It was a quiet, early Sunday morning and I went outside to load bike. The town was still asleep in the cool morning air save for a couple of early rising motorcyclists packing their bikes. Mexico had had their time change the previous day, but I was still on previous time.
Cullen got his bike loaded, said goodbye and took off a little before us to meet Mark for their trip back home, while we readied for Taxco.
Our gang had been impressed with the number of women riders at the rally. This lady rode a 1200GS or GSA - can't remember which. Later it was pointed out to me she had been featured in a BMW documentary
Hank had to get back to Dilley by midweek, but Jimmy and Rob wanted to stay longer in Mexico. Hank agreed to lead them to Taxco before heading north. I was torn as to stay with Hank or continue on with Rob and Jimmy, who’d invited me to travel with them.
At any rate, our route out of Uruapan entailed going through Morelia. The thought made me shudder after the hot, lane-splitting fiasco we'd been involved in on the previous trip through. Jimmy was quick to say he had no desire to go through that again.
No choice, however, but this time we went through the city center and it was no problemo. Traffic was light and the old city was beautiful.
We rode past the huge aqueduct that was built in the early 1700’s and stopped for some photos and to cool off.
Morelia had a very Spanish colonial feel and was a very pretty town indeed.
From Morelia we took Mex 15 on a high speed run generally towards Toluca, but at some point not too far out of Morelia we hit the famous “Mil Cumbres” section, known as “The Thousand Curves” due to its intense and tight twists and turns. It truly is a road of glory for a motorcyclist. Highway 15 quickly climbed high into the mountains, with fog, mist, huge pines and spectacular views.
Rob and I stayed together for what must have been 60 miles of intense twisties that would make a passenger hurl.
This went on for so long, in 2nd and 3rd gear only, that both my hands went numb and my forearms began to cramp. It was the longest sustained twisties I've ever done, and to be honest, after such a long time on it I almost, almost, almost wished for it to straighten out. Adding to it, the occasional cars and trucks to pass, cows and sheep standing on the edge and big, fresh cow patties in the middle of blind curves kept it tense.
A section of Mex 15 to give you an idea why it’s known as “Mil Cumbres” or “Thousand Curves”
It was truly a workout, and I was sweating, scraping pegs and boot toes, watching Rob's Happy Trails panniers scuff the pavement, and feeling like a badass when suddenly I was passed by a rider in the middle of a curve, waving as he went past. I was in shock, and even worse, he was riding the new BMW 650 scooter. I knew at this point, I’d have to commit suicide rather than ever admit I’d been passed by a scooter. No amount of excuses for gear, weight or anything else would ever count.
I was thankful to see him scoot past Rob as well. Since Rob and I were at the rear, we had no idea how far ahead Jimmy and Hank were, and after what seemed an hour - and it was - I saw a group of riders ahead pulled over at the Mirador Mil Cumbres overlook.
Rob and I whipped off, to find Jimmy and Hank removing their helmets, having just pulled in. There were a good number of the BMW riders from Mexico City there, including the president of the club and other elites. We'd been running with the big boys and rubbing elbows with swank, as usual.
And there sat that damn 650 scooter.
Hank admitted the scooter had passed him and Jimmy, setting a blistering pace to keep it in sight, so I felt a little better.
It turned out the rider was a BMW professional test rider who’d come to the Rally in Mexico to teach the riding clinics. At least it made admitting we’d all been beaten by a world class racer a little easier. Except for the 650 part.
El Diablo and his 650 Scooter
He was a super nice guy and we laughed about it.
Jimmy spotted a deep layer of brake dust on his rear rim. Apparently he'd used a new brand of brake pads that wore quickly, so he swapped in a new set while we waited.
The overlook gave some good views of the valley below, since our curvy roadracing had carried us up high into the mountains.
From the top down, the ride was a little easier, though still fast and furious. A few hours later, we made Valle de Bravo, a beautiful town on a lake known as the "Little Switzerland" of Mexico. Being a couple of hours from Mexico City and in such a beautiful locale, it had become the weekend home of many wealthy folks from Mexico City.
We came in on rough cobblestone streets through droves of locals, eventually winding down a very, very steep cobblestone street that led into a main area by the lake. All I can say is if that cobblestone street had been wet, we'd all have come out of it with brakes locked going 70 mph.
We were liking the looks of this place and Hank checked with the cops and others about a hotel. There was a huge arts festival going on and much of the place was booked.
Hank eventually returned with a teenage kid, told him to hop on back of my bike and lead us to a hotel. We rode out of the town and around to the other side of the lake to small, screaming yellow hotel that overlooked a boat yard that overlooked the lake. It was bright, but was home for the night.
We washed up and caught a cab back to town, having dinner and then wandering the streets.
Oh, the suffering…
Rob and Jimmy were planning to leave us for Taxco the next morning, so we found a coffee shop with wifi so they could research some routes.
Rob with Jimmy in the background takin’ care o’ binness. Rob was originally from Holland, a linguist who’d spent years in South America and other lands living with indigenous peoples in the jungle and other locales, learning and translating their languages. We had a lot of fun on the trip.
There was an arts and music festival in town. A large stage had been set up and a woman violinist was playing to the crowd. Her music was beautiful and she had a dramatic flair, but the stage show was excellent.
We watched for a while, then wandered off in the dark to find an old church we'd seen in the daylight. Up and down the cobblestone streets in the darkness, the sounds of beautiful violin music echoed.
We found the church, then wandered further up into the little town, passing sights and sounds, disappearing in time. It was surreal in many ways.
We ended up in yet another plaza, in front of the largest church in town, the place filled with people listening to a flamenco singer and guitarists on a secondary stage of the festival.
Eventually the flamenco dance began on stage and the crowd was enraptured.
The air was cold and crisp, the streets old and filled with interesting light, patterns, voices and people.
In the darkness we walked to the echoes of The Who's "Teenage Wasteland" being played on violin.
The Route: