for miles and miles and hours and hours. The Mil Cumbres is no exception and we thoroughly enjoyed it. For anyone who’s ridden the Tail of the Dragon in North Carolina and Tennessee, imagine a non-stop two or three hour long version. Riding in Mexico is just fantastic.

The long, high mountain road is slow due to the curves and by late in the afternoon we were still a couple of hours away from Valle De Bravo.

The hunt for a place to stay began. As we motored towards Ciudad Hidalgo, I caught a glimpse of a sign to the right near a dirt road and hollered in the headset. Kim pulled over and I told her I recognized "hospedaje monastico" and figured it was monastery or similar. Up the dirt road led to a white, modern building and compound - a convent.

Inside were a few white and grey clad nuns working in a gift shop. There were a few cars outside but I hoped they might have a room. Despite my best efforts, communication between the nuns and I were going nowhere until a woman overheard us and began translating. There were no rooms this evening, but a nun suggested "Los Azufres", a community with thermal baths in the mountains nearby.

I was disappointed, as I always wanted to stay in a convent just to see what sort of nunsense and shenunigans went on after hours. Nyuk Nyuk

We thanked them and headed out, finding the road a few miles down and following it up into high elevations, pine forests and cool temps. We passed a couple of campgrounds slammed with families, but continued on up the twisting blacktop road, eventually spotting a huge column of billowing white steam coming from a large stack in the trees.

Several small cabin rentals were passed, each being full and as the light began to fade so did our hopes. I spotted a handmade sign in a driveway that said "cabanas" and I pulled over to see. In my poor Spanish I asked for "habitaccione" and was curtly told "No" by the mustachioed owner. I walked back to Kim and the bikes and said there was no room for us in the inn .

We debated a bit about what to do next, which basically entailed heading on in the dark for Ciudad Hidalgo. As we started up and began to let the clutch out, the man came running from his house, catching us just as we started to roll. He said "recamara" a couple of times and so we got off the bikes and were led into his home and shown a spare bedroom. It was a little pricey for what it was but we took it. I complimented him on his home and he beamed, showing me more details than I desired to see.

Back out at the bikes, the owner brought 3 or 4 guys over to watch us, and one spoke pretty good English, telling me he had a motorcycle and then another guy spoke up as well. We were invited to go with them to the thermal hot springs, but we hadn't eaten and told them we needed to. They were happy to wait, so the owner's wife began preparing a meal for us in a small building adjacent. The enchiladas verdes were absolutely fantastic while we shared the table with a Mexican family. Communication with them was limited but we had a good time, grabbing our swim trunks as we finished the meal and jumped in the car with our waiting hosts.

It was dark as we drove away, our posse consisting of Rodrigo 14, Marco 27, and Christopher 27. We had left Uruapan with only a few pesos and had forgotten to get more in Morelia. It had taken almost all to pay for the room and dinner and we didn't have much left. The boys stopped at the only store to buy beer, and we declined due to the economic collapse of my wallet, but they returned with two big bottles of water for us anyway.

The rattling old car made it to the hot springs, and we all bailed out and wandered past several pools as Marco led us to the sauna near the source. It was dark outside and the place looked a bit "rustic" and rugged, but hey, it's Mexico. Kim and I passed on the sauna and got into a hot pool, the boys being a bit tentative. I said "chicas bonita" and pointed back the way we’d come. The three burst out laughing and said "yes!", heading off in the darkness to other pools and teen things.

Kim and I had the pool to ourselves for a while, until a family of 6 or 7 arrived in the darkness and hopped in. A young girl of probably 4 floated around the pool eyeing us, until she heard me say something to Kim. Her eyes and face burst alive with the shock of hearing two foreigners speaking English and could barely contain herself. In fact she couldn't, giggling and turning to her parents and trying to whisper in a squealing shout "Inglese! Inglese!" Her parents were embarrassed but we smiled and laughed and they relaxed. I'm sure it was shock to see to Americans in the hot springs, as it was a place only known to locals as we learned later.

One of the young boys with them spoke up loudly, saying "My English is very good" and we responded "Yes it is". That broke the ice and the kids began slowly gravitating to us, the shyest teen girl taking an hour or so, but eventually circling closer and closer to Kim.

We all attempted communication and had a lot of fun, the kids knowing a few English words and the parents slowly evolving from cautious, to friendly. The posse of Rodrigo, Marco, and Christofer returned, joining the conversations and talking until way too late in the evening.

The family we'd spent time with in the pool invited us to their home if we returned to Morelia, we said our goodbyes and clambered back into the vehicle with the boys. Rodrigo, the 14 year old, was disappointed as he'd been told he couldn’t drive by Marco, now tipsy from beer, and squeezed into the back with us for the ride down the mountain to the room. I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of riding with a slightly drunk driver on the mountain roads in the dark but we survived.

The next day the plan was to make Valle De Bravo for a couple of days before heading on south for Oaxaca. Breakfast was in the plan, but we only had enough for coffee until hitting the next town and an ATM. We sat at the table with a guy and his wife from Guanajuato, who spoke English well and wanted to talk motorcycles. He and his family were on vacation for the week and staying at the same place as us. We were invited to visit his home in Guanajuato and he ended up buying our coffee, which was a nice surprise!

Outside as we packed to leave, the owner came over excitedly and wanted to take family photos with the bikes. He and his wife, his mother and daughter all sat on the bikes for pics. His daughter, in her 30's, indicated she rode motorcycles and her husband had a KTM and V-Strom. We'd seen her in the kitchen the previous day when we were trying to find a room, and now it made sense why the father suddenly opened his home. It seems the daughter saw us through the window and convinced her dad to let us stay.

Papa and his house

Pictures were fun and we waved as we left for the valley floor and Ciudad Hidalgo, then Valle De Bravo. The road through Hidalgo was boring, but soon turned into a great motorcycle road again, climbing higher and following the mountainsides like lines on a topographic map, twisting right and left, the rhythm broken only by mad dashes past slow trucks on blind curves, hugging the yellow as close as possible in case of an oncoming car. Many of the roads in Mexico are so twisty you may never have an area to pass that's "open".

From the mountain roads we caught glimpses of a beautiful lake ahead amidst the trees, eventually riding down and into the small town. Valle De Bravo is known as the "Little Switzerland" of Mexico, sitting on a beautiful lake and surrounded by mountainous terrain. It's also the weekend home of many wealthy people from Mexico City, an old town surrounded by beautiful homes and nice cars.

It was hot when we made the town and we were hungry as horses. The plan was to grab lunch by the water, but we were quickly swallowed in a horrendous traffic jam in the center of town, made worse by the vacation week and the severe roughness of the stone streets. I hesitate to call them streets as they are built from rough rocks rather than smooth flagstones or cobblestones. There were so many cabs in the traffic we had no way to lane split or get anywhere. Kim was having a time on the steep streets since we had to continually stop and inch forward. We finally gave up and tried to exit on a side street but it was no better. For such a tiny town, we were stuck over an hour trying to escape to the edge. We finally found a roasted chicken place on the outskirts of town for a meal on the sidewalk and some shade. The chicken wasn't ready but the best turkey legs either of us have ever had filled the bill.

We had a host for the evening, and I Googled several routes to try to get across town without having to attempt the traffic again, but had no luck as everything routes back to the center - a common issue in Mexican towns. We bit the bullet and sweated our way back through, finally reaching the host's apartment an hour later.

After unloading the bikes and getting into the room, we were given a pitcher of fresh, "filtered" water which we downed immediately and went back for more. We were done for the day and sat on the balcony overlooking a busy street, serenaded by fireworks and parades.

Our host, Joserra, made health food tacos that evening with his girlfriend, sharing some with us. Late that evening we wandered the streets down to the lake and sat in the plaza as always.

The next morning, we decided to stay another day, but our host's place was booked. His girlfriend, Clementina, offered to let us stay in her guest home so we accepted, heading a little ways out of town into a neighborhood loaded with nice homes and motorcycle shops - KTM, Polaris, Yamaha, Suzuki and Honda.

The place was beautiful and as we sat talking with Clementina, a young girl with degrees in primatology and biology, Kim began to feel bad. In short order she was full on sick with nausea and stomach issues. Worsening, I loaded her up with the last of the Pepto Bismol and headed out for a pharmacy looking for "Treda", a stomach flu medicine suggested by Clementina as one to knock it out quickly. Kim was very sick the rest of the day and evening.

I made another trip out in the dark on the bike to get more meds, returning through an area I shouldn't have, seeing a guy being drug out of a building by five guys who were about to beat the hell out him. When illuminated by my headlight, they all froze and looked at me as I went past, acting as if I'd seen nothing and looking straight ahead. I was glad to get back to the room.

The next morning she was still not doing well, when I began to feel the same. Yep. We had finally gotten a stomach problem and both figured it was from the "filtered" water we'd drank. Who knows, but it was the first time we'd drunk anything other than purified water from the ubiquitous 5 gallon Bonafont or Cielo jugs most Mexican residents have in their homes, or our own filtered water from the backpacking filters we carry.

It could have been from anything, the turkey legs, the handmade tacos from our host, or the “filtered” water. We’d been lucky to make it 3 months in Mexico eating street foods without something happening. I'll spare you the details, but the “Technicolor Yodel”, the “Yawn for the Hearing Impaired”, “Clams on the Lam”, the “Honey-Baked Howl” and several “Round Trip Meal Tickets” occurred over the next two days.

All our food fighting was made worse by the fact that our host Clementina had to leave town and we had to try to locate a hotel or some other place to stay in the midst of the vomiting and diarrhea. Amazingly, she had pity and changed her plans and stayed so we didn't have to move.

During the lost days, my friend Hank texted me from Guatemala and wanted us to meet him on the way back. He'd guided four couples south on a two week trip to see the Santa Semana Festival in Antigua, Guatemala and they were now going back to Texas. We'd hoped to meet them in Oaxaca, but Hank had hit a pothole outside Palenque on the way down, blowing his rear tire and snapping the shaft of his Touratech rear shock, locking up the rear wheel on the highway. It was a miracle he didn't go down and get hit, but a long story short, they had to back through Palenque to fix his bike with parts he'd luckily found in Guatemala City.

The best place to meet them would be in Puebla, but I wasn't sure if I could make the ride. Kim was better and I decided to make the push despite feeling like crap. Google showed Puebla to be 6.5 hours of ride time if we went through Mexico City. Not.

Clementina's father was a motorcyclist and had texted us a different route to take, which I modified a bit but still figured it would be at least 8 hours. We thanked Clementina, who gave us a small wooden cross from the home at the request of her mother, as well as couple of stickers from her college. We rode out for Puebla, our progress slowed by every conceivable thing it seemed. The day felt like it was stuck in mud and by mid-afternoon we were worn out and only halfway to Puebla at best.

In a small town, we pulled over to look at the map for a few minutes and were tapped on the shoulder by a big American guy. He pointed to two Latino ladies and said "They'd like to buy you guys an ice cream!" Though under pressure to make time since we had so far to go, we were both beat and hot and happy to cool off in some shade. It was surprising to bump into an American in such a small town. It turns out he was there with his Mexican wife and her sister. He was from New Jersey, where he'd met her working in Trump's Taj Mahal casino.

In a moment rarer than seeing a bucktooth chicken, Kim and I listened as a Mexican woman told us how much she loved Donald Trump. She'd been a cashier at the casino for many years and Trump spoke to her frequently, asking how she was and telling her if she ever needed anything, or had any suggestions on how to improve anything to come to his office and not even knock. She told us more stories of how good he was and how many people he helped, paying for their kid's educations and so on. She was very angry that he was being portrayed the way he was and told us not to believe all the lies about him. As I said, it seemed a bit surreal to be sitting in Mexico hearing a Mexican woman from a small town defending Donald Trump.

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We had a nice break with the three, the sister not speaking English, but wanting to say prayers for our safety, which we gladly accepted. The man said he was looking for property to build on in Mexico, because it was so cheap to live there and we were invited to stay with them, but we had to make time.

From that rendezvous, we headed east through the mountains for Puebla, a long hard push and arrived late in the evening as the sun was sinking low.

The massive volcano Popocatépetl, almost 18,000 feet high, was an amazing sight to see as we passed. It was snow-capped and partially shrouded with a rain storm, golden orange rays of sunshine stabbing through in shafts as we rode though patches of rain for the city.

It was indeed a long day, nearly 1 hours, and as we entered Puebla, Kim spotted a Krispy Kreme donut shop. We couldn't get there fast enough to get off the bikes and reward ourselves. Despite my stomach still rumbling, I fought bravely and downed a donut. Or was it two? Kim approved our momentary weakness and it felt good to have bit of "Merican" junk food after so many tacos.

I texted Hank, who'd just arrived with his gang at a swanky downtown hotel and made plans to say hello the next morning.

The Great Pyramids At Teotihuacan

Our previous 12 hour day left us a bit draggy in the morning, but we were up early and on the way to the historic center of Puebla to meet Hank's crew at their hotel. I still felt weak and wobbly from the stomach bug but pressed on.

The downtown was deserted in the early hours, and a beautiful city it was. Our previous night's stay and entry into the town had been in a modern area replete with beautiful skyscrapers and businesses. Overall, the impression of the city was good with a sense that it was going somewhere new rather than living in its past.

We circled the old plaza and a few blocks away found the hotel. There was no parking and since we assumed they would be ready to leave, we parked on the sidewalk and went in. The crew had seen us through the restaurant window and were having breakfast. We met Frank and his wife, a couple from Germany on a 1200 Adventure and their son who was riding one of Hank's rental bikes, an 1150 Adventure. Another couple, Scott and Amy were on an F800GS and hailed from San Antonio. One additional rider, Larry from San Antonio, was there solo, his wife having started the trip on the bike but who'd flown home from Guatemala after an incident they'd experienced in Chiapas.

As they finished breakfast, two police officers walked to our bikes on the sidewalk, intent on punishing us. We bolted outside and acted stupid, easy for me I might add, and they let us off from a ticket but stayed until we moved the bikes into a parking garage a bit further up the street.

Eventually we got on the road north for Teotihuacan, the closest town to the huge pyramid complex begun by the Toltecs almost 2000 years ago, and later occupied by the Aztecs. It houses two of the largest pyramids in the world, the pyramid of the Sun being listed as the third largest in the world, and its smaller sibling, the Pyramid of the Moon.

We'd been warned earnestly by locals the day before to be very careful in the Puebla traffic and it was obvious why on our first evening. Probably the most aggressive *sshole drivers we've encountered, including NYC. Nowhere else in Mexico, or anywhere for that matter, have I had drivers literally try to push a motorcyclist off the road or out of the lane. It was very dangerous and I'm not sure where the aggression comes from, but be prepared if you go.

Luckily, our group had no serious encounters as we wound our way out of the huge city and onto the tollway north. The tollway was a bit different than others, in the fact that you took an entry ticket and then paid the fees as you exit. Hank had warned me about ahead of time to be sure and keep the ticket and I was glad. In normal travels, you get a receipt at each toll booth and end up with a pocket full of tollway receipts at the end of the day. They’re just trashed and you don’t even try to keep up with them. It would be easy to mistake the entry receipt and lose it, then have to pay the maximum toll upon exit - the tolls on this “northern arc” are not cheap either.

Speaking of the Arco Norte tollway, it was a beautiful and chilly ride in the early morning sunshine, the elevation higher than expected and the rolling, mountainous terrain a refreshing change from the typical tollway routes. After a couple of hours we exited for Teotihuacan, paid the toll to the smiling and incredulous attendant and shotgun toting guard who were fascinated by the woman on the big motorcycle.

Another exit down, my GPS squawking as the correct exit, Hank swung off as well. It led us down a rough cobblestone road into the village of Teotihuacan itself, and not the pyramids as Garmin thought. A few questions answered by locals, and we were again on our way, reversing back out and racing back onto the highway at high speed.

Just as we all hit 80 or so, suddenly Hank exited without warning and the entire line of bikes began hitting brakes hard at the unexpected event. Kim and I being in the rear, had to lock up hard but couldn't get stopped in time, swerving past the stopping group and onto up the shoulder. Kim was shaken and we were both pissed at our near collision due to the sudden exit with no warning. Our only way back to the waiting group behind us, was down an embankment and back up through some rough stuff. Semi trucks were blasting past us and it was too dangerous to consider trying to push the bikes backward up the roadway. The deep embankment was too iffy for Kim I felt, and ended up riding both bikes down through the muck and back around to the crew. It’s a good thing Hank was in protective gear or Kim might have punched him. I felt the same way frankly, both of us coming so close to hitting all the others for no real reason. After a deep breath and change of shorts we were on the road again and soon saw the pyramids rising to our left.

The entrance was proof that either zombies do exist, or some people live forever, as surely one of the original Three Stooges was running the place. The guy was more confused, discombobulated and utterly inefficient than anyone I’ve ever seen, and I thought we'd never get through the entry gate. Seriously.

Finally parked and off the bikes, I checked out Larry's 1150GS and his cracked and duct-taped windshield with golf ball sized hole. In our cryptic texting a week or so before, Hank had shared that their trip had been "interesting". They'd been racing south for Palenque on the tollway when Hank said he'd checked his rearview mirror to see where the other bikes were, at the same moment an 8" wide by 3' long deep pothole appeared in the concrete, running the direction of the bike. His front wheel didn't drop in, but his rear did, the impact locking up the rear end of his bike and him coming to a smoking, screeching halt in the middle of the tollway. Luckily a pickup truck behind him was able to stop and block the high speed cars behind.

In a nutshell, the rear wheel had dropped perfectly into the pothole, the force of the exit from the rut so strong at 80 mph that it snapped the shaft on his Touratech rear shock and broke the top shock mount weld off the GS’s frame. Subsequently, the shock jammed the rear wheel, locking it up and shredding the rear tire. It was miraculous Hank didn't go down or get hit from behind. Hank had to get a truck to carry his bike to Palenque, find a place to store it and continue on as a passenger on his rented 1150 to get the tour group to Guatemala in time.

Larry's damaged windshield was the result of a roadblock incident a day or two later in the Chiapas region. The group had gotten spread out a bit on the narrow back roads, when around a sharp corner, a board-with-nails road block had been set by black-masked EZLN members from a local village.

Hank and the first couple with him made a fast maneuver onto the roadside and got past them, the second couple arriving a few moments were stopped, playing dumb and then tossing a $20 peso bill at them, racing through a gap between the nail boards. Larry and his wife had been further behind and got stopped when they arrived.The EZLN guys were now angry and began shoving the motorcycle around. Scared, he saw the gap between the two spiked boards and when an arriving car distracted the rebel group momentarily, he hit the throttle hard for the gap. He didn't realize the bike was in second gear, the bike stumbled and died in the process and while he hit the starter, one of the group fired a rock at him from a "rifle-like slingshot", hitting the windshield, punching a hole through it and breaking it in half. The rock hit him in the chest hard and in the fiasco, he lost control of the bike and went into a ditch, dropping the bike hard and bending his brake lever badly. He didn’t finish his story of how the incident ended, but to his wife, on her first trip out of the US on a motorcycle, the trip was over. Upon arrival in Antigua, she booked a flight home and he delivered her to the airport in Guatemala city the next day for her flight home.

With Larry’s story fresh in mind, we walked out into the main area of the pyramids, taking in the huge space, its scale hard to grasp. Across the way, the Pyramid of the Sun sat staring and calling our name. It looked like the way up was long and steep. And it was. The view from the top was great and we hung out there a while, before following Hank, Scott and Amy to the bottom and over to the Pyramid of the Moon.

In some areas, the original plaster and painting has been preserved intact. The great black and brown stone monuments are impressive as they stand, but a glimpse into the past when they were gleaming white pyramids, edged with bright colors and priests in colorful garb would be amazing to see.

The ever present vendors were there, selling obsidian daggers, jewelry and the growling sounds of jaguar whistles, intriguing to Kim for the potential havoc they might cause when camping with others. We were both up for scaring the hell out of folks with the growl and laughed impishly, but sadly the clay creations were too big to carry in the cases. Damb!

The midday sun and heat were reminders that Hank and his crew needed to get on the road for San Miguel, their destination for the night. We took a couple of pics and said goodbye, heading back for Puebla on back roads to avoid the tolls and semi trucks.

After a couple of hours and crossing a few hundred topés, we’d had enough and decided to get back on the tollway since the day was fading and we were getting hungry. Kim had mentioned the Krispy Kreme donuts we'd had the night before and our donut demons took complete possession, twisting our wrists for Puebla.

There was a lot of truck traffic and a lot of high speed lane splitting at times. The main toll plazas nearing Puebla were choked with traffic and vendors, but often we were able to snake through the half-mile long lines in a matter of minutes.

The late-day doldrums were shattered by the sight of a dog running into traffic just as we slowed for topes, the dog being hit and rolled under a truck, to the screams in my headset from Kim behind me witnessing the event. Incredibly the dog wasn't killed and ran like fire across the rest of the traffic to the other side. The momentary emotional upheaval of seeing the event and Kim’s simultaneous piercing scream had bolted me out of my mental slump, just slightly short of a heart attack.

As has been typical of our travels we arrived in Puebla starving, locating the Krispy Kreme, but adjacent was a Carl's Jr. Hamburger joint. Apparently the “Carl's Jr. Hamburger demon” is stronger than his “Krispy Kreme” kin. The burger wasn't good, but it was good enough.

It was cool to see Hank and meet the other guys, even if just for a couple of hours. Life on the road is a bit like sailing the seas in a small boat, and it lifts your spirits to see compadrés.

Kim, Gabi & Frank from Germany and their son, Hank, “Slingshot” Larry, Amy and Scott

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The Heart of Michoacan

Patzcuaro was a great place and one we enjoyed much. The previous evening we'd met our host in the square late, and followed her to her home. Elizabeth's family - mamá, sister and brother had been waiting for us in the kitchen when we arrived and we stayed up late talking with them - each struggling with our respective learned languages. Papá had retired to his room before we'd gotten there, his transistor radio echoing the sound of fútbol in the courtyard evening air. Our room had been in a wooden, mountain-style cabin built over part of the courtyard and to remind her parents of the mountains.

We'd gotten up early that morning, to find breakfast prepared and the family waiting. Father was there, a bit reserved and cautious, but after a while more relaxed to find the gringo's weren't a threat I guess. He warned us of travel in Mexico in certain areas, as always, being told never to travel after dark. We take all warnings we get seriously, and he was glad to hear that we never rode after dark. He also told us not to travel to Paracho, as there had just been violence between locals and the police there. It was on a loop I had planned, and after talking about it for a while he said that though the town had been blockaded, the locals would probably allow us through. Despite the warnings, we had fun trying to communicate with the family and then said our goodbyes, complete with family pics in the front.

The state of Michoacan is known for its forests and mountains, quite beautiful, as well as its abundant and verdant avocado fields. The same terrain has also been home to drug lords and narco activity for years, and the struggle continues, though not as savage as a few years back. Morelia and Patzcuaro were very pretty places and we enjoyed them very much, but there was a background tone of subtle tension not felt in other areas. Our goal was Uruapan, a big city deeper into the state, and one I'd visited briefly in 2012 on my first trip into Mexico. Though the city didn't impress me, the region did and offered some great riding opportunities. With the breakfast imagery still fresh in our heads, we decided to loop around Lago Patzcuaro before swinging further west for Uruapan.

The day was hot, and we made our way around the lake over countless topés and through wafts of burning brush and trash piles, the day turned to noon. We reached the turn for Quiroga, only a few miles away, only to find the road blocked with many Federalés and trucks, the roadside lined with riot gear and men waiting in the heat. I motioned to the officers at the roadblock for Quiroga and with a finger wag was told to reverse direction.

We couldn't help but wonder if the Paracho incident had spread to Quiroga, and disappointed we couldn't have another lunch of carnitas, reversed back for Patzcuaro. As we passed through little town after little town, at the entrance were a couple of kids dressed with a devil's head mask and little bags, slowing the traffic and approaching the vehicles. It was a bit weird and added a strange accent to the day...

Hunger pangs drove us into a town near the lake, only to find it's streets vacant and deserted. It was disconcerting after seeing the riot police a few miles back and we openly wondered what was up. That and the devil-masked kids combined for an odd feeling. I headed for the church tower and we rolled up to a silent and completely deserted public square. We were seriously creeped out, as never once had we entered a town, or especially a square, devoid of people.

As I turned the corner, I saw a man lying face down in the street ahead and held my breath as Kim rounded the corner as well. After a moment, I saw him moving and realized he was a city worker doing something in a manhole. We burst out laughing at ourselves and the timing of his "dead man in the street" routine.

Eventually we found a small abarrotes and grabbed a coke and snacks. The owner knew a couple of words of English and happily served us, pointing to an overlook on a hill nearby. We made our way out of the ghost town and up the mountain road to the top, where we sought some relief from the heat for an hour.

After a few more towns and kids in masks with pouches, our steel trap minds realized that since this was a holy week, the kids probably were representing Judas and his bag of silver...

Eventually we made Patzcuaro again, and stopped along the roadside to look at some incredible woodworking shops. Amazing stuff made there.

The afternoon was waning away and we still had a ways to go, taking the libré road for Santa Clara Del Cobre, famous for it's copper craftsmen, and then the town of Zirahuen on a beautiful lake.

Pollo break

In 2012 I'd attended a BMW Rally event that had come through there and wanted to swing by again. The road from SCDC to Zirahuen was an interesting mix of stone and concrete, and after some searching we eventually found the dirt turn off for the lake.

Entering a rundown resort area, the attendant came over and I pointed to the Rally sticker on my bike. He smiled and waved his arms as if "the place is yours". We peeled out of our sweat soaked gear and laid on the cool grass in the shade, the sound of lapping waves and breeze lulling us to sleep. It took everything in me to get up and on the bike, as we both wanted to just sleep in the shade of that place.

We noted it for the future and clambered aboard the bikes in earnest for Uruapan, as the sun was beginning to sink low. Racing along through the forests and mountain areas in the setting sun, we saw grove after grove of avocado trees on the hillsides. Licking our lips in anticipation of getting some of the green gold, but they didn't seem to be in season. Our host in Patzcuaro had told us the aguacate (avocado) trees bloom and fruit twice a year, but I wasn't sure if it was randomly or certain seasons.

It was sunset as we made downtown Uruapan, only to find the main plaza entirely covered, and I mean entirely, with white tents housing vendors for Semana Santa. It was disappointing and a madhouse, made worse by the fatigue and heat of the long day. Luckily the hotel I'd stayed in before was nearby and we headed for it in hopes of a room.

In front of the hotel were about 25 Federalé trucks, with about an equal number of officers in the black masks standing around with their body armor and M-16's in hand. Turns out the hotel was the base of operations, and probably a hundred or more officers were staying there. As we stood in the lobby, a constant stream of SWAT clad men flowed in and out around us. I told Kim either we were in the safest place we could be, or the most dangerous!

Luckily they had a room and after dragging gear inside, barely able to fit in the elevator with men and rifles, we dumped gear in our room and then rode the bikes down the block to the parking garage. The second floor of the parking garage was entirely filled with the ubiquitous pickups with machine gun mounts and rear racks for the troops. We were directed down into the lower floor, ducking the low entry and riding around to the parking place assigned, a lone Federalé racking a pistol and dry-firing it for the benefit of some young guys in front of as we rolled up to him. Welcome to Uruapan!

Our room was good enough and we hoped the next morning would bring a nice, new day.

Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido

Oaxaca was roughly four hours south of Puebla, and where we had originally planned to have met up with Hank and his tour group.

We’d stayed with a couch-surfing couple and their dogs (too much with the dogs) and got an early start to minimize traffic in Puebla and soon were on the tollway south in 60 degree temps.

Could've slapped an 80 mph high five

The concrete ribbon led into high mountains, with Colorado-like views of massive peaks and valleys. The highway was a great ride, but all things come to an end and as we approached Oaxaca, the heat intensified as we dropped down into the valley.

Oaxaca city was larger than I was expecting, but nice and we found the main plaza easily, circling a few times before snagging a spot directly on the square. After 5 hours on the road it felt good to find some shade and sit a bit. We watched a shoe shine guy a few feet away who seemed a bit perturbed at our presence, and we soon understood why. A couple came up, apparently friends and they all seemed interested in our spot on the bench. Best we could figure was that this was "their" bench at lunchtime. Stares and consternation continued, as well as words we couldn't pick up. Bench space was rare and having earned our spot, we weren’t budging. They finally left.

We were discussing the dubious welcoming to Oaxaca when a couple of women with children stopped a few feet away and began staring at us. Fully expecting to be reprimanded as gringos, we were shocked when they broke into big smiles and indicated they would like to take pictures with us. The ladies sent the little girls over to stand by us, when Kim began saying "Moto!" and pointing back across the square. I'm sure they had no idea what she meant as they followed, until they saw the bikes and got excited. They took a bunch of cell phone pictures and gave us hugs when they left. What a nice surprise indeed!

Our Oaxaca welcoming committee

We hung around the square and wandered into the church to escape the heat, Kim finally locating a place for the night on AirBNB.

Not sure why, but this church was very different in design from all the others we'd seen, having no general open area in the center, and a few small chapels off the sides.

As the day faded we found the home of our host, whose wife clambered aboard the back of my bike and pointed out turns through the neighborhood until we reached their rental property. Thank God she did, as it lay at the end of a narrow private alley we'd never have found.

She indicated leaving the bikes in the alley for safety and that it was no problem, then left. Shortly after she disappeared, two neighbors appeared, a bit ruffled and pointing to the bikes, speaking aggressively. One, a native Indian women, was a bit fierce in her language and eyes, and the other man, who apparently ran a small welding shop whose entrance was on the alley, waved their arms and kept saying "no, no". The language barrier didn't help matters until I said "viaje" and "dos noches". They seemed to calm a bit and then I walked out showing them to ring the doorbell and then I walked back over and pushed my bike a couple of feet, trying to show we'd move the bikes anytime they wanted. They nodded and we smiled big, the mood lightening as they understood we were only temporary and happy to be unobtrusive.

Problem solved, we walked our gear to the second floor and relaxed for a while. As I lay on the couch, I heard the sound of a handsaw and a crash. Poking my head out the window, I saw a man on a ladder leaning against a lone, tall, fir tree, which grew through a hole in a tin roof, adjacent to the alley. It was the only tree for miles around and of course, he'd decided to cut it down the one and only time two expensive motorcycles were parked underneath it.

I watched as he cut branch after branch until the roof, alley and our bikes were covered in the little cedar-like needles. He finally reached the point where his extremely tentative extension ladder would extend no more, still twenty feet or more of tree above him. He clambered down and began pushing branches off the roof, luckily none hitting the bikes while an old lady swept needles in the alley below. A he prepared to move his ladder to the other side of the tree, a gentle rain began and as he climbed higher, it turned into a full on storm with lightning. He finally gave up and abandoned the attempt, much to my delight, as the motorcycles were safe for a while. The rain came down in torrents and sheets until late in the evening.

The next day was spent exploring the area around the square, the fresh markets and endless vendor stalls. Oaxaca felt good, filled with art and culture, and it was easy to understand why it is on the list of places to see when in Mexico.

A massive statue in a dedicated gallery - amazing piece in real life

Kim had a hankering for carnitas, and our hour-long search for some proved fruitless, save for looks of incredulousness when asked if there were any around. Each town seems to differ as to foods and Oaxaca was not a carnita town lol.

Eventually we found a food cart with some fantastic chopped beef that tasted awesome after our hungry search. The monetary tip to their young teen daughter who served us brought a big smile, apparently a tip and acknowledgment rare to receive.

Returning that evening from watching native Indian dances in the plaza in a gentle rain, the bikes sat covered in needles from the previous night. Kim repacked her cases for the next morning's leaving and we retired for the evening.

The morning came soon, bringing sunshine and cool temps with it. I guess an AirBNB "room with a view" can be fairly broad in its interpretation.

As we finished up loading and gearing up for the ride, the Indian woman who’d been perturbed at us a day before came out of her house with a couple of children and her mother to watch as we backed the bikes out of the alley and onto the street. As I walked back over, she smiled very big at both of us, then gave us each a big, long hug. I think we were both in shock for a while, but were happy to know she no longer mistrusted us.

While we prepared to fire up the bikes and leave, her family and a couple other folks stood around to watch us ride off. Kim hit her start button to the deafening sound of silence. She played with switches, ignition and gears to no avail. Only a tiny click sound under the tank when the button was depressed. Great.

The "bon voyage" crowd slowly dissipated at our lousy departure show, as I peeled off gear and tried to figure what was up. We'd replaced an intermittent clutch switch previous to the trip, so I played with it, the kickstand switch, kill switch, etc. No luck. Whacking on the starter did nothing either. Once again I went through the same routine, this time wiggling the starter wiring as well. It fired up to our great relief. All I can figure is that in the torrential rain, water must have gotten into the contacts and had a day to corrode the starter terminals. We departed to the waves of absolutely no one and headed south for Puerto Escondido on the Pacific coast.

On the map, Hwy 131 looked curvy as heck and we knew that meant a lot of fun. Google said it was about 160 miles and 6.5 hours, but we'd been told by Hank that it took him almost 12 hours one time... sheesh.

With that in mind we went full force for the beach town, but the endless little villages, trucks and countless topes definitely were slow going.

Some towns were loaded with these three wheelers, I later discovered were called “tuk-tuks”, and some had none. We decided they would be the perfect car for living in a Mexican town…

After a couple of hours we were tired of the routine and, luckily the road forked up into the mountains. The temperature was a little cooler and the road so curvy you couldn't see the roadway in front. Bus after bus passed us from the other direction, indicating a serious tour destination lay ahead. The mountains were cool, but the terrain was much more dry and desert-like than other ranges we'd ridden through.

Three to four hours of this :D

And unfortunately for Kim, three to four hours of this...

The going was slow and the GPS kept adding time to the route, telling me we should have taken the other fork. Changing preferences from "fastest" to "shortest" made no difference as the Garmin Mexico Map didn't even have this main road in existence.

The heat and twisties finally took its toll and we stopped for some shade in a small village. Fresh squeezed orange juice, the sweetest I've ever had methinks, brought some relief as well as the refreshing smiles of the girl and her mother. I pointed up the road and said "Puerto Escondido?" She answered "Si, tres horas" with a smile and we were on our way. Damn that Garmin!

The tight, twisty curves were a challenge since you never got a chance to relax, especially with the buses cutting across the lane. At one point my heart leapt as I heard Kim shout loudly in my headset, having gone wide in a turn just at the moment a truck came from the other direction, Kim having to run off the road on the opposite side. Thank God she was okay as it could have been very bad. Just a momentary lapse or a sideways glance amidst all the hours of riding tight turns is all it takes. Staying focused for so long and in the heat is not easy.

The heat became more oppressive as we dropped lower in elevation, the terrain becoming more tropical, with palms and other plants appearing in the dry and dusty hills.

We were dehydrated, despite trying to drink water on the road, when we finally spotted the blue ocean ahead. It was a relief after hours on the tiny broken blacktop, constantly watching for surface problems, busses and animals. The heat was stifling.

Puerto Escondido was dry and dusty, a bit worn looking and sleepy, as we made our way for the Pacific, finally finding a street that led towards the water. We pulled up to an overlook cafe before being swarmed by guys wanting to park the gringo's bikes. We circled down to a public beach entrance and then back around to find a spot by the little cafe overlooking the ocean. It was empty and exactly what was needed, little tables in the shade on a high point overlooking the crashing surf, the ocean breeze cool and comforting. We easily spent a couple of hours sitting and staring, ice cold Coronas rehydrating our bodies and relaxing sore muscles. It was heavenly.

Finally time to find a place for the night, the owner overheard our discussions and offered an apartment above the cafe, but it was too expensive. We finally located a cheap hotel and attempted to crash for the night. There was no water pressure in the rooms, but we were assured someone was coming to fix it. We wandered back to the beach at dusk, passing loads of wet tourists boarding busses for the very long ride back to Oaxaca. All I can say is I was damn happy not to be riding for 8 hours in one of those wet, smelly busses.

We walked in the surf of the small bay, watching the fishing boats on the blue-green waters and a few remaining tourists bobbing in the surf. It had been hot and muggy all day, but the cool breeze off the water was refreshing. Well after dark, we made our way back to the hotel room to crash. Indeed the water was back on, but an army of ants had decided to occupy the beds in the room, so I took a Power bar and crumbled it up outside the window in the hopes it would draw them away. I'm not sure if it did, but we both fell asleep and have no idea if the ants crawled over us that night or not.

Hot As Hell To Chiapas

Puerto Escondido was just plain hot, no two ways about it.

We hit the beach early, finding a spot to watch the fishing boats and a few tourists in the water of the bay, followed by some swimming and trying to avoid the chunks of jagged lava rock on the seabed as we were tossed about by the waves.

We'd decided a better place to stay was in order, despite the intimate friendship developed with our little ant friends the night before, packing the bikes for a short ride further down the beach to Zicatela.

It was hot as heck, but our hosts, a Brit girl and her Brazilian boyfriend, introduced us to the rooftop terrace of our house for the evening, its cool beach breeze and thundering booms of the Pacific surf a block away providing the perfect feel and backdrop for a siesta in the hammocks.

It was fun watching the huge explosions of foaming white water from massive waves hitting the shore, visible high above the rooftops across the street. The spectacle drew us out in the late afternoon heat for a walk on the beach and for spells of watching the surfers near the point break.

The afternoon ebbed away into sunset, the waves a mesmerizing and endless wonder, hypnotic in their effect. The sweltering heat of the evening drew us up to the rooftop, and an unusually breeze-free night of tossing and turning in the heat.

The next day brought early morning beach-combing, with a breakfast of crepes from a local vendor walking the sands, and then a ride back to the original beach we'd first experienced, where the waves of the bay were a bit easier to tolerate for swimming.

The little streets were alive with scooters and surfboards, the funniest combo being a girl who carried her long board crossways in the foot bed of her scooter. Couldn't help but wonder what it would look like if she tagged a car bumper on the narrow streets.

That afternoon I managed to locate what was likely the only XXL T-shirt in existence in Mexico, at one of the gringo merch shops in the tourist section of town. Forget spare parts for the bike, I had to bring extra clothes in Yeti size, cuz the likelihood of finding a stitch of clothes in my size in Central or South America would be harder than locating a final drive bearing for a GS.

Our next destination was the state of Chiapas, with cooler temperatures, and the magical town of San Cristobal de Las Casas. Unfortunately it lay 9 hours away, not including gas stops, topes, traffic and a twisty road, which translated into an 11 or 12 hour day in the heat.

We said goodbye to our hosts after juggling the bikes out the tight entry gate and front step of the garden, getting on the road early, but going was slow and too soon the heat was in full bloom. Away from the open beach and sheltered by vegetation, the breeze was non-existent and in full gear it wasn't long before we were feeling it.

We took the coastal road south through Mazunte, home of the Sea Turtle Refuge and a cool area with amazing beaches and stylish little homes. A run through the little uber-Euro-hippie surf town of Zipolite was interesting, a much cheaper and edgier version of Mazunte. By the time we hit Puerto Angel, we needed a rest from the heat.

Puerto Angel

At an overlook with a bit of shade, we took a break, Kim unfortunately knocking her phone off the ledge and down a very steep stone embankment. I was amazed she was able to cat-crawl down and back up, but the phone screen was toast.

Back on the bikes and on the road, the temps were 100º with high humidity. Progress was slow. Kim's heat tolerance is much less than mine, and I knew she was getting drained. We set Salinas Cruz as our goal for the evening, arriving late in the day to try and find a place for the night. Salinas was an industrial town, home of a major refinery for Pemex and very congested. The heat had won the day and after finding a host for the night, we got substantially lost in the maze of streets. Between the GPS, Google and texting the host, we were finally told to ask people where "The Hawaiian" was, as apparently it was well known by everyone in town. Our host was to be waiting for us there.

After working our way out of a dense neighborhood with steep streets and finding a main avenue, Kim asked a guy on the street and sure enough, he pointed and indicated turns with hand motions. We reversed and sure enough, found "The Hawaiian", which turned out to be a strip club. Interesting.

Our host was there and waved us to follow, eventually winding up through alleyways we would NEVER have found. Our host was from Iberia, having married his wife who was from Salinas Cruz.

Despite the heat and their little dog who liked to bite the crap out of us, we enjoyed our limited communication. I asked if he had ever been to the U.S., to which he responded with a resounding "NO", as an influential instructor in his life who was adamantly communist had convinced him it was the garden of evil and greed. About that time, my stomach began serious rumblings, as did Kim's, and the realization we were being inhabited once again by little bacterial bastards was a dread thought.

I began feeling really bad, and the heat wasn't helping. I downed the last of my Pepto Bismol tablets and tried to lay down but couldn't due to the nausea. I tried in another spot and eventually made it to the hammock on the porch, where I finally passed out from sheer exhaustion a couple hours later. Kim fared a bit better, downing the last of our Treda tablets and finally sleeping in the heat, wrapped in water soaked towels.

The next morning was dismal due to our stomachs and we figured it must have been the crepes we'd eaten from the beach vendor. The suffering heat during the night had made the experience that much worse and it was good to get out of Salinas Cruz and moving towards the highlands where we hoped to find cooler temperatures. An hour in, while still in lower elevations, we came upon what we assumed to be a major wreck ahead on the highway. There were stopped semis with trailers, taxis and other vehicles, as well as people milling around.

I kept thinking this must be a really bad wreck, working my way up through the parked vehicles and around debris on the road. At any moment I expected to see a horrendous scene. Kim said she was staying behind until I found out what was happening and whether we could get through. At about that same moment, I saw a large stack of stones in the roadway, which seemed a bit random and odd.

As I approached and began to swing around them, an older, rough looking dude came out from under a semi trailer carrying a big ass machete and began waving at me to stop. In the confusion of the whole situation, it took me a moment to gather that it was a road block, from what I assume were local farmers or workers.

As I rolled to a stop and the fierce looking guy walked over, waving his arms, I saw about 15 indigenous men, heavily darkened from the sun, standing or sitting in the shade, each with machetes. I wasn't sure exactly what he wanted, but to my surprise he walked up and waved at me to go on through. I didn't argue, but took off between big trucks and told Kim to hurry up and come on over our headsets. As she responded, I rolled past other random stacks of brush and rubble into a second group of machete carrying men. I hoped they realized I'd been let through by the main man, but didn't bother to stop and find out.

Somewhere behind me, it was a relief to hear Kim's voice as she rolled through without being stopped. It was a bit surreal, as on the opposite side there was a stream of people with suitcases and luggage passing me. I realized the road block was stopping the busses coming south and the passengers were unloading and walking the 1/3 mile or more through the roadblock with their belongings to catch taxis and rides for the trip on to Salinas Cruz. I knew that road blocks were not uncommon in the state of Chiapas, and mistakenly guessed we'd already crossed over the border into the state.

By the time I fired up the helmet cam we were pretty much past the road block…

As I waited for Kim to catch up, the conversation proved interesting as we rode into mountainous terrain. The temperature dropped precipitously, and we couldn't be happier! About that time, we hit the real border for Chiapas and I was left wondering what the previous road block had been about. No matter, the cool air and eventual light rain showers were a blessed relief for a while in the mountains after the brutal heat of the coast.

Mexico Traffic Moments - can you count the potential accidents in about 20 seconds?

The cool was not to last, as we dropped back into the valley for the big city of Tuxtla Gutierrez, a sweltering, stop and go traffic nightmare. With the temperature reading 106º, we struggled in traffic for an hour or more. By the time we finally broke out and into the mountains again for San Cristobal, we were spent.

Rolling into San Cristobal, I heard Kim weakly say she needed to stop. Luckily, there was an OXXO convenience store where we could pull in. She barely made it off the bike and into the air-conditioned store, where she collapsed on the cold tile floor, laying amongst the comings and goings like a dead person for a long time. Surprisingly they store clerks said nothing and she was able to get her core temperature back down. The heat, combined with our intestinal issues had hammered us hard, but her worse than I…

After about 30 minutes she was able to get back up, having almost blacked out on the bike as we pulled in. Two ice cold Arizona Iced Teas and a bag of peanut M&M's brought us both back to life, somewhat.

I found a hotel on my map app and we made our way through the town towards it, past the square, and along streets lined with native Indian women in traditional dress carrying wares for sale.

Miraculously, the hotel had a room, and though it was way over our budget I didn’t care or quibble. The heat and stomach issues had wiped us out. I helped Kim upstairs, then got both bikes off the street and into the parking garage. When I got back to the room, she was already in deep sleep. It was around 6:30 pm, I was totally wiped out, kicking off my jacket and boots and sitting down on the bed in my sweat soaked riding pants and shirt. The next thing I knew, it was 9:30 the next morning and I was still in my riding gear.

The 7 hours of ride time in heat on the coast, followed with an hour of 106º temperatures, direct sun and engine heat in stop-n-go traffic, combined with a batch of stomach bugs had really kicked our butts.

Signs In The Sky

The next day we awoke after 14 hours of sleep, stomachs still iffy... amongst at least one other body part which shall remain unnamed. The day was spent recovering and resting. The hotel was perfect though it whacked the budget, but it felt good to have a great place to stay after so many challenging ones.

Midday we had to move our gear to a different room, but felt good enough to wander out and take in San Cristobal de Las Casas in its sunlit glory. It was yet another beautiful Mexican town, the same but different, if you know what I mean. It was a clean place with its own set of colors and building designs, surrounded by mountainous terrain and great walking streets.

The main square was filled with native Indians selling blankets, wraps and various other things. Most of the women wore skirts made of black lamb’s wool with tufts pulled loose. The effect looked exactly like cheap, fake black fur from the fabric store in the U.S., but I convinced Kim it wasn’t. It didn’t take long to find out they wanted no part of being in pictures, so I tried to be as surreptitious as possible with the camera, but I got plenty of angry stares. They apparently have eyes in the back of their heads as well.

The town was a great mix of Indian culture, Spanish architecture and a modern Euro-hippie funkiness, replete with coffee shops, art and funky merchants. There were a lot of street musicians as well. The town definitely had a great vibe.

We found several churches and squares to explore, stopping for a while to watch a children’s program put on for poor children in front of a church. It was fun watching the kids just excited to be getting prizes - pretty heart tugging I’ll say.

Surprisingly, the town had almost no street food vendors, quite a change from most of the towns we’d been in, so it took exploring the depths of the side streets and the rambling mercado to find food. I wondered if somehow the city had decided to limit food on the street in order to drive business to the myriad street cafes and restaurants.

That evening we had some pizza on a sidewalk cafe, sharing tables with some European folks. Down the street we heard great music, and after a while the musicians, playing African drums and jazz mix parked across from us and performed.

Folks wandered past and dove in with crazy dances. We had fun watching the spectacle and tossed some pesos in the hat.

Selfie Dance

I hate it when people steal my best dance moves

It was after dark and on the way back we found an "EZLN" souvenir shop. For those who aren’t aware, the EZLN are a local rebel army that had formed in anger after years of the region being ignored by the Mexican government. They’d invaded and took over the town of San Cristobal for a few days until the Mexican army drove them out.

A guerrilla war ensued until a shaky peace came when the government backed off and allowed the area of the rebels to be somewhat self-governing. There are a great number of people who support the cause in the area. The EZLN are known to set up roadblocks throughout the countryside and charge “tolls” for people to pass. They are famous for the black masks they wear.

Anyways, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to slather a few EZLN stickers on the bikes in the hopes they’d give us a break on the “fees” charged at any roadblocks. It couldn’t hurt right? Unless of course we had to stop at Mexican army checkpoints which are frequent too, but whacha gonna do? I left with a handful of cheap homemade stickers printed on somebody’s inkjet printer and felt much safer with my decal plan...

The activity picked up as the night progressed. We found a doorway to sit in and watch the vendors spreading their wares on the streets, including selfie sticks, cell phone accessories, jewelry and the ubiquitous indigenous wraps, tops and blankets. It was fascinating watching the interchange and exchange of goods as natives traded between themselves, one family inspecting the colors and fabrics, before agreeing to swap goods - three of these wraps for two of that pattern and such.

As we wandered back towards the main square, a fireworks show over the plaza was our entertainment until it finished and the sound of Led Zeppelin came to our ears. Walking into the main plaza a cover band was rocking the 70’s classics, including the best Janis Joplin cover I’ve ever heard. We listened to some great music while I did my best white-man head bob.

Kim noticed some people across the street staring up at the night sky. We turned and looked up to see what they were looking at. There was a clear crescent moon, several bright, pin-sharp stars, and in the midst of them, a cloudy, soft, glowing cluster, almost as if seeing a galaxy. It was bluish green and moving slowly.

Around this glowing mass were groups of sharp white lights, circling and moving slowly in towards the colored galaxy-like mass. The individual lights eventually disappeared, but the gaseous aura continued moving slowly across the sky. I pulled out the telephoto lens but the autofocus had difficulty focusing on the black sky obviously. I struggled to manually focus but the mass was still small in the viewfinder and the dotsof the screen were amplified by the camera trying to massively overexpose. Despite the poor image, I could see the mass was soft and glowing, and changing color from green into a blue. Around it were other small, orbiting clouds which slowly changed color as well. I tried taking some shots but the camera reading the black sky went wonky and locked up in long exposures. I finally gave up trying to get it to work, handing the camera to Kim so that she could see through the lens but it just was too difficult.

As she tried, I noticed that several groups of the Indian merchant women who sell blankets had joined us, staring up at the apparition as well. One woman looked at me as if to say "Are you seeing it?", then she and her children continued to watch it moving across the sky.

When it was finally far away, I looked back at the Indian woman and said "la luz?" She said something to me as she turned away with her stacks of blankets, children and mother, of which all I heard was "Este es por que...", which means "This is because…” I wish I could have heard the rest of her statement.

I've never seen anything like it. Kim is the ultimate skeptic, but she turned to me and said “I was not a believer in any of this crap until tonight”. I hesitate to call it a UFO as it didn’t seem to be any sort of craft, but I would classify it as a “sign in the sky” type of happening. Our minds were well blown.

All I can say is, anything that can make Indian women stop selling stuff for 10 minutes straight, must be pretty special. That night we slept well, but having been informed that all the hotel rooms had been reserved for the next night and we’d need to find other accommodations.

The strange phenomenon we'd seen in the sky swirled slowly in my mind and in our slowing conversation as the darkness of sleep came.