The next morning, Monday, we found breakfast in a cafe on the square, then loaded the bikes and donned the heavy gear for the ride.
From Santiago it was a short ride south to catch MX 20 across the mountains, a fantastic road. We stopped at Cascada de Cola de Caballo (Horsetail Falls) for a short hike up the canyon to the falls. T’was a beautiful spot for sure.
From the canyon we headed high into the mountains on the tight and twisty road that required some serious concentration.
We were engulfed in the cold mist and fog of the high peaks, eventually clearing enough to see the stunning mountains and canyons with quick glimpses off the sheer edges. The road had some very tight switchbacks and plenty of amazing scenery, not to mention topés (speed bumps), loose livestock and random vehicles. It is a great motorcycle road!
The high, twisty, mist covered mountains transformed into massive canyons with a scale impossible to capture… not that I didn’t try.
There were massive sheer cliffs and tight narrow canyons, windy open expanses with mountains and orchards.
We grabbed a short butt break at an old church and a ramble-down house straight out of a spaghetti western.
The were some children playing outside the log house and I prodded Hank to ask if we could look inside, the smokestack spewing blue wood smoke. I'd have paid to see how they lived, but a hard look with much suspicion from a face in the door answered the question. Our offers to give a few pesos brought deafening silence, as the family disappeared into the dwelling. I can understand why they wouldn’t want complete strangers in their home, but sometimes it happens.
The mountains slowly disappeared as we entered the high desert, the “altiplano” on the eastern side of the range and connected with MX57, a tollway south towards Matehuala where our turn for Real De Catorce would be, passing through the military checkpoints with just a wave. A couple of hours at 90 mph brought us to the cut through for the little town of Cedral, then the 14 mile long cobblestone road for Real De Catorce, a village from the 1700's sitting at 9000’ in the desert mountains.
At the base of the mountain before reaching Real, we found an unfinished church in the village of Portrero. Much time in the late day was spent as we explored and shot photos, only worsening as we discovered a huge abandoned hacienda adjacent and spent more time exploring and shooting. Larry, one of our group, is a well known landscape architect and city planner, so his input and enthusiasm in the ruins was welcomed.
Moorish architectural designs can be seen throughout Mexico, stemming from the time of the Moors occupation of Spain.
After wandering the ruins, Patrick stayed with his bike while the rest of us wandered into the old hacienda nearby.
Back at the motorcycles, Patrick and his bike were no where in sight. We waited for a bit then decided he must have gone on ahead to Real, which was just a couple of miles away. We rode around the little village to no avail, then decided to go on to the town.
As the sun fell behind the mountain we rumbled up, the noise of the engines masked by the vibration of the cobblestones and the myriad contents of our side cases. The original cobblestone road is fourteen miles long, culminating in a dusty, cool and dank ride through a two mile long mine tunnel that ends in a wonderful mountain village at 9000’ elevation. The little town sits high, isolated and still remains in the 18th and 19th century, its steep cobblestone streets and stone block buildings much as they were when Real was one of the richest mining cities in Mexico.
We stopped briefly at an overlook to the valley where we’d been, and watched to see if Patrick was visible below us just in case we’d missed him.
From whence we came…
One reaches Real De Catorce by way of a 1.5 mile tunnel through the mountain, originally a mine tunnel, which is an alternating one way. You pay the small toll fee then wait for traffic to clear that’s coming from the other side then are given a “go” by the attendant.
Exiting the dank and diesel fume filled tunnel, it’s a step back in time. The cobblestone streets are steep and require a lot of concentration when riding slowly, even more so when stopping on the heavily varied heights.
The sun set as we found our hotel, rode the bikes onto the sidewalk, climbed off the bikes and unpacked gear. The cold mountain air flowing down the streets was refreshing after many hours in the sun.
There was no sign of Patrick, either at the tunnel or in the town. We unloaded gear and were in the process of changing clothes when Patrick walked into our room. He was sweaty and a bit pissed off, having felt like he’d been abandoned. Our explanations of looking for him, and his lack of letting us know he was leaving with no note or anything calmed him some, although he never told us where he’d disappeared to or why.
More tomorrow amigos...