The next morning we walked over to the main building of our resort compound for breakfast before another long day on the bike. This was not going to be a sight-seeing, visually stimulating day, rather just bust it west across Mexico to make it to two of the more famous colonial towns in the area, Guanajuato and San Miguel Allende. I was hoping to be able to pull our bikes up along a river to see Puente de Dios, a sort of cenote in the area, but we could not get close enough without hiking in, and we were not going to abandon the bikes for a swim. It did provide a nice ride through a small village and the sugar cane fields just beyond. Along the way a guy tried to get me to stop, but I did what I did on multiple occasions when people flagged us down, just keep going. At one of the police check points I pulled next to Joe to discuss, making sure we were on the same page. “If they try to get us to pull over we just keep going and act like we didn’t know better” I didn’t want a situation where one of us hit the throttle and the other shut off their bike.
After this stop it was just straight west. Originally, I was going to cut north to save time, but we were making good progress and opted to take the slower direct rode with better scenery. It turned out to be a nice ride through the mountains. Not too many semis and relaxing enough to actually take your eyes off the road chaos, at least momentarily.
We stopped at some meat-lovers oasis in the middle of nowhere for lunch. The lady grilled various offerings table side.
Ordering meals, or even just drinks, was always an adventure. We really never knew what was going to show up at our table. Joe’s Spanish is better than mine, but that really wasn’t saying too much. The day before we locked ourselves out of our room and were at the front desk getting a new key. Joe told them the room number in spanish and requested a new key (llave). When he finished I said to him, “What room number did you give them?” He said, “our room number”. I said, “No, what number did you tell them?” He got annoyed, “Our room!” I did not know much spanish, but I knew our number was 264, and 4 was cuatro, and I never heard him say “cuatro.” He then also realized he did not, and we fixed it. I bring that up not to shame Joe, but rather to show how we were just slightly off with everything. So, when we ordered meals then invariably came with some "flair" that was unintended. You might order 2 "sipping" Tequilas over ice (don’t get me started on my struggles with pronouncing “ice-hielo”) and they would show up with 2 shots, a lime, salt and maybe a shooter of lime juice (we also struggled with “lime slice”). Have you ever tried to casually drink a shot of tequila while every once in a while licking the salt off the back of your hand and sucking on a lime? I would always preface everything I said with an apology for what was about to come out of my mouth. Joe, on the hand, liked to shoot from the hip and just roll into things, and that’s how we got ourself in trouble.
Anyway, back to the lunch. She showed up with enough raw pork and beef to feed a family of 10. We had to point to the amount we would eat and begged, please do not cook the rest. It got to a point that when we ordered we just prayed there were no follow-up questions and God help us if that question was open-ended. We would just turn every open-ended question into a closed one. “Do you want the beans or the corn as your side?.....Si…beans or corn?….Si” Then you just smile at them with a lost look in your face.
After lunch we made the final push into Guanajuato. The town is a huge bowl with the city center in the middle. You have to roll through, and under (tunnels) city center and then you can peel off into various parts of the city. This happened multiple times on the trip. You just come upon a tunnel out of nowhere, and it is not like a tunnel in some westernized country. There are no lights inside the tunnel. It is pure darkness, add to that Joe and I both have tinted glasses on and it is terrifying. Joe at least has me in front of him, but when I enter I see nothing as my headlight is garbage and the high beams are not any better. You start rolling and then you turn slightly on a bend in the road and lose the daylight behind you. Now you feel like you are in a coal mine. Another thing I have not discussed is the quality of roads. The Mexican roads are full of potholes. And I am not talking about a pot hole that throws your wheel out of alignment, but rather one that swallows you like a sink hole. So I am flying blind and cannot see the road any longer. Pure survival mode. You feel like you are managing ok, then you kinda get in your head and you don’t even know if you are on a road, floating, dreaming or what is happening cause you cant see anything but 2 ft in front of your tire. Then a car comes towards you and you think, “yes, more light”, but you also think, “wait, I am really vulnerable right now and this person can cause me to have a bad day and I have no control or escape route, can they be trusted? Is this light a good thing or is the lantern-carrying driver, the harbinger of my doom?” We get through a few of these tunnels and traffic really backs up. We are stuck behind a bus inhaling fumes in a tunnel, not good for the lungs. I start to move some pieces around the board, trying to get around the traffic, slightly pushing Joe’s comfort level, but not too far where he melts down. It is a very delicate dance.
I have mentioned this riding in Asia, but what Joe doesn’t fully know yet, and can only learn from experience, there is an underlying symphony to all this chaos. Yes, people drive crazy and pass at all the wrong times in either direction and on either side of a slow car, but, they bake in a level of tolerance we don’t have in the US. If my lane is backed up and I want to cross the double-yellow to get around, I should go only when its clear, but I know that oncoming traffic knows I might go at anytime, so they drive a little bit further off the centerline and, what is key, they will give you room if you cross into their lane, whereas in the US they will just mow you down to prove a point. Again, that comes with a lot of experience
At the end of the day, I could say all this, and get mowed down myself tomorrow being an idiot and they will all just have nothing to say at my funeral but the classic bike funeral quote, “he died doing what he loved.” Anyway, I did make a couple moves (I called it a 3/10 on my Bangkok crazy driving scale). We emerged from one tunnel and before entering the next I took a hard right and we shot up a steep incline on some cobblestone street. Honestly this is a pretty cool feeling. You feel like you are in a James Bond movie where they are taking a car or motorcycle on some pedestrian urban path, making wild turns. It is one of my favorite parts about these adventures.
We finally reached our hotel. Bright pink in color and the name “Chocolates Suites Deluxe” emblazoned across the facade. Trying to find parking I opted to veer downhill on a steep alley. These decisions never come easily cause if you are wrong, it is a bitch to reverse course, but it was correct and we parked the cars underneath the hotel.
Always a good feeling when your day ends with you climbing off your bike and not out from underneath it. I checked into the finest room and at the desk I was greeted with a receipt and a few dead hummingbirds. It felt like a Mexican version of the Godfather, where a fish wrapped in newspaper signifies that Loca Brasi “sleeps with the fishes.” Although I had no clue what this one meant.
We walked down into the bowl of the city and did our usual drinks and dinner.
As darkness descended the festivities began and we stumbled through the moat-like alleys where preparations were being made for a parade the coming weekend.
I am always on a never-ending search of a “local experience” we were walking down an alley and saw some people up on a 3rd floor roof. Unsure of how to get up there a guy in a closed down butcher shop invited us back and up the stairs….success! We found something real. It did not lead to a night invited back to a residence for snake wine and empanadas but it was something. Going to a the bathroom is always an adventure in Mexico. It always involves a staircase a few tight hallways and usually crossing into another building through someone's living room. After a while you just judge how bad you need to pee based on your tolerance for the “escape room” theatrics that you must engage in to get there.
A nightcap at a bar where they were serving fruit drinks in clay pots (think large fishbowl-type drinks) I bought 2 but Joe was not keen on eating local ice so I was double-fisted. It took everything I had to plow through one. I tried to walk out with the other, thinking I was smooth, but the bouncer caught me, but rewarded me with “traveler” cup instead of a beatdown. I woke up with that half full at my bedside the following morning.
At one point in the evening, Joe was at the ATM and I was just feeling the vibe with my 64oz plastic cup of spiked fruit punch on the city corner. Here I was acting like I was as care-free as I would be out on the town back in the US, when a van slow-rolled the corner and a the door swung open. People got out and went about their business, but I had wake-up call as I envisioned a bag thrown over my head and stuffed into the back of the van in a similar manner to the initiation scene from Old School
After that I saw a ambulance roll by and it looked straight out of the 80s movie Cannonball Run. I definitely did not want to end up in that, or wherever it takes you.
Time to call it a night! A long walk back up to our hotel from city center.
The next morning we woke up and Joe commented that he smelled gas emanating from our open window.
Joes “bulletproof” bike was leaking fuel. There was a puddle under the bike. Slowly these bikes were getting various battle scars. My bike had no speedometer and both our gas gauges went to zero with anything less than ½ tank, which can be a little concerning driving down a remote road even if you know it is not accurate. Joe's bike also would not go into neutral. This gas leak was a bit more serious as it could turn Joe into the Ghost Rider at any moment.
We found a local bike shop. Outside we found an employee locked out due to staff being passed out drunk inside. After throwing pebbles at window to open up they began taking the bike apart. It turned into a whole day affair as they were on “Spanish time” They would do nothing for hours and only after harassing them incessantly would they offer that they don’t have the part, but they knew where it was and could get it “soon”.
Joe communicated this to rental shop and the hellish triangle of communication between the 3 began. We discussed and decided to leave the bike there and I would ride on to the next town, San Miguel Allende, and Joe would meet me at lodging by way of Uber (90 min). I used the alone time to check out some off-road routes. It was fun, really getting off the map, but I hesitated to get too far because I was alone and there really was not a soul around if something happened, and these bikes made me a little nervous. They did not bounce over rocks like my Honda CRF250, rather ran into them headfirst and redirected. Might be worth coming back to set up shop in SMA and do trails for a weekend. I will put it on the list of potential trips.
We stayed at the Casa Frida B&B. Like the name suggests it was set up to honor the artist Frida Khalo. A really nice place with a great owner, who also turned out to own the same bikes we were riding.
After Joe arrived we headed down into the town. It was setup much like the last town with city center at the bottom of a huge bowl. A long steep walk back to our lodging at the end of a drunken evening awaited us.
We walked into the below bar, El Manantial, recommended by our proprietor. It was nice but too many Americans. We did not realize until now how few Americans we had seen. Maybe 1 or 2 the entire trip since leaving Mexico City. We were spoiled, and instantly were not prepared for re-entry. We got out of there after hearing gringos struggle even more than us in ordering a drink.
We kept walking downhill with frequent stops for libations
I donated money to the below 3 girls in order to take their picture. I look at this picture often. I think of how the different expressions must represent the feeling inside them and what their lives must be like. The smile and hope for the future and enjoyment of the moment, but the despair that also exists when the music turns off and the face paint is wiped away.
We planted ourselves below one of these arches at the corner of the main square to watch the preparations for Halloween night and upcoming Day of the Dead.
Drinks in a dive bar
Sunset dinner overlooking the main cathedral
Night came and the party at the main square was heating up. Joe and I sat on the steps of the church and just took in the events under a haze of THC gummies and Mezcal.
Joe doesn’t remember this, but we stopped around 11pm for pizza at an Italian restaurant. Not cause we were hungry but because we needed a break from the brutal climb back to our lodging. We sat down and Joe was struggling for air like a sherpa on K2. At some point he just got up and left through the bushes and over a wall and I did not see him again until I had finished the whole pizza and stumbled into our room.
The next morning we had an excellent breakfast on the veranda.
Joe's bike was still not fixed. He ended up taking a bus back to Mexico City and I rode my bike the last stretch. I am glad Joe did not join me for that section as it was stressful. Lots of trucks and changing lanes with last minute exits, which would have been hard if I had to worry about someone behind me. When you are riding a motorcycle and someone is following you there are just a whole slew of things you are supposed to think about before every move and it can be stressful. I say “Supposed to” think about.
Anyway, I did the 4 hour Google directions in under 3 hours with no stops and just lane splitting at every bit of traffic. I got back to rental shop and dropped off the bike. They were not too happy we left the other bike in some random town, but we really did not have an option as who knows when it was going to get fixed. The circle of conversation between Joe, the mechanic and the outfitter was going nowhere.
That night we walked the city, but were both exhausted from the week of riding and drinking. This guy below was the highlight of the evening
The owner said he had his own Instagram page, but I am not to well-versed on that. I tried searching "Hairless dog with tongue out Mexico City." Maybe this one ?
The next day was the official Day of The Dead Parade. This really was not a “thing” until they created it for a James Bond movie about 8 years ago.
Here is a picture of Joe stopping a guy selling potato chips and some beef jerky. Joe thought it was a good idea to by dried meat from a street vendor. I passed. We actually never saw the parade, but walked about 10 miles out in front of it. In retrospect I wish we had stayed in the mountain town for the event. Nothing good ever happens in the big city.
We walked into the main plaza, packed!
We had early flights our so the rest of the day and night was pretty tame with a drink on the roof of our hotel.
This trip was a nice break from all the noise leading up to the US presidential election. I was nervous about the outcome but feeling that the powers of good would win out over evil in the end. Obviously, it did not turn out that way and I was left very saddened for the state of our species. I felt America, along with humans in general, were proving to be a failed experiment. Hate and selfishness had won. The Roman Republic was transitioning to the Roman Empire before our eyes.
One of my favorite books, "The Selfish Gene", talks about man’s altruism separating himself from other creatures, well, that ship has sailed. I find myself questioning whether I hope for the best for the this upcoming presidency or if I want the country to burn down within inches of it’s life to make sure this never happens again. A lot of good people will get caught up as collateral damage if that happens, so I am not sure yet how I feel. It wont affect me too much. I am a well-off, white, male, but that is the crux of it, I care about how the marginalized will be affected. Those are the people we vote on behalf of, those are the ones the republicans don’t give a damn about. “Oh, it’s only 4 years.” I hear them say (not with the Supreme court it isn't). It certainly might be, but I tend to think this has the potential for some monumental shifts in what was and will be the US and the world. Don't try to convince me otherwise when your knowledge of history ends at our shores and only extends back a few hundred years.
“It’s just an election, just don’t talk about politics and go back to normal.” Nope, this one is not about politics, it is about your moral compass, ethics and values and I am left embarrassed by the selfishness, racism and misogyny of those around me. If you were walking down the street with a friend and on the way to lunch they decided to kick a homeless person, would you still go to lunch? Well I would not. I am not bending my values to fit my lifestyle, but rather bending my lifestyle to fit my values.
Make no mistake, I will be fine. In fact, I will gone from the US before he even takes office. Maybe it will "only be 4 years", and if that is the case, I say, “goodbye, see you again in 2028 when I return!”
One of my first purchases after the election was a Canadian Flag to put on my backpack. Have not done that for a while, but I don't want to get grouped in with the rest of the embarrassment, that is the United States Of America.
I digress. Any “Hitz Adventure” you walk away from is a success. We had a great time and I look forward to convincing “Lefty” to join me on another outing around this time next year.
Until Next Time,
Darren
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