From the city of angels to the land of fire
Danny Beer, gringo on tour
Danny Beer
© Danny Beer, 2020
ISBN 978-5-0051-4068-5
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Welcome to America.: Onwards to la la land
Wednesday August 1, 2007
Welcome to America. This isn’t so much a beginning as a continuation of sorts. After five and a half months of cycling around Europe it is time to head to the Americas. You sit awaiting your final flight to LA. From there you’ll head south. That is about all the planning you’ve done. A guidebook sits somewhere in your luggage. No visas are planned. No research. No idea. Just take it as it comes.
First impressions of America are interesting. A round of applause is given when the pilot touches down on the runway. You’ve never seen that before. Security has been quite high all day. If Vienna was bad enough, New York is even worse. The initial immigration guy was very laid back but apart from him it is all very strict. Especially for domestic flights for some reason.
The bike is a bit of a hassle getting about. After trampling all over JFK the box is looking a little worse for wear. But after today you won’t have to worry about it anymore.
Have fun in LA whatever you work out.
From laxatives south.: Riding SoCal
Thursday August 2, 2007, 191 km (119 miles) – Total so far: 191 km (119 miles)
Welcome to Laxatives airport. You pull the bike out of the box. A close inspection of the front tire reveals the axle is missing. You find the axle but the nut on the end is gone. It is not to be found. You put the bike together regardless. It goes alright just so long as you don’t lift up the front. The front panniers cannot be attached so everything must go on the back.
You head south out of the airport but are presented with a freeway and a big sign saying pedestrians and cyclists prohibited. You go back. You try to figure out the buses but to no avail. Eventually you make your way out northwards. But shouldn’t you be heading south?
You skirt the airport perimeter. North, then east, then southwards. And wait. It’s the sea. Already? You ride the bike, timidly at first and then with greater confidence, getting to speeds inexcess of thirty km. Are you north or south of LA though? Well, you’ll soon find out.
Pancakes at four AM releves that hole in your stomach. You get going again. There are a few people out and about. A couple joggers and other cyclists out doing their thing. Soon it is light. Not long after eight, in Long beach, you find a bike shop and get a new front axle.
It is good cycling in SoCal (southern California). Cycle paths are often available making traffic an infrequent burden. You pass through an army base and have to show your ID. It gets late and the sun cools. Time to find a campsite. You find one. An expensive one. But it is booked out. You are directed seven miles further south to another campsite. When you get there a sign says ‘no vacancy’. You ask anyway and success. Hikers and campers can stay and for a considerably less amount of money. Three dollars.
To imperial beach.: But where can you camp???
Friday August 3, 2007, 91 km (57 miles) – Total so far: 282 km (175 miles)
Time to leave camp. Last night you met up with a guy, Dallas, who then proceeded to bum money off you whenever he could. A few beers last night, a burger this morning. He was quite eager to take your bag off your hands when you mentioned throwing it away. He should be buying you beers and the burger!
You did sleep well. And well you should after having being awake for three days. You trudge on south on what is first the Pacific Coast Highway and then some other major road heading south-eastwards. You veer back west and find a river blocking your path. The problem is not with finding a bridge but finding a bridge to cycle over. You find a bridge and get on the foot path section rather than the road.
You rim the outskirts of San Diego. You ask another cyclist “Is this the way to Mexico?” and are redirected back towards the harbour to catch a ferry to the island, which is actually a peninsula. There is a campsite on this island but when you get there they only accept ‘self contained vehicles’. So you keep moving.
You ask someone else and are given a couple ‘hot tips’ on where to camp illegally. Apparently the rangers, but not the power kind, and the police often raid these camps so it is important to pack up and go come dawn.
Welcome to Mexico.: And back into America again
Saturday August 4, 2007, 99 km (62 miles) – Total so far: 381 km (237 miles)
Neither the rangers nor police disturb your sleep. Nor any vagabonds for that matter. After breakfast you head west to the border. Then south. Then east. Then north. And so on until after a way too long detour you find the Mexican border, and Tijuana. And cross over. No one stamps you out of America and no one stamps you into Mexico. Apparently this is important if you are to continue further south. So you head back to America to sort out these formalities. But look at the queue. Wow. That’s huge. Maybe cross elsewhere, eh? Let’s go east then and cross at Tecate.
Along the canal is at first the best way to go. But it isn’t so good and there is a road to take. So you take the road. Mexico is hot and dusty. It is built up for a good many km. And lots of hills too. You ask for directions. Tecate is further up and not too far either. Except it is a lot further.
You leave all buildings behind and enter the freeway. You see a cop car but they aren’t interested in you. There is a toll. You approach and are turned away. “Yes but how do I get to Tecate?” You try to convey. They aren’t interested in your problems, only that you will not cross this toll. So you head back down on the wrong side of the freeway and back towards Tijuana.
Suddenly two local cyclists appear from behind. One speaks great English. They are going to Tecate too when they spotted you. They are amazed at the toll situation. You accompany them back where there shouldn’t be any problems.
At the toll the same asshole guard crosses your path. He blocks your friend from continuing on. He is as stubborn not to let you pass as your friend is to pass. They argue in Spanish and your friend tries to get past. The other friend says to you ‘go’, and you do. The guard doesn’t bother about you so you keep on riding. Like a second wind you keep moving forward, occasionally looking back and always ready to be stopped by security. You feel bad about them being left behind after helping you get past but there’s no point in all three of you being up the proverbial shite creek paddleless.
You never do see your friends again. It is still quite a way to go to Tecate with lots of mountains to climb. You make it into town and to the border crossing. You spend twenty minutes in queue with the cars until someone tells you to just go to the front. Which you do. You sort everything out at immigration, first with America and then with Mexico. Job accomplished it is time to find a place to sleep. And then some food.
After all that some normality would be nice. So you eat dinner in a Chinese restaurant. Just like home.
To Mexicali: Some great scenery
Sunday August 5, 2007, 136 km (85 miles) – Total so far: 517 km (321 miles)
It sure is great to sleep in a bed again. Not to mention having a shower after going the best part of a week without. The used condom in the trashcan is a cause for worry though. You follow the freeway east until a sign proves the illegality of this. You get onto the highway.
You spend a lot of time heading uphill. And then, oh yes, downhill. 7 km straight downhill with spectacular scenery of rock covered mountains all around. Police had sectioned off a lane where a truck had overturned on a sharp corner. Nearby and further down the road are empty microwave boxes were people had pilfered the truck’s cargo.
You get to the bottom and it’s straight on through to Mexicali. But by now the wind picks up and it isn’t the tail kind. It is after dusk by the time you make it into town. You find a motel. It seems that motels here are for five hours only. You pay for the entire night but will you get woken in the middle of the night?
You pick up some supplies from the supermarket. On the way back a dog jumps up from behind its fence barking. Its owner is nearby. He laughs. You laugh too in a this-is-not-at-all-funny kind of way. You both continue in this fashion. The man laughing at your fright and you fake laughing at the cunt.
Mexicali sure aint tiny. There must be stuff to do here. But after today all you need to do is rest.
San Louis Rio Colorado.: Hot, hot, hot
Monday August 6, 2007, 80 km (50 miles) – Total so far: 597 km (371 miles)
No one comes banging on the door in the middle of the night, at least not loud enough to wake you. There are a couple staffs on duty but they don’t seem to notice you leaving. So you just go. It is late by the time you really get going. The temperature is already forty degrees out. The road is flat and the shoulder is wide. You don’t really leave Mexicali until twenty km later and in no time after that you are entering San Louis Rio Colorado.
It is only four o’clock and still very hot out. The town is similar to the previous couple you stayed in, hot and dusty, but nice all the same. You find a place to stay and go for a wander about town. There are some mariachis in town, wandering up and down the streets. You follow for a little while but nothing much is happening.
Tomorrow will see you crossing what is dubbed Mexico’s mini sahara. Two hundred km to the next town of any size. Flat and hot. So the plan is to leave early evening when the weather cools down and ride all night. You will need to take a lot of food and water. It’s going to be a long ride. Oh, and watch out for banditos.
To Sonoyta.: Crossing the mini Sahara
Wednesday August 8, 2007, 210 km (130 miles) – Total so far: 807 km (501 miles)
You leave just after six with a belly full of Chinese and most of the day’s heat behind. Thirty km later it gets dark. Really dark. Hey, don’t coyotes live in the desert? Traffic is bad. A b-double semi truck runs you off the road. It is do or die time as the gap between the trailer and the edge of the road narrows. It is too soon to die. You land in the sand. You get a flat but when you change it it just goes flat again. You stop to make some sandwiches. Back on the highway a cop pulls you over. Your rear light is hidden. Hmmm possibly dangerous.
Under their suggestion you put the bike in the boot of the car, scratching the paint job, and are driven three km to the nearest road-stop. You’ve been advised to stay here until dawn. Sounds like good advice. It is now one. Dawn is in four hours. May as well stay up all night then.
You do nod off for a while though. Come dawn you leave again for Sonoyta. It is good to see the scenery. Lots of cacti. And signs pointing out the various fauna around. Coyotes, road runners and some kind of large looking feline. You never entirely fix the tire. You try a few times and even find the cause of the trouble. But it still isn’t fixed.
A truck runs you off the road. You decide to get further on the road to prevent further drivers from nudging you off at their convenience. Later a car comes up from behind as a large truck comes from the other direction. You are towards the centre of your lane. The car driver cannot wait. He goes around and then tries to ram you off the road from the side. It is of no concern to him what happens to you.
You continue on. It gets hot. Above forty degrees hot. You continue on. You drink the last of the water. The kilometers tick down. Eventually you make it into Sonoyta, hot, dusty and thirsty as all hell. There are three hotels in town. All are expensive. But over the border back in America is a campsite. Might be worth going to.
There is a motel just on the other side of town so you go there. It is cheap and basic. There isn’t much to do in Sonoyta except avoid people asking you for money. This town has no character at all.
To Hermosillo.: CHEATING
Thursday August 9, 2007, 33 km (21 miles) – Total so far: 840 km (522 miles)
Plans of an early departure are thwarted when you sleep in. It is just after eight when you go and the sun is already beating down hot. You don’t get far before the tire goes flat. The same tire which has hindered your travels these last two days. The same tire you spent last night repairing.
You change the tube and continue on. And then.. it goes flat. And again. You spend a lot of time hiding under a little shade trying in vain to fix it. Flies and other insects bother about as they only know how. But it’s not going to happen. You can still ride the bike. Kinda. So you head out, wobbling along the highway. It is still way over a hundred km to the next town so you decide to do the only thing for it. Cheat.
You try hitching on a couple of buses but they won’t have it. There is a small town just up ahead though with some kind of immigration office. That’s probably your best bet. You make it there and an immigration officer helps you find a bus heading your way. Some guy tries to buy your sunglasses for five bucks. Yeah, right. They may be crap but it beats squinting all day. And away you go.
You decide on hermosillo. It is a lot further south but you are sure to find what you need there, not to mention skipping a lot of desert. You’re in rattle snake country you know.
You find a bike shop but by the time you get there it’s closed. A tomorrow job. You find a hotel close to the town centre and very close to a local prostitute corner. You go for a look. Mingers.
To Guaymas.: The gay invite
Friday August 10, 2007, 152 km (94 miles) – Total so far: 992 km (616 miles)
You find the bike shop and get what you need. You don’t leave until almost twelve. It is hot but clouds sometime help to block out the sun. Leaving town some guy tries to hit the back of the bike. Why? For fun?
Zoom, zoom, zoom, down the freeway. It sure is hot though. With stops and everything else you make it to Guaymas on dark. The traffic lights are about to turn red. You speed through. But a deep pot hole is suddenly in your path. And ‘clunk’ as you hit it. Both tires go flat.
Oh well, not far now and you start walking into town. Except it is far. You ask at hotels but they are all booked out, not to mention a bit on the expensive side. You walk down a street when someone says hello. A local resident is curious. He says you can stay there the night. So why not?
You go to the store and buy some beer for your host and yourself. He says that his bed is big so if you like you can sleep there. Or on his fold out chair. That is the only room in the house with air-conditioning. “How about the bed in the other room?” You ask. “But no air-conditioning.” He says. Hmmm.. this is awkward. But you get your way and have a great night’s sleep spread out on your own.
The bike can wait until morning.
To Ciudad Obregon: Hitching in Mexico
Saturday August 11, 2007, 79 km (49 miles) – Total so far: 1,071 km (665 miles)
As thanks for your host you leave a big dump in the toilet that just won’t flush. Time to fix the tires. You only have one new tire but the one you got just yesterday seems to still work fine. You stock up on supplies, have a quick look at the sea, and away you go.
It is hot out but you zoom down the freeway. You should make it to Ciudad Obregon in no time at all. Except your bike doesn’t want to get there so quickly. The tire blows after almost twenty km. And you bought it only yesterday. You put your last tube on the other tire which blew yesterday and that works fine. Until you hit one of those reflectors on the road and the tire gets all wobbly.
A sign points to a restaurant a few km up ahead. You ride the bike there on the flat tire. It appears to be some kind of military check point. But there’s a restaurant of sorts here. You buy some water and see what you can do about the tire. Two hours later you ride off for the last sixty km on a flat tire.
Wobbling all over the road isn’t much fun. You alternate between riding along the road with you thumb out in the air and standing beside the road with your thumb out in the air. The rims are looking pretty chipped from the rough treatment. How much longer before they become royally screwed?
You walk the bike into a small town. You sit down on a bench and drink some water. And then somebody actually stops. A lift? Por favor. You load the bike on the back of the ute, sorry ‘truck’ and climb on in. Hurray.
And sail on in to Ciudad Obregon, which by the way isn’t in your crap guidebook for a city of over a million people. Your friends drop you off outside a bike shop and you get what you need. Then find a hotel. Then spend a fair while trying to convey that you want to look at the room before you hand over your pesos. She thought you wanted to shower first. What a day. Time for some cerveza.
To Navojoa.: Just riding along
Sunday August 12, 2007, 76 km (47 miles) – Total so far: 1,147 km (713 miles)
The bed feels so good that it takes so much effort to get up. So you sleep in. But sooner or later you have to get up and brave the day. First things first. Fix the tire. You take the wheel outside but it is so hot that perhaps this is best done inside. The rim is chipped to hell. You try to file the inside smooth as best you can. Then fit the tube and tire. No problem. Let’s get out of here.
You try to get some supplies from a big department store on the edge of town but they won’t let you in with your bags. Buggered if you’ll leave your valuables behind. So you go to a nearby smaller store to get what you need.
You pass through a toll station but they’re not interested in you. On the other side traffic is diverted onto the oncoming lane. A little further up a truck is wedged across the road. Guess they were trying to avoid the toll by going up a side road.
It’s hot but cools down by the time you make it to Navojoa. The skies darken. It rains a little on dusk but you’re in town now. Lightning brightens up the cool sky.
It is 160 km to Los Mochis. That’s two easy days on the road. But if you get up early and get half of that done by the midday heat then you can spend an extra day in town doing nothing much. Maybe.
Los Mochis.: One very long day
Monday August 13, 2007, 171 km (106 miles) – Total so far: 1,318 km (819 miles)
Today is a day of snakes. There are quite a few of them waiting along the side of the road. Lucky for you they became road kill long before you chance upon them. There are two tolls today. You ride through both without concern. There is some kind of vehicular check point and soon after a military one.
It is a hot day. The sun burns your upper thighs despite putting on sunscreen. You leave Sonora state and enter Sinaloa. Roads for the most part now have shoulders. This does little to deter trucks and buses from driving as-dangerous-as-possibly close to you.
You stop at an Oxxo for an icecream and some rest. Some kids ask questions you couldn’t possibly understand. As you leave one says “Give me one dollar.” Fuck off.
The kilometers to Los Mochis dwindle down. There sure are a lot of them. But you should be able to make it by dusk. Closer and closer you get. Your legs become rubbery. Your hands and wrists hurt. Slowly the kilometers dwindle. You make it to the edge of town. And then the rear tire goes. Of course.
If you were too tired to cycle you sure are too tired to fix the tire. So you walk. It will be a good change for the legs, anyway. There is a hotel nearby. The price is a bit steep but they will barter. Kind of. They really don’t go down much on the price. So you move on. And on. Nine kilometers on you finally find a hotel, via burger king, and check in.
The plan was to spend a couple nights here to relax. But you are already ready to move on. Maybe a couple of easy days on the road is in order, find a nice beach and relax.
To Guamuchil.: A fly flew into my ear!!!
Tuesday August 14, 2007, 116 km (72 miles) – Total so far: 1,434 km (891 miles)
You enjoy the bliss of dozing in when suddenly a fly decides to investigate the inner workings of your left ear. It buzzes its way in and about and there is nothing you can do. What does this mean? Will maggots now breed inside your head? Aaagggghhhhhhh!!!!
It sure is hot so you waste time filling up on caffeine in Burger King and zoom on down the highway. You make good time too regardless of a couple early breaks. Your destination is just off the freeway about a hundred km into the day. The highway seems a little busier but the shoulders are nice and wide.
Just before Guamuchil you stop in a motel. Quite cheap but only for twelve hours. Hmmmmm 7:40 PM to 7:40 AM. How about I come back in a couple hours? The guy on reception lets you stay until 8:30 though. Just as well for him. After the extra four km into town you probably wouldn’t have gone back. Oh, and there is a TV in the room but it only has two channels and one of them is porn.
To Catalacan.: In the red light district
Wednesday August 15, 2007, 118 km (73 miles) – Total so far: 1,552 km (964 miles)
You sure didn’t get a good night’s sleep. The air-conditioner only has one setting, cold and loud. You turn it off and the room quickly saunas up. You get a get up and get out bang on the door an hour before check out.
You skip breakfast, not liking anything in town and not able to find anything else until after lunch. The nice wide shoulder of yesterday disappears, first half and then in total, not reappearing until much later in the day.
Someone drives up along side. “Australia?” He asks. This is the same guy two weeks ago who, on his bike, helped you get past that asshole on the toll way up near Tecato. You stop and chat for a bit. He’s off to do some crazy ride up a 3000 metre mountain, over 300 km in about 30 hours.
The destination today is Catalacan. With just ten km to go your rear tire goes flat. So you inflate it. But as you start to ride again the other tire goes. You start walking but doing the math in your head you are better off spending the time to fix the tires. So when the opportunity arises you fix the flats and move on. And into Catalacan. This sure is a big town. With absolutely nothing of interest. After a while trying to find a hotel you decide to just find one on the way out of town.
A look in the mirror is shocking. Dirt covers your face. Your legs are blue from fuck-knows-what. But some hard scrubbing fixes that. Time for dinner. You try to enter one of those Ley stores you see everywhere but security won’t let you in with your bag. “You want me to leave my valuables outside to be stolen?” Apparently so. You leave feeling disheartened. Oh and guess what. You’re staying in the red light district.
Towards La Cruz.: Camping along the freeway
Thursday August 16, 2007, 122 km (76 miles) – Total so far: 1,674 km (1,040 miles)
You wake up late. On the way out of town you meet up with a character who claims he was kidnapped not long ago. He’s on his way south to find a hospital and fuck knows what. Strangely enough he doesn’t ask you for money.
You head out of town, realizing only then that you are on the wrong road. Oh this road still heads south, just on the more dangerous highway. This means big detour to get to the freeway. Oh well. A friendly cop, on his own bike, helps with directions in the small town of Costa Rica, which is not even on the coast.
And zoom, zoom, zoom, down the freeway you go. You pile on the miles. La Cruz is the destination but it never seems to arrive. It gets dark. Time to start looking for a place to camp. You get a flat tire. Time to start looking for a place to camp very soon. And you find a place. It looks good despite being about four metres from the freeway. But it is semi-secluded and on flat sandy ground. Bed time. And look at all that pretty lightning.
Mazatlan.: More problems with the bike
Friday August 17, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) – Total so far: 1,759 km (1,093 miles)
After a sleepless night from the noise and humidity you pack up early and hit the road. It takes a while to sort out the tire and when you do it only lasts ten km anyway. But it doesn’t deflate that quickly. If you persevere and inflate the tire every few km you might be able to make it somewhere up the road. At least somewhere to find water. So thirsty!!!
Eventually the turn off to town arrives and you find a shop. You waste another hour or so trying to sort out the tire. Why is this so difficult? You head back out onto the freeway. Everything goes fine enough for a while. Road works are not too friendly. Nor are the big semi-trucks who absolutely insist on driving you off the road. By now you’re quite used to it, a natural almost.
It sure is hot. With the first day of wearing a T-shirt, your arms are burnt red. With just thirty km to go until Mazatlan your rear tire goes flat. Well, it was bound to happen really. It seems such an easy task to fix. So why do you spend two hours at it and you still can’t fix it?
Time to start walking. It’s hitching time. All seems hopeless. But someone does stop to give you a lift. You jump in back with the bike and cruise into town, pass all the expensive resorts, and are dropped off on the main strip in town. You wheel the bike around until you find a hotel which is not astronomically expensive. “Can I have a look at the room?” You ask. “No.”
No wonder he wouldn’t let you check it out. Dump is the only word to describe this. But it will do for tonight. Tomorrow you can find something in the old town where prices are not so extravagant.
Mazatlan.: Prostitutes and madmen
Sunday August 19, 2007, 30 km (19 miles) – Total so far: 1,789 km (1,112 miles)
A couple days rest is what you need. And you kinda get it. You use the half useless tube on the tire, re-inflating it every couple km or so until you get to the old town. You find a hotel a little cheaper, but no better, and check in. With the bike as it is you really don’t want to be tramping around looking for a hotel.
After the hotel is sorted what you need is a swim. And the water is oh so nice. You ask at a café directions to a bike shop and after wandering about town in the heat you find some. But two tubes is all that you can acquire. With the luck you’ve been having they will barely last until you leave town.
And it’s true. During the night the front tire also goes flat. You need to use both tubes. But before all that.. You go looking for a third hotel to stay in for your third night in town. And find one which looks nice. Another hotel looks pretty bad, and expensive too. As you walk out one of the ‘ladies’ inside asks if you want something else. But you don’t understand the Spanish. That’s okay as the fucky fucky gestures are obvious enough. Also obvious are the blowjob signs she gives. “What?!? You want me to pay you? It aint gonna happen lady.”
You meet some guy and he invites you to go for a ride with him and his friends. You um and ah over the safety of it and go along anyway. So you jump in the back of the ute with a beer in hand and cruise around town. Later, just the three of you inside the cabin your new friends pull up and chat to a hooker. They are trying to get you laid. But she wants money first for drugs so you leave unloved but still disease free. You find out later that your friend was asking for all three of you to, um, do her.
Your friends take you to there soon to be gas station. They even invite you to work tomorrow. “No, thanks.” You say and hope things don’t get awkward. It rains. It rains a lot. The town floods. On the way back into town your friend screams around a corner sending a wave of water all over a pedestrian. He screams out and you just can’t help but laugh.
You kill eight roaches that night. Hopefully the next hotel will be better.
Late and hungover you fix the bike but a new tube still leaks. It gets you to the next hotel though. It must be the valve. You fix it and the tires don’t seem to go flat anymore. But for how long?
You don’t do much today. You look for a bike shop but they are all closed. Well, it is Sunday after all. You go for a swim and chill out at a café. You want to see a bullfight but it’s the wrong time of year for that. Too hot apparently. No shit.
To Escuinapa.: A real Mexican town
Monday August 20, 2007, 98 km (61 miles) – Total so far: 1,887 km (1,173 miles)
You wake up late feeling very lethargic. Indeed with the luck you’ve been having lately you really are reconsidering the whole trip. You pack the bags, get a bite to eat, some spare tubes and are on your way. You get six spare tubes. That should be enough for a day or two.
The tires are holding up well for now but you are very careful not to run over anything. You really are quite nervous about the whole thing now.
It is hot but soon clouds over to the point of rain. Perhaps thunder and the whole shebang. The road is great. It narrows down considerably at one point but the traffic is so slow you just nudge right in with it all. This is supposed to be the start of the most dangerous stretch of road in the world. But the new toll freeway may have negated this. It is near vacant of traffic too.
To escuinapa you go. This has a real Mexican feel. Some kid throws a ball at you. You pick it up and take off with it. But what do you want with a ball? So you drop it and keep going. You find a hotel but it is too expensive so you cross the road and find one for half the price.
Ruiz.: Another real Mexican town
Tuesday August 21, 2007, 147 km (91 miles) – Total so far: 2,034 km (1,264 miles)
You leave Escuinapa in hope of finding the freeway. But first there is a stretch of highway to cover with the all to frequent trucks running you off the road. The highway runs parallel to the freeway, which is closed for construction. This means you have the freeway all to yourself while you watch all the other traffic battle it out on the single lane highway.
The kilometers fly by but soon you need to top up the tanks again. You have shite all hope of finding anything to eat but road kill on the freeway so you head off and detour fourteen kilometers to a restaurant near Acaponeta. There is also a road toll here. The girl waves frantically as you ride out but catches you on the way back. What she wants is you to put the big onto the raised ‘sidewalk’ for all of four metres and take it off again. It seems uselessly official and it probably is. You have read about this before but never bothered, succeeding quite easily with riding through. But if it makes them happy then sure, I’ll play along. Oh and you do get a flat on this detour too.
More km go past. An exit to Santiago sounds nice until you see that there is still thirty km to go on a semi-truck packed death road called route 15. So back onto the freeway you go where, sooner, you are promised haven in a town called Ruiz. The name is a lot longer by the way.
You find the exit and ride the rickety road into town. Then walk through town on the cobbled roads, across the train line and to the hotel. You see some women wearing traditional garb but have no idea which people they belong to. Well the Mexican people of course. Yeah, but which tribe?
The plan is to follow the coast all the way to Guatemala but the freeway has been so nice compared with the highway and all the buses and trucks trying maim you that it really is quite a dilemma. The decision needs to be made now.
San Blas.: Trouble buying beer
Wednesday August 22, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) – Total so far: 2,119 km (1,317 miles)
You wake up early to the sound of something turned up really loud. The host is watching television. Oh well. You wanted to get up early anyway. Some sandwhiches and coffee from a restaurant nearby and you’re off. Directions to San Blas take you to the dreaded highway 15 which you follow for near forty km. Thinking you should have just back-tracked to the freeway 15D you realise with no uncertainty that you very well should have when the highway literally takes you onto the freeway for a couple km until the San Blas turnoff.
But traffic is quite accommodating for once. It doesn’t last long though as this traffic is soon replaced by less friendly drivers bent on squeezing you off the road. One truck comes up over a hill, overtaking another truck and heading straight for you. You stop and jump out of the way at the last moment as it sure aint. Quite a few snakes end up as road kill on the side of the road. Some are impressively scary. One or two might be something else entirely, a boa maybe.
There are many little hills on the way to San Blas. Up and down you go like a never ending roller coaster finally at last smoothing out the last few km into town. Off the highway traffic is much lighter but some drivers insist on being unfriendly, driving as dangerously close as possible. Of course others are friendly, not overtaking until absolutely safe to do so.
And into San Blas. There doesn’t seem to be much about this town. It has the facilities for tourists, ie hotels, but not really. And it doesn’t have the character Ruiz had. Maybe all the character is to be found on the hotel strip towards the beach.
So you head to the beach. Restaurants line the beachfront. A cerveza on the beach sounds nice. You make conversation with some foreigners. You say hi to some other foreigners but they are somewhat less responsive. It gets late. You head back into town. Some food, a banana milkshake, and it’s about time to call it a night.
You stop off at the off license for a couple of beers. “How much is one?” “Ten.” You take two and give the guy a fifty peso note. He gives back ten. You stand, waiting for the rest of the change. “Ten plus ten equals twenty. I gave you fifty. Thirty change.” You’re not getting the rest of your change. The guy looks a little mentally challenged so you try your best not to resolve to asshole mode. You ask a question and he gives you an almost nod. Is that yes or no? Ten and ten equal twenty. Not forty. You put the beers back in the fridge and leave with your fifty. Fuck that.
Los Ayalas.: Helmets are used for a reason
Thursday August 23, 2007, 101 km (63 miles) – Total so far: 2,220 km (1,379 miles)
After a restless night you head off down the coast to Los Ayalas. The first twenty km follow the coast along for an idyllic ride. After that you head inland up and down tall hills. But the road is nice and traffic minimal. You even feel safe riding helmetless. At one point the road is blocked by two cowboys, complete with lasso herding cattle.
It rains. Hard. You come to a town and pull up at one of those OXXO stores you like so much. They have stools set against the side. You lean the bike against the wall. You lock the bike. But by the time you step inside the stools are taken by two staff members. You stand dumbfounded just inside the door for a few moments. The staff look at you, wondering what this foreigner in the strange clothes is doing. Then you go. But fret not, a nice restaurant is close at hand for you to wait out the rain.
The rain doesn’t stop so you move on anyway. One, then another truck reinforce the notion that helmets are there for a reason. So you put yours back on. Most of the traffic is very cyclist friendly. It’s the loud minority you need to watch out for.
You make it into town and cruise down the hotel strip looking for a bargain. But none are to be found. You spend over an hour heading up and down the strip but eventually go back to one you found early on. This place looks touristy and fake. San Blas was the place to chill for another day or so. Okay, maybe not THIS day being wet and all but once you found the beach it was alright. There must be a defect in your guidebook. You are best off throwing it away and getting a different brand. It isn’t in sync with where people actually go. Oh well.
Puerto Vallarta.: Dangerous? No shit
Friday August 24, 2007, 76 km (47 miles) – Total so far: 2,296 km (1,427 miles)
The road is narrow and hilly. Traffic is for the most part unwelcoming. The usual array of buses and trucks pass with as little room as possible no matter what conditions you are present. A cop pulls you over. “It’s very dangerous.” He says. “No lights. No mirror. No registration.” After a while of this and your agreeing with him he lets you on with the assurance you’ll buy a mirror in Puerto Vallarta.
At the peak of the tallest and the last hill traffic builds up and remains constant for the remainder of the day. But it’s not that bad. At the foot of the hill, and on the coast, the road widens allowing an extra lane of traffic and nice wide shoulders just for you.
You ride past the expensive resorts and through all the built up area into town. There are three or four lanes each way. Bus drivers still manage to make assholes of themselves though.
And welcome to Puerto Vallarta. Yesterday saw some hurricane action so some streets are still a little wet to say the least. It looks like gringo land too. Lots of white faces about chilling in cafes and relaxing. A few places offer massages but they are all a bit expensive.
Puerto Vallarhta.: The Mexican from hell
Sunday August 26, 2007
It is Friday night. You go out. You get drunk. You dance. And you meet a man called Tony. Tony is a middle aged Mexican. On Saturday you meet Tony again. You sit in a café reading your book and Tony walks past. He invites you to go up town where the real Mexico is. To go where the girls are pure. He invites you to smoke dope. You say you aren’t interested in smoking.
You take a bus to a village on the edge of town. To where the jungle is. “I’m going to need ten dollars for the dope.” “No, I’m okay. I don’t really want any.” “Okay. Five dollars.” “No thanks.” “But that’s why we came here.” Tony is angry. He buys some dope. You sit near the river and drink water. Tony comes over. He’s not happy. “Why are you so bad to me?” He asks. Company doesn’t look so good. Tony wanders off. You see him board a bus back into town. He’s ditched you. Good. You get on a different bus for the ride back into town happy to be out of there.
You see Tony again that night at the bar. You wave when you make eye contact and he comes over. He says the police were there on horseback and he had to bolt. “If they caught me with the weed I go to jail. You go to jail.” Tony is full of shite. It is all you can drink again. You have a metal bucket full of ice. One corona in your hand. One in the ice. Tony wants some drink. He’s already half drunk. The bar manager isn’t happy with him. He swaps the full corona in the bucket for an empty one. The bar staff see him and the manager comes over. He tries to hide it under the table but they are on to him. The manager is not happy. “No more open bar for you.” He tells you. Tony says he’ll sort it out. Tony leaves. You speak to the manager and apologise. Eventually he says okay. You go back to the bar and drink your cerveza.
They don’t give you any more buckets full of ice. You order your beers one by one. You get drunk. You go back to the hotel. You stay one more day. Sunday is uneventful. You sit in cafes reading books and chat to an American guy looking at buying property here. He says you were lucky nothing bad happened. Perhaps you should be a little more careful next time.
Towards Tomatlan.: Bad doggy
Monday August 27, 2007, 92 km (57 miles) – Total so far: 2,388 km (1,484 miles)
You have nightmares about fixing flat tires. You wake early. The bed feels good. You get up late. It is after one by the time you get going. You head south out of town. Up and down the little hills. Then the hills get bigger. No matter. It rains. You get wet. It stops raining. You are still wet. Wet with rain. Wet with sweat.
Traffic is light. In fact it is idyllic. All day traffic is minimal and courteous. But of course that one asshole bus driver does have to appear and try to run you off the road despite the rest of the road being open. But after dealing with a hundred such assholes each day a single cunt is of no bother.
Some dogs run out to attack. Usually in Mexico dogs stop the chase after the second shout. They all seem to ignore the first. You stop for a break at a roadside stop. Three dogs come out to attack. You swing at them. You’re not welcome here. You go up the road and eat where you are welcome.
Tomatlan seems to be today’s destination. But will you make it before dark. You eat dinner at a restaurant. Thunder calls out. It will rain. Tonight. In one hour? Two? Is it enough to find a place to stay? Back on the bike a gang of dogs attack. You shout and swing you whip at them veering all over the road. They don’t give up easy and you are glad no other traffic is about.
You pass through a town about twenty km from Tomatlan. It is on dusk. You find a hotel. The price is about right so you call it a day.
To Melaque.: A nice fine day
Tuesday August 28, 2007, 124 km (77 miles) – Total so far: 2,512 km (1,561 miles)
You leave town without breakfast hoping to find something further up. There are restaurants but you pass on them and soon it is time for lunch and you are hungry and you need food. You stop and get a bite to eat. The front tire hits a pot hole and punctures.
The day is fine. There are hills but they aren’t too bad. There aren’t any dogs out attacking you today except for a small gang towards evening. It rains all day. Just a drizzle and it feels good. But around dinner time it gets heavy and you wear your coat. Kilometer markers count downwards. Closer and closer you go. You haven’t really eaten all day and with less than twenty km to go you feel fatigued. No more water. No food. You press on.
One last hill to climb and then down, down, down for the last few km to town. You head into Melaque and find a place to stay. It seems nice here. You are close to the beach and it isn’t so touristy, more like San Blas.
Towards Tecapan.: The wrong way
Wednesday August 29, 2007, 110 km (68 miles) – Total so far: 2,622 km (1,629 miles)
It is nice here in Melaque and not as touristy as it’s supposed to be. Well, like San Blas the hotels are here. It just aint tourist season though. A day on the beach sounds nice but not if it’s going to rain all day. So you head off. The rain’s not bad. You feel good about life.
For the third day in a row you wear your coat. Traffic is heavier today but wide shoulders more than compensate. Soon the road follows along the coast and you ride up on the esplanade towards Manzanillo. The road turns abruptly inland and uphill. Signs indicate also. Ahead there is remnants of a road. But you can see many buildings and cars driving about. So you continue along the seaside and it does hook up with the Manzanillo road.
You chat to some surfers you saw earlier. And again when you see them further ahead. Before Manzanillo is the new town where it all happens. They also have a Burger King so you stop inside for an early dinner to get your fix of foreign food. You continue on to the old town where it looks much more Mexican and much less touristy than its northern counterpart.
You continue on. Perhaps now is the time to call it a day. You head out and when the time comes to choose between the toll road and the highway you choose the highway. Well, traffic is light and you should find a town up ahead with a hotel and a bed. A sign indicates a hotel on a beach another ten km further. Surely that must be on the highway.
You choose wrong. Another road connects onto the highway and traffic increases. There are no shoulders and trucks heave along. One truck forces you off the road. All the day’s happiness disappears in a flash. An insect flies into your eye. Two more follow suit. It gets dark. There is no hotel. You chose the wrong road.
By the time you adjust the lights it is only about twenty km to Tecapan, the next town on your map. But with only thirteen km to go you pass through a small nondescript town. It has a hotel. You get a room. It is overpriced for what it is but it has a bed and beats heading on. For what was planned to be an easy day you sure knocked up the kilometers.
St Juan de Lima.: The wake up call from hell
Thursday August 30, 2007, 67 km (42 miles) – Total so far: 2,689 km (1,671 miles)
You awake to the sounds of loud awful music next door and even louder banging from outside. Two trucks are outside. Evidently there owners have decided that two meters from your front door is best for fixing their tires. And of course the music needs to be loud to hear it above the noise of all the banging. This is the least value for money hotel you’ve stayed in so far. Yes, it is even worse than the one with the eight cockroaches.
In town another hotel exists. Too late now. The road continues as it did yesterday, ie narrow and full of asshole truck drivers, for just a few more kilometers. Where yesterday the scenery around the lake was nice you now ride through an evidently poorer barrio. You join up onto the freeway and enjoy a nice wide shoulder. A few more opportunities of accommodation present themselves. Too late now.
Except for Tecoman you enjoy forty km of nice wide shoulder. The traffic is heavy but it feels good to be riding. The road narrows but that’s okay because it also coincides with a reduction in traffic. In particular a reduction in trucks.
You spot a large hairy tarantula crossing the road. You ride on to St Juan de Lima, a nice little beach resort area. There isn’t anyone here. It’s off season. You find a cheap hotel and relax for the rest of the day. You’re out of pesos and there aren’t any ATMs about. No breakfast for you tomorrow.
Along the Pacific.: A great little camp spot and restaurant
Friday August 31, 2007, 113 km (70 miles) – Total so far: 2,802 km (1,741 miles)
You skip breakfast. You are out of pesos and the next bank machine is sixty km away at Maurita. Land around here doesn’t like to stay flat. There are always hills to climb. But with the ascents come the descents and they are always fun. Two towns lie before Maurita. Both have accommodation but neither have a bank machine. You find the town. It’s small. Just a beach community really. No paved roads and certainly no bank machine.
You do have some US dollars though. You exchange five dollars and buy some lunch. And away you go.
For more than forty km there is nothing but tarmac. The scenery is quite nice. The road winds around and around, skirting the Pacific. At around six o’clock you do a quick calculation. Two hours of sunlight left. And at least forty km until the next known town, Campos, with a bank machine no doubt. You’re almost out of water. You’ve only eaten two hotcakes all day. The road has many ascents and is bound to have more. Time to push on.
There is a small village with about three shops. Soon after a sign points to an RV and camp ground. They have a restaurant too. One problem. No pesos. Americano dollars. Not important. Bueno. It is nice here. Very quiet. Cheap. And friendly. You relax with a few beers. It rains. It gets dark. Your hostess warns of a storm approaching. A typhoon or hurricane or something of the sort. No use worrying about that now. The tent is already pitched. It’s under cover. You’ll be fine.
Playa Azul.: Out of cash
Saturday September 1, 2007, 115 km (71 miles) – Total so far: 2,917 km (1,813 miles)
It rains all night and all day today. There is a storm with lightning and all that but no hurricane. Apparently it is crossing through at Playa Azule, 100 km to the south and today’s destination.
A couple small villages cross your pass at nine km intervals and then nothing for thirty five km where you reach Campos. Lucky you stayed where you did last night. There aren’t any bank machines in Campos. You exchange some more Americanos and get some lunch.
It continues to rain. It lets up a little around lunch but returns with a vengeance. It’s not so bad though. The road is half covered in land slides twice further on. With only a couple km to go the road is flooded entirely. You put the bike in a low gear and go forward. You can see where big pot holes are under the water. Some of them. The water gets a little deeper and you need to rely on the ripples to spot the pot holes. Near the end the water is well deep. You peddle harder. Your feet get wet.
The kilometer markers end but you haven’t quite made it there. The road turns off and Playa Azul is another five km down the road. There isn’t so much here. And guess what. no bank machine. You find a hotel for about ten dollars which will also take your Americanos. It’s not much but it is better than the five dollar cabana otherwise available. Apparently there’s a bank machine at the next town. It’s not far, ten km or so, but haven’t you heard this one somewhere before?
Zehuenjeno.: A freeway all to yourself
Sunday September 2, 2007, 130 km (81 miles) – Total so far: 3,047 km (1,893 miles)
It rains. You finally find an ATM, after only four days of searching. You stop for lunch and to wait out the worst of the rain. It lets up to the point where you can now remove your coat. There is a new toll freeway in place for fifteen km but it’s closed for use. The busy highway passes over at one point and you find your entrance on. There is no traffic at all. Just you and the tarmac and nice ocean views.
But the freeway ends as far as you’re concerned and you are forced onto the highway with all the not so nice traffic. But not everyone’s an asshole. You sure do meet a lot of them though.
After about a hundred km a sign points off to a hotel. It looks nice. Too nice. And not worth the six km detour to find out. You press on. Closer to your destination more hotels and motels present themselves. The price looks right until you see that it’s only for two or three hours. You keep going.
Your feet hurt. The day wears on. Eventually you get into town. Only a couple more km now so you ignore the hotels on the outskirts. You’ll stay for a couple of nights so what’s the use of staying on the outskirts of town. To pack up and move three km further on? Bear the pain now.
It is dark by the time you find the main drag and a hotel that looks good. Ten dollars isn’t bad. But a look at the bike and the price hikes up to fifteen. Luckily the ol’ bat’s daughter, you think, lets you go with ten. It sure aint the Hilton though.
This looks like a pretty happening resort. Lots of people about and even a few foreigners too. It might be worth staying up for a cerveza or three. Tomorrow needs to be a rest day anyway.
Tecman.: Too many bus drivers make Danny go a little crazy
Tuesday September 4, 2007, 141 km (88 miles) – Total so far: 3,188 km (1,981 miles)
Yesterday is a day of rest, spent, well, resting in the resort town of Zehuenjeno. Or whatever it is called. You meet people and you enjoy yourself. This is a nice place. Better, and smaller than the other resort towns you’ve been through. Iztapa to the north draws the richer crowds.
It’s two long days to Aculpulco. You aim to ride about 120 km today. That’s half way. Traffic continues as before. It’s a little busy and once you are out of town roads cease to have shoulders. Bus drivers continue to endeavor to be the biggest assholes they can be. Ten overtake way too close for comfort in the first hour alone.
About an hour out of town, just before a bridge and on the right, is a nice looking restaurant with pool. Silly you for not turning back. But then you would be there all day. You pull in to a restaurant further up. It takes you a little while to realise that this is a school cafeteria. You keep looking.
Accomodation is plentiful except for where you want it. Tecman is only another twenty km further. Can you make it? There are a couple hotels just before Tecman but you press on. If you’ve made it this far you may as well do the five km more. Tecman only has one hotel in town but there are two more just on the other side as well. Ten US is cheap but of course you get what you pay for. Or you don’t get what you don’t pay for. No aircon, no TV, no toilet seat.
Acalpulco.: Riding without gears
Wednesday September 5, 2007, 104 km (65 miles) – Total so far: 3,292 km (2,046 miles)
Vowing not to go back to the overcharging restaurant you ate at last night you find a nice little place and have tortas. You break your rear gears leaving you with just the front ones to play with all day. This means having to walk up whatever hills lie ahead.
After an hour, 80 km before Aculpulco there is a restaurant with swimming pool. It looks very nice but you keep going. Lunch can wait a little later.
With just twenty km to go a toll freeway presents itself. You stay on the highway where traffic does increase tremendously. You make it to Acalpulco and meet Sofia, a Chilena girl you arranged to travel down the coast with. And now it is time to get acquainted.
San Marcos.: Local parts on a nice expensive bike
Thursday September 6, 2007, 84 km (52 miles) – Total so far: 3,376 km (2,098 miles)
A guy from the hotel goes with you to find a bike shop and help not to get overcharged. It’s a long way until you find one. He does some interpreting and you go to eat breakfast. You go to pick up the bike but there’s a problem. The gear system is too complicated and will cost 150 US to replace. Or for 5 US you can have a new brake installed on the side of the handlebars. It all sounds well dodgy but it is a bit of price difference involved.
Best not to hang around watching so you go to find a second breakfast. It is now afternoon. Sofia left much earlier to beat the midday heat. You’ll catch up with her sixty km down the road. Hopefully.
It’s another twenty km or so to get out of town. Traffic is heavy. There is a big hill to climb. You get a flat tire, and another out of town. Your new gear system looks well dodgy but it works fine. The hills aren’t so big around here. Lots of pigs running about the place. You stop to let a sow and her two piglets cross the road.
You make it to San Marcos and find Sofia in the first hotel there. It’s quite cheap and even has a pool which you take full advantage of. There doesn’t seem to be much in town. A pizza restaurant looks like your best option for dinner.
Mequense.: To beach or not to beach
Friday September 7, 2007, 83 km (52 miles) – Total so far: 3,459 km (2,149 miles)
It seems that there is a sizable town every forty km with a smaller town about half way between. After the first twenty km you stop and chat to some high school kids who call out. Lunch in Cruz Grande where for the only time today traffic is dense. And on to Mequense. You head off to the Playa to find Sofia but see her on the way back. It’s dirty she says so you find a motel in town, which is probably dirtier, and stay there instead.
