Just a quickie!

Hi All,

The last couple of weeks have flown by without any time to update. I'm going to do a complete update in a few days. Since last I wrote we've been in Puerto Vallarta, San Blas, over mountains (wait for that post) and through the desert.

Thanks to everyone who have been reading the post (that doesn't sound right, I need to take an English class. it must the Spanish mixing with the English.) I've enjoyed your posts.

Anyway, stay tuned for the wrap up!

Shayne

Puerto Vallarta

On Feb 20 I have to be in Puerto Vallarta (PV)to met Sandi (Sandi with an I). It's very difficult to estimate how long it will take you to get from one point to another so we decided to push hard up the coast and reach Manzinillo in one day. The ride had all the usual stuff and the town was nothing to speak of. We left the next day for PV. The following is a record of that day.....

Well, my druges. Up the wally wonk we stopped by the milk bar for a bit of the ole stomp and wonk. Welly, well, well.

Sorry about that, I watched "A Clockwork Orange" the other night, in English with Spanish subtitles. The subtitles don't do the movie justice. Anyway it's been stuck in my head. We should be free of the "Orange speak" from this point forward.

We rolled out a little later than usual but we were thinking that we would stop where ever we wanted to and camp on the beach or if we felt like it we would push on to PV. Alfred's friend hooked us up with an apartment for free so obviously that sounded good.

The beginning of our ride took us through banana and palm plantations which are pretty in their own right. The road was fairly straight for the first hour and a half with gentle curves leading upwards. After that it was a roller coaster of twisties. These were pretty intense as we attacked each curve as if were in a moto gp race. The twisties cause you to concentrate on nothing but the road. After an hour of this I was mentally fatigued and needed a break. I spied one of the few safe places to pull off and motioned Alfred to follow. Getting off the bike I realized what an amazing view was in front of us. We were hundreds of feet above the ocean and beach below. It may have been 700 or 800 feet below but one thing was for sure, it was a straight drop down. To the left you could see the cliffs and below them the beach and surf. We took many pictures which I'll post on our return. (I've learned that image management while on the road is too time consuming and sometimes impossible. )From that point the twisties smoothed out and we ran into a fairly straight road for another two hours. It was nice to relax for a change. On straight roads I can think about anything and usually come to conclusions and solve problems much more quickly than back at home.

We stopped for lunch in a no name town under a tent with a homemade sign. Our waitress' were no more than ten years of age, two of them and each a darling. It was Sabado so barbacoa was on the menu. While munching on my delicious taco of beef cheek meat, a fellow adventure rider cruised by. We were a little put off that the guy didn't bother to stop or even wave.

Back on the road the twisties began a new. Twenty minutes later we saw the same rude guy broke down by the side of the road. We couldn`t leave him stranded could we? No, we couldn't. The man introduced himself as Lone Rider on the website advrider.com, or Bob to the rest of the world. Bob told us he never saw us and certainly would've stopped as he was looking for somewhere to eat at the time. At the moment he was trying to fix a hole in his rear tube. The same one he replaced that morning. The other problem was he was out of glue so I unloaded my gear and dug out my tire repair kit. He was back on the road in about twenty minutes headed to the next town to properly inflate his fixed tire. We followed him to ensure he got there safely, then he was off again.

Ten minutes later we caught up with Bob after an amazing ride through high mountain valleys filled with diverse greenery and red soil. Bob's twice fixed tube was flat again and needed the glue and the use of my air pump. Once fixed we all rode into PV, found a hotel and then found cold beers.

That's all for now my little druges (I know I promised, but I can`t help myself), that's all for now. Come back for a bird's eye view of PV and more of them nasty tourists.

Zihou

Cruising up the coast was a breeze. No problems and nothing much stood out. Just you're usual crazy ride through the Mexican countryside. Rolling into Zihoutenjo was a bit of a downer. It has a good reputation as a cool beach town. Problem was we didn't see the beach or anything cool for that matter. Working our way to the centro we noticed many closed shops catering to tourists, the type we try to avoid. We had a particular hostel in mind and like so many times before a local on a bike had us follow him until we were close enough to find it.

Our hostel was slightly less appealing than most others but it was clean, cheap and had secure parking for the bikes. In fact, we rolled the bikes into a courtyard/lobby and they slept just outside our room window, along with three other bikes. Those bikes belonged to three younger guys who began their journeys separately but like that thing on one of the Star Treks they became one and were assimilated. They were cool guys who were eager to share their road stories just as we were eager to share ours. One of the guys hit a Canadian pedestrian the day before. It was the pedestrians fault but the biker ended up paying both medical bills. Neither was hurt badly, just cuts and bruises. The local paper got just about all the facts wrong including, the bikes were Harleys (not), the biker purposely laid down his bike in a valiant effort to avoid the pedestrian and then showed the wrong bike in the paper. Facts like appointments, traffic rules and building codes are a nuisance for Mexicans.

Later that evening we got out and walked around our new city. The shops were reopening after the afternoon siesta, a first for us in Mexico. This was the reason the town looked so dead when we first arrived. Street food vendors were prepping their fare and artisans were readying themselves for the hoards which were coming. In the main square all of this was happening while musicians were tuning their instruments for the evening concerts. In the background was a beautiful bay and the old city in the fore.

That night we ambled around the old town sampling street food (in Mexico this is an art form not to be missed), eyeing the crafts the hawkers shoved at us and stopping off occasionally for a cold brew. Like many other towns we've visited, the first night was a long one. A good time was had and a headache was sure to follow.

The next day started slowly as we didn't rise with the crowing cocks. When we did stumble out we were greeted by herds of pasty white, middle aged tourists rushing to spend their kids inheritance. After spending so many days amongst travellers, dealing with tourists can be a let down. You end up feeling a little embarrassed to come from the same country as those in the herd. It's a little hard to explain why but I'll try. Travellers are attempting to understand a culture and the country. We eat with the locals, struggle with the language, sleep in hotels that while clean a tourist would not. Tourists come in speaking English, buying up crap with the town name on it, look down their noses at the locals and go home to their friends and neighbors and speak as if they know something of the country they were in. Trust me when I tell you, that if you're cruise ship docks in a Mexican town, it is not Mexico. It is a Disney Epcot version of Mexico. Be a tourist if you like but do not believe for one moment you know anything of the people, culture or country you visited.

That night we had dinner with a couple from California whose company we very much enjoyed. I hope to see them again and if you read this, Hello and I'll email when I get back home.

In the end we enjoyed Zihou much more than we thought we would. I would have no problem returning, hopefully one day I will.

The next day we were planning to head North so we packed and inspected the bikes for departure.

Next the ride North.

New email address!

I set up an email address for anyone who might want to contact me. Some might have questions about Mexico or motorcycles or whatever. You can email me at motolocogringo23@yahoo.com.

I may not get back to you quickly but I will do my best. Shayne

Quinta Erika war wunderbar!

I don´t want to go over the actual ride to Acapulco because the road has been essentially the same for about a week now. Alfred suffered a bit due to the heat, though. Most likely his body still wasn´t quite right and still had the lingering effects from dehydration. One nice bit of the ride though was the ocean which finally came into view after so many miles of riding in the hills. The ocean was never far but just out of view. That´s one of the strange facts of riding on highway 200. If you look at a map you might get the impression that the road is mostly along the ocean. In fact you see the ocean very sparingly and your left with the same terrain we´ve seen for 1000 miles.

Just outside of Acapulco the law enforcement and military presence becomes quite heavy. There is a large narco crime element here. The checkpoints don´t bother us at all but there is always the slight nervousness when approaching one. I guess the thought is, ¨is the time we get messed with by corrupt or just plain shitty police?¨. Then they wave us through like they almost always do and you´re cruising down the highway again.

Acapulco looks like a lovely place to bring a wad of cash, sunscreen and have a great time. To drive through it is a different story. By now we had been on the road in 90 degree heat with full riding gear on, eating dirt and bugs for 4 hours. We were sticky and testy and needed a cold one. In this state we were forced to deal with the traffic of this modern large city with one main artery (at least to our knowledge) to get you to the other side. Insane traffic, a glaring roasting sun and my natural North American impatience made for another lovely experience driving in a Mexico city. Of course we got lost. Like so many times before a thoughtful local had us follow him where he led us through a maze of alleys and tight turns until we again found our road. I mean how did we miss that unmarked labyrinth of a route? Silly gringos.

Just outside Acapulco is the small beach side town of Pie de la Cuesta which seemed like a good place to spend one night. Cruising along the main road I was left to wonder what made this town so appealing to warrant a mention in the Lonely Planet guide? Overpriced, underwhelming crappy hotels and the same crumbling facades of every other rundown town. Lonely Planet please save us by guiding us to a nice hotel without roaches and with a toilet seat. Just outside Pie town is just the place, Quinta Erika.

Quinta Erika (QE) is an Eden oasis built by a long time German expat named Helmut and run by him and his daughter Erika. As you enter the gates a 100 meter dirt driveway guides you through a jungle of palms and flowering vines until you reach paradise. In true German style Helmut has thought of everything. Outdoor showers, hammocks, beautiful stone swimming ponds, dining amongst the best that nature can give and if that isn´t enough QE is set on a mountain lake with spectacular views. In an unGerman (all you Deutchophiles don´t give me any crap about this line, I lived in Deutchland for 4 years and know a little about German culture) like manner Helmut, Coco (his wife) and Erika are the most gracious conscientious hosts giving caring service while knowing when to give you your peace. For $55 dollars a night you get all this plus a lovely full breakfast in the outdoor dining area.

We told Helmut that we would only be staying one night. Within an hour we resolved to stay two.

The next day we decided to change the oil in the bikes and asked Erika if she knew where could find some oil. Helmut is an old time biker and self confessed gear head, so we thought the odds were good that between the two of them we would have our oil. Erika told us that she used to own a moto repair shop and still had some oil that we could buy. This place is getting better by the minute. Helmut jumped right in and provided us everything we would need, including cold beers! He stayed with us while we exchanged our oil, talking bikes, travels and his life.

We enjoyed everything about QE including the other guests. One morning we dined with two English women. The next night we dined with a couple from NYC. This is how to live.

Just a fantastic place. If I ever get back to the Aca area I will definitely pay Helmut and Erica a vist. Danke schon, Helumt!

Next on the itinerary is Zihuatenejo. More mad capped adventures of gringos on the loose to come!

Puerto Escondido Haze

Rolling into Puerto Escondido (PE) I saw a sign for the beach we thought we would stay in and turned down that road. The neighborhood hardly looked like a famous beach side town but nothing is as it seems in Mexico so in that sense it didn´t seem out of place at all. Just off the beach we stopped to orient ourselves when a small boy on a bicycle asked what we were looking for. ¨A cheap place to stay of course¨, we replied. The boy told us to follow him and he´d set everything up.The boy led us (for a $10 peso reward) to the Bueno Onda (Good Vibes) hostel where we met Pierre and Simona, the owners. They have built a beautiful hostel on the beach and run it like a hippie paradise. With palms, ferns and foliage so thick you have to occasionally duck or with machete hack your way to the beach you get the feeling of being in the jungle. You can choose a cabana at around $20 a night or a bed in a dorm at $6 a night. We choose the dorm. We eat all the local food which include beans at every meal. The only other person in our room was a Swiss girl who probably will never be the same.

With a large open cabana set on the beach equipped with hammocks, tables and chairs we felt as if we had found what we needed, a place to relax, soak up the sun and allow our saddle chaffed butts a needed rest. It was indeed relaxing but it became apparent very quickly that we had stumbled into the dope smoking hippie hotel. Don´t get me wrong, the people staying there were nice, congenial but very much checked out. It didn´t matter the time of day someone was smoking mota. The smell was omnipresent. I´m no stuff shirt nor do I pretend to be the moral compass for others. I could care less what people do, it´s not my concern. The annoying part was that they were gone. Conversation was difficult to maintain. They weren´t engaging in the least. I don´t want to give the impression that there were pot smoking zombies shuffling their feet around us. That wasn´t the case. The group as a whole just wasn´t what we were used. If you remember from a previous post I said that what often made a town most memorable to us were the people we interacted with at the hostel or hotel. Well, PE just wasn´t that much fun for us.

To add to the THC induced malaise was the stifling midday heat. The only defense was to lie in a hammock and drink cold beer until it cooled enough to walk across the hot sand and cool off in the ocean. It was nice to be forced by the sun to relax. If you did so much as swat a fly you´d break out in sweat. Lord, knows we can´t have that.

We realized that we were on the extreme fringe of town. In fact, we weren´t on the town map. This was why the area didn´t look like a resort town. Where we were, it wasn´t. The main town at least of interest to tourists was pleasant enough. Gift shops lined the main street with the occasional restaurant interspersed among them. Both designed to pull the money from the tourists who were eager to part with their pesos.

A bright spot was the Italian food. Simona is Italian and like her, many of her compatriots have resettled in PE. Simona recommended a restaurant run by a pizza chef from Naples. Her recommendation was right on. Benditos Pizzeria is where we dined both nights we were in PE.

I had my first good Cuppa Joe (shameless plug, our cafes are named Cuppa Joe) at a nice German run cafe called something like the Bagetteria (I can´t recall the full name, they´re listed in the Lonely Planet). Good coffee, croissants and breakfast. I´m sure all they do is above par but we only had breakfast there. Check it out, good stuff.

So all in all PE was cool. The surf was down which is fine because like Charlie, I don´t surf either. Pierre and Simona are wonderful hosts. If you are looking for a cheap, clean and beautiful place where you will find peace and the smell of mota check them out, you won´t be disappointed.

From PE our next destination is Acapulco. We´re not much for big cities so it most likely will be a small beach town Just North of Acapulco called Pie de la Cuesta.

Join us next time while our heroes search out sand, waves and buena onda.

The Road to Oaxaca

We had a great time in SC and wished we could stay longer but this is a big country with much to see. I´ve heard and read much on Oaxaca and I hoped the city would be one of the highlights of my trip.

We covered much of the same ground as the day before on our trip to Sumidero Canyon. Twisties, clouds, drop offs that sort of thing. Eventually we descended and had our first clear view of the Pacific. For those of you keeping count we´ve travelled approximately 3600 miles now. Seeing the Pacific is sort of a landmark. While descending we entered familiar terrain. Mostly a mix of cactus, shrubs, palms and the occasional big tree. Most everything else was brown from lack of rain.

Closing in on the main road to Oaxaca the military presence became more pronounced. We were stopped and questioned for the first time. Mind you there are military check points all over the country. We actually look forward to them when we´re in remote areas. The next checkpoint brought on a full search of my gear. The younger soldiers checked out Alfred´s as well but it seemed more out of curiosity than of duty.

It´s a long ride from SC to Oaxaca City (OC) so we planned on stopping at what counts for a big city but we made good time and pushed on for a large lake we spotted on the map. When we arrived we were shocked to find the town was a rundown village with one hotel and not much else. The hotel was too expensive so tonight we would break out the camping gear. After provisions were procured (bread, ham, chips, water and cookies) we set off for the lake. Mountain lakes can be quite beautiful and this one did not disappoint. Mountains ringed half the lake with clouds attempting to billow over the tops of peaks without success. Sun was sinking quickly and with it our light. The tent went up in no time and soon we were enjoying our gourmet fare besides a gorgeous lake as sun set. Unfortunately for me Alfred was the only available to share the moment with.

Before the last rays of light faded Alfred threw up for the first time. This is to say it was the first of many gullet expulsions over the next few days. Vomiting was followed by water emptying his body in a most graceless manner. Yes, Moctezuma had took his revenge on another hapless gringo.

Throughout the night Alfred alternated retching in one direction and squatting in the other.

With daybreak came the realization that Alfred was quite ill. We decided to try the hotel after all. On the way Alfred was forced to stop and vomit, only yellow bile was left in his stomach. It was clear he was severely dehydrated and needed medical attention. It took some doing but we were able to locate what passes for emergency services in town. The facility was the local clinic. Mothers with sick babies, old people with ailments not yet discovered. Alfred was sent to a room with two beds, one with a sheet the other sheetless with tears over it´s vinyl skin. It was determined that he would need an IV to rehydrate and treat the illness. Great, let´s get it started. What´s that, the clinic does not have needles and tubing? I´d have to leave and purchase them from the pharmacy? Incredulously, I left and purchased the needed items. The IV was started and I began to take stock in my surroundings. We were in a crumbling building with rusting hospital equipment and to top it off the bathroom did not have a toilet seat, soap or paper towels! This was definitely third world health care.

Alfred stayed for a about 4 hours and 3 liters of fluids. Still too ill to ride we didn´t have much choice but to backtrack 30kms to a bigger town with hotels with AC. We found a hotel just in time as I think heat exhaustion was setting in. We ended up staying two days which for both of us was no fun. Granted it wasn´t quite as bad for me. In all we spent three days in the middle of nowhere. That pretty much ate up our time for Oaxaca City.

Reluctantly we headed towards the Pacific for the sun and beach portion of our trip. The day´s destination was to be Puerto Escondido a small town famous to the surfing crowd and now to the Italians. An Italian film maker made a movie here and now the Italians flock to this small village.

The ride was another bout with the twisties and for a change the extreme heat. We encountered the usual terrain with the exception of savannah like terrain and the occasional oasis´formed along the few rivers which still flow this time of year.

Next up Puerto Escondido and surfer Shayne. Charlie don´t surf!

San Cristobal de las Casas

Rested and ready to go we set off for San Cristobal de las Casas (SC) knowing that while the trek would only be 140km, it would take most of the day. The road is nothing but twisties. The sun was out and we were hungry for the road and new sights. We had already covered part of this road the day before when we drove out to a waterfall not far our hotel. I forgot to mention that in the last post. Needless to say it was beautiful. Something right out of a Hollywood adventure movie. We climbed up and behind the falls into a cave cut by the relentless waters. I went swimming in the pristine pool below and almost broke my tailbone on the slippery rock. The locals got a good laugh at my lack of grace. Back to this story. Almost immediately the road snaked before us always curving before we could see it´s head. We climbed into a beautiful lush landscape dotted with white puffs of clouds below us. It was tempting to stop for pictures but where to stop. It was all picturesque.

There is another beautiful waterfall along our route which we stopped at. We were some of the first turistas there. We were greeted by two local boys about 8 years old who spoke very little Spanish and even less English. They conveyed that they would watch our bikes for 10 pesos each. Ten pesos? That´s outrageous! Five and not a peso more! Agreed! So after handshakes between us men we went to gawk at the falls. While walking the path towards the falls two darling girls of 5 and maybe 8 respectively showed up wearing traditional clothes of their village. Most women do this, with the men it´s hit or miss. The lovely girls were selling mini bananas. Sweet and almost custard like who could refuse these adorable hard working girls. I was so taken by them I had them follow me back to my bike for some of my daughters donated Beanie Babies. The girls beamed and then quickly asked for two more for their sisters back home. I think I was getting hustled. The boys were still lurking around the bikes so I pulled out some super balls and got the same spiel about brothers back home. Man these kids are quick! Finally we set off for the falls. OK, their beautiful, they all are. Once I get around to posting pictures you can see for yourself.

Back to the road.....

If you remember from my earlier post this is Zapatista country. It´s up to you to do your own research on this popular uprising. Well up to this point we hadn´t seen much of a rebel presence. The government has for the most part put an end to the uprising. That was until this year when similar peoples in Oaxaca had had enough and revolted but that´s another story. Not long into our ride we slowed for the topes (evil speed bumps infecting every town with suspension breaking efficiency) and came across a large sign which said to the effect ¨This is Zapatista country. The people govern here¨. As I told you before my Spanish skills are very low but that was the gist of it. I turned around to get a picture and as I did the locals came out of there homes (shacks) to gawk at the gringos on the big bikes (most motorcycles here are very small). We smiled and wave and they smiled and waved back. I pointed to their sign and gave a thumbs up, they in turn did the same and clapped. We waved once more our goodbye and off we went. A note about these people. Most are incomprehensibly poor. The eat corn products everyday and whatever they can grow. You see them by the side of the road selling melons, squash, corn, firewood or whatever can be sold. Rarely if ever do you see someone with their hands out looking for money for nothing. In fact the only time we´ve seen this is with the severally handicapped or the extreme elderly. I´m sure that these people have no family left because families here look after their own.

The twisties continued for hours. The road was dry and my tires were gripping just fine. These are fun rides. The kind of rides you look forward to and talk about over beers. Somewhere in the twisties I noticed Alfred was not in my mirror. I slowed until finally I spotted him coming from behind. When he finally caught up he signalled that his clutch cable broke. We slowed so he could yell that he couldn´t stop without the bike stalling. So now in the middle of a 6 hour twisties marathon my riding partner has no clutch. He could shift without the clutch but this is not ideal especially when dealing with hairpin curves. To his credit he managed to keep up until we came to what passes for a big town in the mountains.

Alfred spotted a garage and we pulled in there. The owner a young man somewhere between 20-30 years had a big sport bike. I don´t remember what it was only that it was over 1000cc, huge for these parts. Within minutes his was helping Alfred assess the situation and began to pull materials for a makeshift clutch cable. Everyone near the garage came over to offer advice and help in any way they could. Within 20 minutes we were ready to roll. The young man refused any money for his invaluable help even after Alfred insisted. We all shook hands and were on our way. The ¨Brotherhood of Bikers¨lives on.

Twisty after twisty takes it toll on you after awhile, especially when hauling your life on your bike.

As we inched closer to SC the air grew cooler. Not cold just cooler. Cool enough to warrant windbreakers. We had taken off our riding jackets around noon. It was too damned hot. On the side of the roads the earth turned to reddish brown not unlike the red clay in the South. The trees changed to pines and deciduous trees and the smell changed from the sweet smell of rotting jungle vegetation to clean mountain air.

I had read a lot about SC and I thought about my wife wanting to come here for our vacation the previous year (we ended up in Tulum and had a great time). I was anxious as we rolled into town. I hoped the town would live up to the image in my mind. We stopped at the first square we found with the idea of getting a coffee, pulling out the lonely planet and form a plan for lodging. Walking towards the cafe´we said ¨hello¨to two backpacking girls hoping for a reply so we could follow up with questions about hostels. They didn´t even blink, they just kept walking. I know we look a little scary, unshaven, smelly monsters of the road but that doesn´t give one the excuse to be rude, does it?

Nearing the cafe´we spied another traveller sitting with her backpack and a portion of the Lonely Planet guide. We introduced ourselves and asked if she knew anything of the city. She did and was staying at one of the hostels. We implored her to have coffee with us and to tell us all she knew. Hazel, from England turned out to be a delight. Funny, quick witted, charming and a delight to chat with. She was another European on a long sabbatical who until recently was volunteering her time in Guatemala teaching and assisting with the Special Olympics there. Either a good judge of character or just crazy she agreed to ride on the back of Alfred´s bike to show us the hostel she was staying at. With an open courtyard with which to safely park our bikes it sounded perfect. She deftly helped us negotiate our way through the town to the Magic Hostel.

First impression was ¨wow¨. It had a well worn and comfortable open air courtyard complete with hammocks and young people in no hurry to enter modern Western culture. The price for a private room with two beds was $19 a night. Without looking at the rooms or other facilities we agreed and road our bikes into the tranquil space where until moments before people practiced Brazilian dance fighting and others vegged. Making our way back towards our room I wondered if made a mistake. Beyond the courtyard was another space forgotten by those who take the trash out or by those whose job it was to make the place neat orderly and enjoyable to those who stayed. Our room meanwhile was a shack like after thought. Our first thought is always the safety of the bikes and for that reason our lodging was ideal. Besides, we´ll walk the city and if we like, we´ll move the next day.

To a large degree it doesn´t matter what amenities a hostel has or doesn´t have. In the end it´s the people it attracts. In this case the Magic Hostel attracts an eclectic crowd eager to have a good time.

It was Super Bowl Sunday and as a red blooded American it was duty to eat bad food, drink beer and give my time to the football gods. We set out with Jack a chef from Seattle looking for a good place to watch the game. We didn´t find one but the place we ended up had a good TV and I (Alfred was feeling tired so he went back to the hostel to sleep. Yeah, right he ended up going to the bar with some folk from the hostel) spent the first night in SC being an ugly American. I should´ve gone to McDonalds on the way back to the hostel to top off my night. There isn´t a McDonalds in SC, not yet anyway.

The next day we spent the day walking all over town with Jack as our guide. First we went in search of a clutch cable, which we never found and then shopping for a party in honor of Greg the longest resident at the hostel who had been there for several months. First stop for the party was the mega mart. Jack was hoping to find some charcoal briquettes. He felt that the natural charcoal didn´t burn hot enough. I had my suspicions as well. If you remember we grilled in San Miguel and had trouble getting the fire hot enough. No luck at the mega mart but I did pick up some nice chorizo and a bottle of Cabrito tequila. Next we trekked across town to the main market.

The market as are all markets here, a glorious sensory overload. This one might be my favorite though. The indigenous people here are very traditional. Each has their own dress depending mostly on what village their from. If you are knowledgeable about local customs you can tell more about the person from details on their clothes. My favorite might be the ladies who wear a black woolly sheep skirt and brilliantly embroidered white linen top. The men wear the same woolly skin as a sort of short poncho or tunic.

We weaved our way through the maze touching, tasting, smelling until my head began to spin. There was just too much to take in.

For dinner I settled on small open face sandwiches made up of grilled cured chorizo, Oaxacan cheese, fresh roasted red peppers, roasted grilled onion, fresh basil and extra virgin olive oil. I couldn´t pass up the fresh tomatoes so I decided to make a nice pico de gallo as a starter.

Jack was grilling off eggplant to be topped with fresh tomatoes, soft Oaxacan cheese, basil and EVOO as well as a simple pasta dish using many of the same ingredients and grilled marinated fresh pineapple.

Making dinner was a challenge. Lack of space, knives, clean water basically everything you need to pull off a feast.

Surprisingly, Jack and I pulled off the impossible and served the feast on time to about 15 hungry travellers. Our dinner companions were an international lot. Several French Canadians, several other Canadians, a lovely girl from France, a delightful girl for Lichtenstein, Belgians, Americans, Mexicans, Germans, we needed a few Asians to make our table United Nations worthy. The great thing about this dinner was that we were all interested in one another. I don´t think there was one bored person or one dull conversation. We talked politics, family, jobs we never ran out of topics. As an American I am inevitably asked my opinion on W. Bush and his policies. This is somewhat of a loaded question and a test. I tell them the truth, that I never voted for him and I think that his policies have been disastrous to my country, a country I love. Without exception whenever asked this question, once I answer there is a relieved smile from my questioner and an acknowledgement that there are some sane Americans.

Shortly after dinner the tequila came out. Shot after shot emptied our bottle until several trips were made to the closest tienda for reinforcements. Beer bottles filled the table as did the growing graveyard of tequila bottles. We were truly having a time of times. Alfred and I acknowledged that we were having too much fun to quit to pack for our departure the next day. As all parties must come to an end the wisest go to bed first while the rest of us linger on knowing full well that we will pay dearly the next morning.

A fire sounded like a good idea so Alfred took a small grill and converted it into a fire pit. It gets very cool in SC at night and keeping a fire going became a priority. Our supply of wood was quickly consumed but not to worry. The guy in charge of the hostel that night turned to the wooden chairs nearby which broke easily and would surely burn.

All good parties come to an end and this one was no exception. Someone imbibed past the point of good sense and caused quite a row with one of the girls. Hating to do it I became the bouncer while Alfred saw the girl to her own dorm.

The next morning wasn´t pretty. The hostel was a mess and I felt worse than the hostel looked. A few Aleve tabs and coffee were all that was needed and I was ready for anything. Anything turned out to be a ride out to the Sumidero Canyon that I vaguely recalled agreeing to the night before. Out riding partners that day were to be Called (I know I´m spelling it wrong, sorry if you ever read this) a Swedish guy whom I spoke with about Swedish cooking. He was amazed I new what gravlox were and even more amazed that I had prepared it before. His friend Nora the girl from Lichtenstein was our other companion. We had a wonderful time riding out to the canyon getting lost, cold one moment, roasting the next. Mountain riding, you know. We never did get into the canyon. You must take a boat and there weren´t enough interested people at the landing to warrant a trip. We still had a great time. We lunched at a small place run by Mama who prepared some of the best food we´ve eaten in Mexico. A veritable feast and at on $4 a person a bargain too. Nora and Called bought our meal to thank us for the ride. They loved the experience of riding on a bike in Mexico. For Nora it was her first ride on a bike. Midway back we stopped to admire the weeds at the side of the road (ok, we had to pee, alright?) when another biker on a heavily laden KLR rolled up. Jeff another Canadian from Vancouver who was headed to SC. He followed us to the hostel to camp for the night. Now there were three bikes in the courtyard. Be careful we´re multiplying.

That night about eight of us went in search for Indian food which we heard was good. Hazel, after leaving the hostel for a day came back and was part of the group for dinner. We didn´t find the Indian place but settled for a Chinese joint. I know what you´re thinking, dear reader, ¨A Chinese joint in Mexico?¨. I know because that´s what I thought, too. It turned out to be pretty darned good. The local fare gets pretty boring after awhile. I mean I love Mexican food but the palate needs a break every once in a while.

SC was an interesting stop for me. For the first time I felt truly comfortable in Mexico. It wasn´t necessarily the town which caused the changed. It was the time spent. The unfamiliar became familiar. It was also the only place I didn´t take any pictures. It wasn´t that there wasn´t any good pics to be had. I think that I didn´t want to be a tourist. I felt more like a traveller. The town itself is lovely but not strikingly so. The real story is the people. They are striking. They were what I wanted to take pictures of but now without giving something back. I didn´t know how to do that so I just didn´t take any.

We spent three days in SC when we said we would only stay two. We made friends as well. Several of which we hope to run into again as we head North up the Pacific. Hazel and Nora I hope we cross paths on this trip. Jeff, don´t be surprised if I show up in Vancouver to take you up on your offer for lodging. To the others I haven´t mentioned here, I sincerely enjoyed meeting you. I hope as well that we cross paths. You made my time in SC what is was.

Next up, the road to Oaxaca. You know I´m going to have a story to tell, so stay tuned.

Palenque

We left Veracruz mid morning refreshed by doing nothing and soaking in the view form the gulf. I had a slight feeling of trepidation because of the unknown road ahead. Mexico has thrown us a few curve balls, none more wicked than the near winter conditions we experience on the road to Jalapa. While I was fairly confident we had driven through any possibility of cold weather we knew we had more mountains ahead. Mexico can you surprise minute by minute, mile by mile.

Cruising past tropical palms and banana trees put me at ease and I settled in to enjoy the ride. I love the flowering tropical trees. Yellows, reds and oranges pop out beside the road. Sometimes I try to concentrate on my peripheral vision. The result is, the flowers smear their colors together with the green leaves to create an impressionists painting on real life canvas.

Not long into the ride we had to stop to pay a quota (toll road). It was only a few pesos. A welcomed change from the quotas in the North which seemed to average 180 pesos ($18). I was in the lead and watched Alfred in my mirror. A medium sized white dog (which Alfred later described as a pit bull but which looked to me like your average Mexican mutt) ran in front of Alfred´s bike. He slowed to avoid hitting the dog and to thank Alfred, the dog lurched at him and attempted to take a chunk out of Alfred´s leg. When he caught up with me he indicated that he did in deed get get bit.

I spied a waterfall on the map which intrigued me. We haven´t yet seen a tropical waterfall so when I saw the road sign for it I signalled to Alfred to follow me. To reach the falls we travelled about 10 km off the main road through a thoroughly rustic old village and up a large peak. The village by the way looked as if the 21st century forgot about it with the exception that every house had TV antennas and the occasional new car. The Mexicans love TV, they seem to watch it whenever they can. While climbing the peak we past men on horseback, men and women with machetes in hand. Some carrying firewood, while others carried banana leaves. The firewood for cooking and the banana leaves for tamales. Pulling into the parking lot to the falls we were met by a curious site. It was clear that at some point in the 50´s or 60´s someone (most likely the government) spent a lot of money to try to make this place a resort destination. There were concrete cabins and a spot for a communal palpapa entertainment shelter, which had long ago been abandoned and the jungle was taking it´s rightful place back from the concrete intruders. Not far from the parking lot was the one building in good order. It sold cold bottled water, sodas and beer. Next to it a pool filled with water diverted from the falls. Other than us there was a woman and two men apparently together as well as several attendants. The threesome were enjoying the cool waters of the pool while we struggled to take off as much riding gear as we could as fast as we could. To say it was hot would be redundant. To say it was humid would be an understatement. Alfred requested the first aid kit and to our relief it appeared that the dog had bit him, but did not break through his riding pants. The dog bite from the quota booth left a good mark which bled a little but with a little antiseptic and a band aid, Alfred would be fine. We left our bikes in the competant hands of a one eye old man who assured us that our bikes would be safe.

As we approached the pool area, en route to the falls one of the men leaped from the pool wearing nothing but a black banana hammock waving excitedly like a cast member from La Cage aux Folles. I thought it a little odd but Alfred immediately saw it for what it was. My gaydar is often broke, I just think people are friendlier than they really are. Our friend immediately dashed to the tienda and picked up a six pack of beer. He signalled for us to join him. We in turned signalled we would after we had seen the falls.

Climbing staircase after staircase in search of a good photo op of the falls left me drenched in sweat. I´m a Northerner, fairly out of shape and clearly not cut out for the tropics. The thought of sharing a beer with banana hammock man (BHM) was sounding better with every pint of water squeezed out of my body.

The falls, by the way, were beautiful. They fell from a steep angle down the mountain cut through pure jungle. There was no long drop that I saw just the white water tumbling over smooth rocks pooling occasionally before tumbling once more.

We had no choice but to traverse the pool where we knew he (BHM) would be waiting. Just a note, I am not a ¨homo-phobe¨ many of my friends are gay or lesbian. It´s just that to be stalked and to be made to feel uncomfortable by an odd foreign man wearing less material than I floss with, is a little unnerving. I think I know a little, how a deer feels during hunting season or how a pretty girl feels on an Army base. That said we met BHM for the promised beer. He introduced himself as ¨George¨we said, ¨a Jorge¨, ¨no¨, he said in a dramatic tone, ¨George¨. BHM, became ¨George¨ (it must be said dramatically). George was from Monterry, a naturalist on vacation with his two friends in what he called ¨paradiso¨. I´ll admit the falls were beautiful but the rest of the place could use a makeover. ¨Did somebody say ¨Makeover?¨we could start with some drapes over there and a cabana over there¨. Sorry about that, it couldn´t be helped. George was very attentive, leaning in uncomfortably close and touching my arm when speaking. One beer was all we were to have. George would not hear of it, insisting we have more with him. But George, we´re on bikes and even one beer is not a good idea when descending a mountain on a motorcycle. George kept insisting, actually putting beers in our hands. Somewhere in the back of my mind I saw this as a possible ¨Mexican, Deliverance¨. I don´t speak the language well but I think I heard someone say ¨You got a perty mouth there boy¨. It was time to go. Sorry George, I couldn´t be turned, not interested, later.

We put back on our riding gear, paid the one eyed guard 5 pesos for in fact our bikes and belongings were still there and headed down the road.

From the falls to Palenque is only an hour or so. On the way Alfred was stung by some hideous jungle insect which left a welt still visible after a week. We pulled into the town of Palenque in mid afternoon, stopped for lunch and because the town offered little for us, decided to head towards the ruins where we read were some interesting places to stay. We past some promising spots and decided to check out Posada Margerita. We pulled into a small lovely homestead with a manicured lawn, beautiful plants and flowering trees and a refreshing looking pool. We checked out the room and decided we would look no more. The room was neat and clean. It also had two important elements, an air conditioner and hold your breath, a toilet seat! Seriously, many of the lower end hotels don´t offer toilet seats. If you spend a little more, the same hotel may offer a room with a toilet seat. I guess it passes for luxury down here. Our new home was only 300 pesos (about $30) a night. Still a little above our range but come on, a pool and a toilet seat? We deserved to live a little.

After unloading the bikes and while still in my grunders (don´t know why I call my underwear that, I just do), I jumped into the pool. Ahhh, cool sweet water and almost like taking a bath, bonus. We don´t necessarily bath everyday. Usually it´s due to where we are staying or time or because all our clothes are filthy. In the tropical heat bathing seems pointless. You walk outside, put on your riding (which is covered in 3000 miles of road grime) gear which seems to cook you like a rotisserie chicken and in minutes you could never tell whether you´ve bathed or not. Now once we´ve settled into a town for a few days we take our clothes to the lavenderia and yes, we bath.

After cleaning up we headed in to check out our new town. There´s not much to the town of Palenque. Two or three long streets running parallel ending near the town square. The streets are filled with restaurants and all the goods needed by the locals and all the crap needed by the tourists. There is some neat stuff for sale but most is crap.

The town square is interesting. It´s ringed with local indigenous peoples of Mayan descent selling for the most part handmade crafts. Here you will find jewelry made with amber (I think most was fake), some jade and turquoise. Leather with Mayan images burned into it and painted (rather tacky, I´m not the king of good taste but even I know better than to bring that home and put it on the living room wall) and some manufactured stuff like t-shirts and cds. It was a Thursday night and the square was full of people shopping, eating from the food stands on the outer ring and watching a clown juggle.

That night we resolved to rise early and get a cool start while heading to the ruins at Palenque. I did my part by waking at 7:00am. Looking outside, the jungle was covered in a thick mist which left a dampness on every surface. It was exceptionally beautiful so I sat outside in my grunders watching the exotic birds call and dance in the trees. I left the door open to let the cool, damp jungle air into the room, carrying with it the songs of the birds as a reminder to Alfred that we needed to get an early start. This subtle hint didn´t seem to work. Sarcasm had a slightly better effect. Alfred´s defense about sleeping in went something like this ¨I saw you sitting in your underwear on the front porch and you looked so comfortable I didn´t want to disturb you¨. Now my wife and daughter know that one of my life´s dreams is to live or cabin in a place so remote that ¨I can sit on the front porch in my grunders and talk to the squirrels and no one can bother me¨, but Alfred doesn´t know that. So his argument doesn´t hold much water.

We ate breakfast at a restaurant closer to the ruins. There are several hotels in the same small area. You take the same road which is the driveway to these hotels and restaurant and they seem to co mingle. With the jungle all around you, it´s quite beautiful. On to the ruins.

While the ruins at Teotiuacan were impressive, the ruins at Palenque are remarkable. They don´t have quite the same scale of Teo but they have style and sophistication which Teo lacks. For whatever dumb reason we decided not to hire a guide, at $52 they´re quite expensive especially compared to everything else in Mexico. We stumbled around our first couple of buildings without really understanding much when an English speaking guide, asked if we would like to share his services with another English speaking couple. Splitting the cost made good sense to us and off we went.

Over the past couple of years I´ve become fascinated with Meso-American cultures and the Mayan in particular. I´m reading a great book about the Mayan and for me this day was a day to soak in all that I´ve read and all that the guide shared.

Midway through our guided tour we adopted a lovely 6 foot blonde dutch girl into our group(Very much like my wife Sandy. Don´t worry Sandy, I wasn´t auditioning a replacement.) We were more than halfway through so we agreed to let her join at no cost. At each major building the guide filled in the blanks and took questions. Each of us in our group were equally impressed by these brilliant people who did not have the advantage of sharing knowledge like the other ancient civilizations. The Egyptians for example had the advantage of sharing knowledge with the whole of the known world. The Mayan were isolated but somehow formed incredibly complex systems that in some cases took Europeans many more years to figure out.

We ended our tour with the five of us on top of a great pyramid shielding ourselves from the midday sun in the shade of the it´s huge stone ledges. We talked and shared bits of ourselves with one another. The couple from Chicago were on different ends of the political spectrum with 2 very successful kids. The dutch girl was on a long sabbatical and had been volunteering in Guatemala teaching grade school children basic skills.

We ended up spending three nights in our jungle Shangri La. We did some basic maintenance on the bikes, met another couple staying at the hotel, cruised the town and outlying area, swam (in our grunders) and in general thoroughly enjoyed our time. We didn´t do much else or make nay new friends but one guy in particular did stand out, though. There are a lot of hippy types attracted to Palenque. ¨It´s the energy of the ruins, man¨. No it´s the easy availability of ¨magic mushrooms, man¨. Don´t kid yourself hippy, just tell it for what it is. You´ll garner more respect that way. Anyway, this guy you couldn´t classify as your classic hippy. He was most likely in his late 40´s or early 50´s. He corned Alfred outside of a restaurant while we were waiting for our food. Now I´m only paraphrasing because I couldn´t hear the whole story but it went something like this. He was a member of a secret organization dedicated to fighting the ¨Illuminati¨a small group which actually runs the world. He has proof that the alien crash at Roswell was real because a dude he knows was told by someone who was there and my personal favorite, he had a subpoena to arrest President George W. Bush for crimes committed. The subpoena was authorized by the 11 elders and he planned to execute the subpoena as soon as he can get back to the US which at the moment was a problem because the government had cut off his disability because he no longer lives in the US. The nerve of such countries to cut off someone just because they no longer live there! Rock on, dude!

If you go to Palenque check our hotel. Unless you have impossibly high standards, you won´t regret it. The couple we toured the ruins with were paying $160 a night for a 4 star hotel, but I bet they didn´t enjoy theirs as much as we enjoyed ours.

This adventure keeps getting better. Next on the tour is San Cristobal de las Casas, reknown for it´s indigenous people and their craft. It´s also the town that the Zapatistas took over in 1994 during a popular mostly non-violent (on their part) revolt. Sounds interesting, stay tuned.

One last note. I realized while writing this blog that it wasn´t ¨PC¨ and in this ¨ultra-PC¨ time we´re living in that someone might be offended. For this reason I apologize. Not because of what I wrote, but for you, the offended. I am sorry that in your Orwellian world we are not able to speak of a humorous episode, tell the truth and not have to worry about upsetting your tender senseabilities. So please do not leave comments about your offense. If you are truley offended look at yourself and the situation and come to a better understanding.

Just Talkin

Hi All,

I´m stuck in a small town on the road to Oaxaca (I know I´m jumping ahead) because Alfred is under the weather. Dan Dan if you read this before he can call you, don´t worry. He got hit by Moctezuma´s revenge pretty hard. Yesterday I took him to what passes for a small hospital in an even smaller town than this where after I was sent to the pharmacia for an IV kit they pumped him full of fluids for several hours before he was able to ride to this town, the exact name of which I can´t remember how to spell, which is slightly bigger with slightly better medical care, if needed. Yes, you read correctly I had to leave the hospital and drive through town to find an open pharmacia and buy an IV kit. The hospital didn´t have one. Anyway, Dan Dan Alfred´s fine he just can´t stray far from a toilet.

So here we are day two in Tehuantepec (I just asked a schoolgirl who is doing some kind of class project what the name is and she typed it for me) without much to do but sweat (it´s damned hot here) and try to catch up on this blog. Before I do I wanted to offer some observations.

Before sitting down to this computer in this non-air conditioned internet cafe I strolled through the town market. Most of the market is indoors in a poorly lit warehouse of a building the other half is outside with the more successful vendors in covered stalls and the poorer out in the open fighting for shade. Maybe they move around as the sun does, I don´t know. I try to wander the market in each town because I´m amazed each time at the variety of fruits, vegetables, dry goods and especially the open air meat stalls. I´m an open minded guy but each time I see fresh meat, chicken and pork sitting out in the open without refrigeration in stifling heat I´m just amazed and a little nauseated. Every single part of the animal is for sale. Parts I didn´t know existed. Maybe they have different parts in Mexico but they don´t resemble anything I´v seen in our mega marts or the Mexican Mega marts for that matter. Something else that facinates me is the lack of flies around the meat. I think the meat is so fresh, most likely butchered that morning that the flies can´t smell the flesh decaying yet. In the market there are flies but not nearly the number one would expect. In fact there are more bees than flies. The bees hover around the sugar fill fruit that the vendors cut open to show how fresh they are. One more item worth mentioning are the dogs that hang out near the meat vendors stalls. At this time of day they are sleeping while the people step over and around them. Apparently there are no scraps to be had during the normal business hours so they sleep until it´s time to eat. More about the dogs in a moment.

As I walk through the markets, if I make any eye contact with the seller of fruit or meat they call to me as if I´m a prospective buyer, which I am. ¨Guerro (not sure of the spelling)¨then they speak incomprehensibly fast, but I understand what they are saying. ¨White man (guerro) would you like some fresh papaya? Just picked yesterday, you won´t find better¨. A side note to the guerro. It´s the polite word for a white person. Gringo is used as an insult or to make a little joke about a white person. We often introduce ourselves as gringos to show we have a sense of humor and to let our new friend know we aren´t offended by the term. In most of Mexico ice cream parlors are know as ¨a la Michocana¨a state slightly NW of Mexico City. Not quite sure why. But in Veracruz many of the ice cream shops were known as Guerro shops, with the workers outside calling ¨guerro, guerro, guerro¨. At first I couldn´t understand why the kept calling to me, even though I was two blocks away.

More about the dogs. This is for my Mom who is forever trying to rescue dogs and cats. There are stray dogs everywhere. Anywhere they are people here, you see dogs in various levels of health. Except for in Chiapas most looked to be in good health and quite content. Not sure why the dogs in Chiapas looked worse for wear. Maybe I just saw the worn out ones. You see dogs at gas stations and in the streets and the town squares. They are everywhere. In the afternoon they sleep while people walk around them. The rest of the day they do what dogs do. They commune with one another, they pee on any surface not moving for two minutes, sniff around for food and mostly they try to stay out of the way. The dog/people relationship seems to be completely symbiotic. The dogs stay near the people because people feed them. The people respect the dogs because they´re well behaved and don´t inhibit the people in any way. Dogs are great survivors if they´ve learned this life while still a pup. There are those that keep dogs as pets and from what I´ve seen the dogs are very well cared for. Remember that many or most Mexicans are subsistence people. Earning just enough to care for their families in a level that would shock most of us. They can not care for an animal which they know can care for itself.

Cats are a different story. We simply don´t see a lot of them. Again, I think this is due to the nature of the cat. Quiet, self sufficient, a natural hunter and not necessarily needing human contact. Cats and dogs hunt vermin. An important part of the symbiotic relationship. That´s all I´ve got to say about that.

Alfred and I because we´re mobile weave in out of everyday Mexican life in and out of towns which simply don´t see many guerros. It never gets old seeing the look on an old woman´s face in a remote mountain town where many have never seen a guerro up close. The children are the best. Some are shy while others are curious and want a closer look. Lately we´ve been through villages where little or no Spanish is spoken. The kids come up and jabber away in their spoken language. Some of the language is ancient Mayan. According to linguists these languages have changed little since the Maya ruled Southern Mexico. They ruled other countries and areas as well but this is not a history lesson. Get a book and read for yourself.

OK, that´s all for now. I´m going to get back to the regularly scheduled blog. I´ve got to get caught up while I have the time.

Veracruz

Jalpa, Roach Motel

The next morning we removed ourselves from our sleeping bag cocoon and without brushing our teeth (it was too filthy for that) packed our bags and fled.

We weaved our way through this fairly unattractive town before finding ourselves in a beautiful upscale neighborhood. Spying a lovely local market we stopped and picked up breakfast fair. For me, mango juice and a fresh made bread pudding square. While parked outside a local man introduced himself in perfect English. As a fellow rider he was interested in the bikes and our travels. We must´ve looked a sight as he offered to take us to his home so we could shower and brush our teeth! We thanked him for his kind offer but decided what kind of bikers would we be if we showered.

We left Jalapa glad to be free of parasites and looked forward to our ride.

The roads were still twisting but it was dry and bright out so we attacked the curves where only a few hours before we on the defensive.

Only an hour into the ride we descended into a semi-tropical world. Palms and flowering trees were flying past us as we made good time. Veracruz is filled with rivers as well and we crossed many of them. We finally had made our way to the tropics. The rest of the ride was uneventful but so much fun. You need a day like this after the way the last ride ended to reaffirm why you´re doing this.

We cruised into Veracruz just before lunch and wound our way through the city streets looking for the zocalo (city square) when we saw two familiar faces. It was the Swiss couple we met back in Zacatecas. They told us where they were staying and that the hotel had secured parking. That was enough for us.

This hotel was way upscale for us for at $35 a night was almost double what we´re used to paying. We felt like being pampered. I mean it did have a toilet seat. The seaside view wasn´t bad either.

Veracruz is a cool old town. Kind of like a grande dame who´s aging well but still past her prime. We spent all our time wandering the malecon and haunting the zocalo which is a lovely square ringed with palms, benches, restaurants and hawkers selling everything from Cuban cigars for $10 a box to Rolex´s for $5. What a deal!

Two days of relaxation was enough and we had to hit the road. Our next destination would be Palenque and it´s Mayan ruins.

Stay tuned, I´m getting caught up. Pictures are still coming, it´s just kind of hard to find the time to find internet cafe´s and type and then deal with pics.

The Day that was Two Days

The next morning Alfred and I were well rested and ready to try to find our way to the pryamids at Teotiuacan (Teo). While waiting outside for Alfred I met several guys from S. America who were on their way to Teo with a Mexican guide. What luck! They agreed to let us follow them. One catch, we had to keep up. No problema, we proved we could master DF traffic and as it was a Sunday morning we were confident that we were up to the task.

Our guide led us through a slew of side streets and alleys until finally we were on the highway towards Teo. Thirty minutes later the pyramids were in our sights! It´s an exciting moment when you see an ancient pyramid, especially as grand as these.

At 10:30 in the morning it was already 80 degrees f. It was going to be a hot one but we didn´t care. This was our first day of Mexican sun and we were going to enjoy it.

Once into the park we hired a guide to fill in the details. What use is it to travel thousands of miles, risk life and limb to stare at something you know little about? I can't describe the pyramids with any justice so just let me say, "Wow!". Here in the Americas was this complex, sophisticated and very large civilization and for some reason I learned more about Egypt´s culture than one of equal in my continental backyard. We spent several hours combing over the ruins and bemoaning the inadequacies of my general education before we decided to head out.

Our destination was Veracruz and it´s tropical flavor. Veracruz was several hundred kms away and with the slow pace of Mexican roads we figured we could make Jalapa before dusk. What a great day this is shaping up to be.

Mexico has a way of slowing you down. If you´re in a hurry or impatient she will know and you will pay.

By now the landscape had turned slightly greener, though not exactly green. Tall trees, bushes and some grasses were green but the rest was golden brown from lack of rain. Winter in Mexico is cooler and drier than in Summer.

Heading SW we felt we were making good time but miles of construction, the need to eat and refuel kept our progress to a modest pace. At about 4:30 pm we saw a sign for Jalapa 140 kms. OK, not bad if we keep the current pace we´ll be in Jalapa before sunset and having dinner before 7:00pm.

About this same time we began to climb up gently curved roads. Up ahead I saw a low hanging cloud and wondered if we had been climbing all afternoon and didn´t realize it. The next curve and we were in the same cloud. The temperature dropped dramatically and within a few clicks the temp had dropped by at least 40 degrees f to about 40. We stopped and dug out our cold riding gear which we thought we had seen the last of for quite awhile. Several kms down the road we were fully engulfed by cloud and or fog with a cold light drizzle falling. The terrain changed as well. Pine trees were everywhere and in fact it looked a lot like back home in N. MI.

For the next hour the sun began it´s slow dip beyond the horizon. The cloud/fog thickened and the roads became slick with the still falling drizzle. At some point we stopped briefly to look over our map and I realized we were on a mountain which peaked at 4200 meters! This meant we were probably at close to 3000 meters and had to descend soon. Soon came soon enough. With light fading every minute we began our descent. Visibility at this point was no more than 100 meters and at 6:00 pm the roads were full of trucks trying to get back to the office and people trying to get home.

I´m not a mountain person. I mean I like mountains but I grew up a flatlander. My only experience riding a motorcycle in the mountains was days ago as we left one colonial city for another. For those of you who have never ridden a motorcycle while descending a mountain, I´m going to try to give you an idea what it´s like. Bear with me.

Remember it´s dark or getting dark. There´s a heavy cloud presence and there has been a constant drizzle making the roads slick and covering my windshield and helmet shield with drops of water. Visibility is extremely low and diesel trucks are barrelling down your neck. OK, here goes......

¨God, I can´t see. Looks like a curve. A tight curve. Down shift, ease off your speed, don´t use too much back break. Lean, not too much the road is slick, ok straighten out, turn on the throttle, easy you can´t see too far ahead, oh, shit! another curve, ease off the throttle, lean, I can´t see, try looking around your windshield, it helps a little but I can´t stay like this for the whole way down. Why is that truck riding my ass? There´s no where to go, there´s cars in front of me and the road is too curvy to pass. Get off my ass!¨

All of this is happening is milliseconds. I´m not sure how many curves there were but there had to be a hundred or more. The ride went on forever or at least 1 and half hours. It sucked. I was nervous and tense for every second of that ride. When we finally reached Jalapa we were soaked and frozen to the bone. The ride was as harrowing for Alfred as it was for me. We decided that we would stop at the first hotel we could find.

Pulling in, the hotel looked decent enough. Nice cars parked outside made us feel a bit confident. At $25 and a ground floor room where we could look after the bikes we found home for a night. After dragging our wet gear and cold bodies into the room we discovered we were at the roach motel. Bugs check in, they don´t check out. There were dead roaches in the bathroom, no toilet seat, stains on the sheets and no heat .

With our nerves shot and our bodies near hypothermia we crawled into our sleeping bags and ate a gourmet meal of energy bars. We didn´t care about the filth or that many of the nice cars were only there for a few hours. We were not going back out in the dark with that cold bone chilling rain.

That night we stayed zipped in our bags content with the thought that if we were zipped up the roaches would have a harder time getting in.

The Vortex that is Mexico City

We left SM in high spirits after recharging our bodies and souls. The road took us through large rolling hills punctuated occasionally with steep peaks and dramatic drop offs. For one of the few times I was able to relax and let my mind float from topic to topic. This is one of the things I love about riding. Before long I was grinning from ear to ear happy to be on the road. I thought of my wife, Sandi and my daughter, Britton and wished I could share the moment with them.

One of the comments left from my last post asked about cultures. Of course there are cultural differences but not so much that I can speak about here. There is the language but mostly people trying to eke out a living and the rich European descendant minority. In up coming posts I´ll speak more of the cultural differences as we head into Mayan country.

After several hours into the ride the traffic became thicker and it was obvious we were nearing one of the largest cities on Earth. Our intention was to head towards the Aztec ruins at Teotiuacan. Unfortunately for us we didn´t see any signs and ended in the middle of Mexico City (DF). Now, it´s almost impossible to imagine rush hour traffic in a city of 30 million people. The deeper we got in the more nervous we got. Out of desperation we pulled off the main road to try to get directions. Alfred approached two policeman who tried to give us directions but who finally gave up and told us to follow them. So with lights and sirens blaring the two gringos were given police escort North out of DF! As exciting it seems we really didn´t get far. With so many cars on the road there was no place for them to move. By now we were exhausted, hot and filthy. Forty five minutes later the policeman pulled over to let us know that was the end of the ride. He also ¨requested¨400 pesos for ¨gas¨. Alfred negotiated him down to 200 pesos. Now this might sound like a terrible bribe to most of us. Let me assure you, it was money well spent. We probably would still be there if it weren´t for the police guiding us out of that horrible trap.

Our day of riding in the big city wasn´t over. We still didn´t know where the road to the ruins was. Daylight was fading and we needed to find a hotel fast. With the help of some locals we were able to find a very nice hotel, way above our standards but again it was money well spent.

We treated ourselves to nice meal at an Italian restaurant and called it a night.

Next blog we´ll be on our way to the ruins. Stay tuned.

San Miguel de Allende

Leaving Guanajauto was tough. The road to San Miguel de Allende (SM) took our mind off GTO very quickly. The road curved upward rising above the town until we were left alone with green twisting mountain roads. It cooled off quickly and we were forced to stop to add layers of warmth. For many miles the road twisted and ascended until we reached the plateau. From there on it was business as usual. Dodging dogs, livestock and farmers. Unfortunately for me nausea grew in my belly.

I don´t remember exactly but the ride took us about 4 hours. We cruised into SM in the early afternoon and without too much trouble found the Alcatraz Hostel we were to stay at.

Just a soon as we got there and were assigned our room I collapsed fully clothed in my bunk. The next 16 hours I fought extreme nausea and wished I could vomit and get it over with. At one point in the night (parental supervision required) I attempted to relieve the gaseous pressure in my gut but to my dismay release something else instead. Without being too graphic let me say that after you´ve had to change your shorts once, farting from then on becomes an adventure.

To Alfred´s credit he brought me bananas and bread and checked on me through the night.

The next morning came and ¨voila¨ I was back! Seriously, I felt fine except for a little weakness from hardly eating anything the previous 24 hours.

We set out for breakfast with a couple, the man from Detroit, MI (my hometown) and his wife from the Czech Republic. This was my first real look at SM. OK, first impression, not impressed. It looked like an old Mexican town. Kind of quaint but nothing to plunk down 200k on my dream retirement home.

The night I was sick Alfred was busy making friends. Two ladies, one a soon to be ex-pat from San Antonio and the other a young lady for one of the Atlantic provinces of Canada wanted to visit the ghost town of Mineral de las Pozas. I was feeling much better and up for adventure so we unloaded the bikes and off we went.

The town of Mineral de las Pozas (Pozas) was a silver mining town and when the silver dried up everyone left. Now there is a town close to the old site which while run down is making a come back. Gringos with art galleries and money have discovered the place and are beginning to make a difference. This is not a bad thing the locals are poor and can use some help.

Riding up into the dry hills we began to see the shells of old Spanish buildings. A large compound on the left, buildings which may have been a church or a hospital on the right. A small town just abandoned.

We sneaked into one of the largest compounds and before long were greeted by a small middle aged couple who were obviously locals. They turned out to be the care takers. They allow camping on the site and only take money if the owner is in town. They told us that at night campers can here the screams of the indigenous people who were tortured by the Spanish. This couple scratched out a living by raising goats, mining for gold and who knows what else. They took time out to show us several mine shafts and explained as much as they could. So poor and so nice to us.

A darkening sky and clouds overhead prompted us to make a hasty retreat. Our concern that rain would make the steep stone streets slippery (tongue twister) turned out to be unfounded. We navigated our way through town without a problem and headed back to SM. On the way back I was able to show off my soccer prowess when gusty winds shot a soccer ball across the highway which with a million and one shot I kicked the ball back towards the yard it came. Mind you I was going around 65 mph when I shot my penalty kick. Bend that Beckham!

Before retiring to the hostel we made a stop at the Mega mart. Fridays are often a time to cook together at the ¨rock¨so we decided to grab food that we could grill. One kilo of shrimp, several red snappers, green onions, chilis and rice sounded like the beginning of a party. Topped off with wine, tequila and beer sounded like the beginning to the end of a party.

Alfred was the fire master (being from Texas he thinks he has a God given gift for BBQ) while I prepped our feast. Most everything got a simple marinade of fresh (from the trees in our courtyard) limes or lemons, salt, pepper and extra virgin olive oil. It wouldn´t be Mexico (our Mexico) without a good rainstorm so true to form a downpour began while I hovered over the covered grill cooking while my front side roasted my back side was getting soaked.

We had a feast so we invited the owner and several others to help us eat. Good food, good tequila and great people made this day the best yet.

While SM didn´t impress, the people we met at Hostel Alcatraz did. We´ve met some great people from all over the world on our trip but we had the most fun with these folk. Thanks to each of you for making our time there so great.

The hostel itself is a great place to rest and for bikers it couldn´t get better. We were able to park our bikes in the secure courtyard. If you´re in SM and on a budget (or not) check in, you won´t regret it.

We left the next day on our way to Mexico City (D.F.). You´ve got to stay tuned for that story. It´s a wild ride that I hope my writing will be able to convey. Until next time....

Guanajuato

The ride to Guanajuto (GTO) was uneventful but nice. Without cold and rain we could relax and enjoy riding our bikes in a foreign land. There were still unexpected targets to dodge and missing road signs but we were getting used to these challenges and felt a little proud of ourselves for adapting.

One interesting note to our trip was our lunch. We stopped at a road side taco stand quite possibly the filthiest in Mexico. After ordering our meal Alfred asked the lady in charge where the baño was. Instead of directing him, she just laughed and told him anywhere behind the stand would be fine. My tacos of chorizo were fantastic. The flavor enhanced by the bacteria, you know the way some cheeses or beer are enhanced. The woman had several children working with her. A young boy around 10-12, a small girl around 8 and several older daughters. The boy took interest in our bikes so we told him whatever we could about them. The little girl occasionally poked her head and smiled. We enjoyed their company so before we left I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out several toys. For the boy two super balls and for the girl a "beanie baby" puppy that my daughter Britton donated for the trip. Alfred remarked that she squeezed that puppy as if were real and grinned from ear to ear. Thanks, Britton for giving up your collection. That little girl won't be the last to smile from your generosity.

We cruised into GTO in the afternoon into a maze of underground tunnels which made up the majority of the city streets. The tunnels wove their way in an impossible maze giving one no clear idea of direction or reference point as we were underground. Occasionally the tunnels would open up revealing houses and buildings hanging over head.

Becoming masters at reading streets signs it didn't take long for us to find our hostel, "Hostel del Tio". We unloaded the bags and headed out to discover our new home.

GTO is quite possibly one of the most beautiful cities I´ve visited. If Quebec City is to old France, GTO is to old Spain. We didn´t think it could get better than Zac but it did. We loved GTO. The main square is as polished and sophisticated as any I've seen in Europe. Triangular shaped with manicured trees just overhead a band played in the center. Around this green triangle are open air restaurants and shops with the main Teatro dominating one side. I don´t have the patience to describe it all in detail but I will post some pics in the next few days.

We went out that night with kids way too young for me to hang with but I still managed to have a good time. I left the young crowd around midnight and was happy for it. The old style streetlights filled the streets with soft light which actually made the city more beautiful. I know you´re not supposed to walk in dark alleys in Mexico at night. The problem is GTO is almost all alleys. I felt as safe as if I were walking in my hometown at noon.

The next day Alfred and I took to the same pace as GTO. We sauntered to the cafes and squares of the old town and soaked in the experience. Children played, pigeons strutted trying to impress a lady friend and we sipped coffee and tried to write in our journals. We continually interrupted each other´s writing to acknowledge how much we loved this town. We decided to bring our wives here as soon as we could.

We felt a little lazy watching life go by so we decided to visit the rest of the town. Our first stop was the mercado. A huge old building filled with everything you might need is the daily shopping stop for many of the locals. Dresses, seeds, candy, videos, flowers (fresh or dried), lunch, fruits vegetables and meat and chickens. I had a great time wandering the aisles of fruits piled high in colors we don´t see in our supermarkets. The most interesting though was the butcher´s areas. Calf livers and chicken feet out in the open air most with a slight sickly sweet scent while occasionally the smell of rotting flesh made us rush to the next stall. We had fun with some young pork butchers playing with a pig´s head (pictures to follow). They appreciated our interest in their work and we appreciated how hard they worked to feed their families.

Exiting the mercado we set off up the hill for the mummy museum. Years ago the town ran out of room in the cemetery and decided to exhume the older residents. They soon realized that something was mummifying their long dead friends. So why not open a museum? Truth be told it was rather grisly. While in Dallas I went to the Body Worlds exhibit. I´ve had my fill of dead people. No more for this trip.

Alfred and I truly enjoyed this gem of a city. I´m surprised I´ve never heard of it until I began to research this trip. All good things must come to an end so after two days and nights we set off for San Miguel de Allende. I was excited because I´ve heard so much about this quaint colonial town which had drawn so many expats that the locals call it gringo land.

Zacatecas is an old Spanish Colonial city founded on the wealth the local silver mines provided. It is set in a hillside and for what reason I do not know is incredibly curvy. The roads, almost all one way serpentine through the town with no regard for logic. This time we knew exactly what hostel we wanted to stay at but had absolutely no idea how to get there. After a very hard ride in the rain and with Alfred´s bike acting up we decided to do what no man will willingly do. Not only did we ask for directions but we paid a taxi to lead us there. If it were not for us swallowing our pride we would still be aimlessly wandering the streets looking for our resting place.

As we were parking in front of Hostel Villa Colonial a huge Land Cruiser outfitted for the end of the world pulled up. In it were two Swiss guys, Tobias and David. Tobias as it turned out is on an around the world trip and David is tagging along on the Mexico, Cen. and S. American portion. We adventurers quickly became friends and after unpacking hit the town. Although bone tired we would not be shown up by our Swiss friends and preceded to outlast them in a game of beer and tequila shots. After closing down the last bar we headed back to the hostel for the coma we knew would be coming

Sleeping was wonderful but unfortunately we didn't feel wonderful. After shaking off the sleepies we headed out for breakfast and our first look at Zac. Beautiful is one word to describe this town. Surprising is another. Like most gringos we only know what we´re told of Mexico. It's a dirty, scary, ugly place that one should not venture to, unless you're headed to Cancun for a gringo dream vacation. This town with it's classic 1700's Spanish architecture is breathtaking.

For breakfast we settled on a small open air spot honoring the local Matodores with their pictures and news accounts of their triumphs. Eggs, beans, bread and fresh squeezed orange juice hit the spot as we didn't eat much the night before, there was too much drinking to be down. Unfortunately for Alfred, one bite was all his body would let him consume. That morning would be forever know in Zac as the "day the gringo spilled his guts in the town square".

We were still concerned about about Alfred's bike so the owner of the hostel called a buddy of his to come help. Frederico, also a KLR owner and member of horizonsunlimited.com, came by the next day and led us to his hostel where we pulled the bikes into the large foyer which at one time was an open courtyard but now covered by a fiberglass roof. With Federico's help we deduced that the problem was most likely bad gas bought at a small town Pemex which didn't turnover it's supply very often. Federico jumped on his bike and set off in search a new fuel filter, spark plug wrench and a spark plug. In no time the bike was pulled apart and repaired. While working on the bike we had the pleasure of meeting some of Federico´s family. These were people we would be friends with back home.

That night we took Federico to dinner along with a Swiss couple heading to Patagonia in their tricked out Land Cruiser. That's two sets of Swiss in two days exploring in their monster trucks. Makes you wonder what's up with Swiss? There's only about 7 million of them and most must be in 4X4's wandering somewhere. Federico took us to a non-descript restaurant which looked innocent enough. I ordered enchiladas with chicken and pistachio and habenero salsa. The waiter tried to talk me out of it as my white skin gave me away as a gringo. I wouldn't hear of it. "Bring it on!", I declared. When the dishes arrived we all were shocked, not by the flavor but by the color. The Swiss enchilada's were bright green and not a chili verde green but a neon green not normally associated food. Federico's enchiladas were a vibrant purple. While mine were neon turquoise. It turns out they all had a different nut which the chefs know how to manipulate to create the colors. I think we all were a little worried to find out how things would turn out the next day (if you know what I mean).

We spent 3 days in Zac wandering the streets, touring an old silver mine and sampling the local food and culture. In short we really enjoyed our time there. I would have no problem going back and spending a week or two to really get to know the town. Next on the tour is Guanajuato and it's underground streets. Tune in next time for "Gringos on the loose in Guanajuato!".