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Published: October 1st 2012
Road miles to date: 16,110
The change was immediate as we crossed through the border into Mexico. Cultural familiarities were gone, together with our ability to converse fluently and although our heads were full of horror stories our bellies were hungry for adventure and we were excited!
Despite being advised to speed straight though the border town of Tijuana, we needed to finalise a vehicle entry permit in the centre of town which took some to-ing and fro-ing in searing heat. Our first experience of a whole new kind of bureaucracy. Once done we then had to return our US visas back to the American customs office. Although there was no queue to get into Mexico the same couldn't be said for leaving. A wrong turn onto a one-way system quickly had us in the middle of six lane stand-still traffic waiting to cross into the US. With no option to turn around we weaved through, dodging the many hawkers along the way, until we reached the US border where we handed in the necessary paperwork. Calculating it would take us several hours of questioning and hassle to cross back over then return into Mexico we turned the bike
around and rode the wrong way through the many lines of waiting traffic, swerving through oncoming cars, buses and lorries that were surprisingly blasé at the loco gringos on the motorbike.
Tijuana was buzzing with people, street vendors, seemingly random folk directing traffic and a few mean looking faces but nothing that made us feel threatened. The vibe was one of a lively, colourful and pretty chaotic place but we needed to make tracks after all the delays crossing over so we hit the highway, via many men, young and old, hitching lifts along the road that ran parallel to the border of the US.
As we left the city behind, rubbish began to line the highway and the occassional whiff of sewage hit us pretty hard. However, the coastal ride was stunning and the little towns that lined the way were brimming with bold colours. We reached the tiny town of La Fonda not too far into Mexico as a big fog made its way inland. We decided to call it a day there and pitched our tent on a deserted cliff top overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We were greeted by twin brothers Fernando and Armando, who
despite the language barrier still made a good attempt to sell us firewood and teach us a few words in exchange for biscuits. Later that evening a few groups of people turned up to join us at the site and one family even shared their dinner with us. The next morning, after Byron braved the outdoor, cold showers, we said goodbye to our new friends who were watching some dolphins pass by in the sea below. A truly great first experience in Mexico.
It wasn't long after leaving La Fonda that we pulled up to our first military checkpoint. With AK47s casually hung over the shoulders of the soldiers manning it, all the stories we had heard of tourists being kidnapped at false checkpoints sprang to mind. We smiled nervously and made an attempt at small talk while the gun wielding guard poked at our bags before deciding it was too much effort to have us unpack and so waved us on. A sigh of relief passed through us as we pressed on, only to reach another one about two hours later where the guards were slightly more amused by our poor attempts at Spanish and waved us through
while they took apart an overloaded Mexican truck on the other side of the road.
In Baja, the Mex 1 is the only paved main road and it traverses the peninsular top to bottom. The quality of the road varies from flat and well surfaced to entire sections that run through boulder-strewn rivers that swell up after a downpour. Luckily for us, the recent heat meant all of the river crossings had stayed dry so far, leaving nothing more than dirt and a few rocks on the road. We soon found out that it is lucky to find any surface at all once you leave the Mex 1 and cross onto the roads that lead into small villages and towns.
As we continued south down the Baja, passing through brightly coloured, buzzing towns interspersed with deserted highways strewn with rubbish and through more military road blocks, we reached the Bay of San Quintin. Tired and ready to call it a day we followed the first sign we'd seen for camping. It took us down a dirt track for what seemed to be miles. The roads don't pose much of a challenge to the local trucks, quads or dirt
bikes, but riding two-up on a heavily laden motorcycle designed for smooth roads and fitted with smooth road tyres proved a handful to say the least. Realising we had come too far down this particular track to turn back we dug in through deep gravel followed by thick sand and eventually arrived at Don Eddie's Landing exhausted from the four mile bone shaking road and the effort it took to stay upright.
We were greeted by manager Jose-Luis and owner Tony with news that it was Mexican Independence and they had extended happy hour to last the whole weekend. We promptly unpacked, set up the tent and went into the bar to order our first Mexican round. The busy bar and the party atmosphere turned our order from two cold beers to five Tecates and two particularly strong margaritas, based on the agreement that it would save time having to queue up again! Realising food would be a good idea, we ordered a delicious freshly cooked fish dish, purely because the Spanish word for fish was the only one we recognised from the options. While we were waiting, we were serenaded by Dino on the guitar and then joined
by the owner Tony who, fluent in English, filled us in on places to see and general Mexican customs. All in, the night was considerably cheaper than we were used to and probably a lot higher in quality too.
Waking up early the next morning, we got packed up for a long day on the road when we heard a sizzling sound coming from the bike. It turned out friction and vibrations from the rough roads had caused one of the wires connecting the battery to wear through and it was shorting on the frame. Once we had worked this out and then fixed it, our early start was no more so we decided to take a room in the Don Eddie Hotel and stay for the Mexican Independence buffet - a delicious feast of traditional Mexican food.
Having been told of a beach side paradise in the small town of Mulege where you could camp under your very own palapa (a palm leaf roofed hut) we decided we would make our way there and spend a good few days relaxing by the sea. Our journey to the town took us through the deserts of the Baja and
some incredible scenery comprising vast expanses of dry plains covered in a huge variety of cactus plants and trees, some standing over five meters tall. Mulege was the first town we had come across so far that consisted of more than just one road, though our first ride through the town revealed that the route down to the beach had been wiped out during a hurricane a few weeks previous. Knowing the beating our bike had already taken on other dirt roads we decided it best not to chance our luck on this particular stretch of muddy quagmire and so decided to turn round and get back on Mex 1 in search of something more accessible. As we pulled into a petrol station, the attendant assured us (we think!) that the beach in Mulege was good for camping and that maybe we hadn't gone far enough to see it.
Turning back for a second look, we started down the same track when we were warned by an American expat on a quad bike going in the opposite direction that the road was in a bad way. It wasn't long before he introduced himself as Marty and offered to guide
us down to the beach. As we got to the place that we had turned back at before, Marty took us on a detour up a hill to a palapa house he was currently renovating.
No sooner had we reached the driveway than we began to feel an ominous wobbling at the back of the bike that was our first puncture. Without hesitation, Marty invited us to set up and fix it in his yard, handing us a couple of cold beers, some chairs and a fan. With the wheel off the bike, we couldn't break the bead of the tyre to get it off the rim so Marty took Byron down to a local garage to get it sorted. By the time they got back it was nearly dark so, accepting Marty's kind offer to camp out in the shell of his new house, we went with him down to his good friend's restaurant, Mama's House on the beach front where Mama rustled us up some fantastic freshly breaded fish and homemade fries.
On the drive back, we were more than pleased not to have attempted the road down to the beach on the bike as even
Marty's four wheel drive had a fight on its hands. On the drive around the neighbourhood, Marty filled us in on tales of local drug cartels, an ex Nazi who had committed suicide there and a variety of other local characters. As a Vietnam veteran and the only American living in a small town of Mexicans, Marty had a fair few tales to tell of himself that, as has been said before, ask us sometime and we'll tell you! One thing he was happy to proclaim himself famous for though was being forty with thirty years' experience.
Rising early to get back on the road and head to the beaches further South where it turned out the palapas really were, Marty took us back down to Mama's House for a full breakfast served with her special, homemade salsa. On the drive back he decided the road was good enough to get his boat down and asked if we fancied a day out fishing with him and his dog, Trouble. With no plans to be elsewhere we jumped at the chance and had an awesome day out on the Mary Jane, passing by at his friend Andreas' who had lived
on an isolated, idyllic beach for 47 years and had even fought off a local cartel to stay there, and then on to some bays further south where we had been told a whale was recuperating from an injury. Sadly we never found the whale - to our relief as Marty wanted us to swim with it - and didn't catch any fish either but the day was fantastic regardless. That night, with no fresh fish to eat Marty whipped up his speciality dish of lobster, prawn and veg and we shot the breeze.
The next morning we got ready to leave the palapa and then went for a last meal with Marty in town. He gave us a tip off for a place to stay in La Paz, our next stop, where every room came with its own garage in which we could safely park the bike. So it was that we ended that day at the Hacienda Del Mar, essentially one of Mexico's answers to the Motel - a place to get a room on an hourly basis or for the night where you pay up in cash, no-one asks for your details, you drive into a
garage, close its door that then locks you into a windowless suite and voilà, no-one knows you are there. We're pretty sure they provide the girl too if you didn't bring your own.
Our journey the next day wasn't going to be a long one to Cabo San Lucas but we've since learnt that expected short journeys never turn out that way. Ten miles out of town we felt the familiar wobble on the back tyre and pulled over on a downward bend. Wondering what we could best do without having to split up, a car pulled over and Mario came out, Tecate in hand. Despite the language barrier, he offered to take the tyre to town and bring it back fixed. As we managed to get the wheel off on the hill, his cousin Carmen emerged from the car, Tecate also in hand, and offered to stay with Isabel while Byron went with Mario to town. Short of a better idea, we all agreed and the boys left as Mario shouted something back to Isabel about his prima loco - crazy cousin.
Mario was right about Carmen who waved and shouted at everyone who passed by while
Isabel laughed along unconvincingly, attempting to use the opportunity to learn some Spanish. All she really learnt was the words Cabo Wabo, which turned out to be a nearby club, and about the variety of alcohol it sold. When Byron eventually returned with the mechanic two hours later, Carmen had fallen asleep and Mario had disappeared. It turned out, we think, that their uncle had been taken to hospital the night before and Mario had picked up Carmen straight from a night out clubbing and they were on their way to pick up another cousin before going to the hospital. Mario had left the garage to pick up their other cousin and when he had gone back, Byron had already got a lift from the mechanic for fear that Isabel was now on her own on the highway. Carmen jumped in the truck with the mechanic to go back to town when, two minutes later Mario turned up. In the middle of trying to explain where Carmen had gone, she turned up again with the mechanic. The day put a Carry On film to shame. Once they were all back together and we had a fixed tyre in hand, we
couldn't thank them enough for stopping and for all their help before they were on their way again.
Finally, with the fixed tyre finally back on, a battered truck full of mean looking Mexican men pulled up behind us. As we smiled and waved, hoping this wouldn't be the end of the line after all the trouble it had taken to get this far, Byron walked over to thank them for stopping, tyre lever in hand just in case things got ugly. As he got the message across that the problem had been fixed, suddenly all their faces broke into big smiles and a guy in the back handed over two ice cold cans of beer before they all started heartily laughing and sped off. A surreal day with some crazy but incredibly kind Mexicans!
Once we finally reached the town of Cabo San Lucas, a highly recommended place to go by various Americans that we had met, it took a couple of enquiries at a few very pricey seaside hotels and a drive past Starbucks, McDonalds and a designer shopping outlet to realise this was basically a little America by the sea. A long ride about town
eventually took us to the more Mexican area where we managed to find a decent place to stay. The next day we ended up on a snorkelling trip and met a couple from Dallas, Texas who were great company in comparison to the American guys who couldn't drink enough of the free beer and the ladies who couldn't get enough of the Mexican crew members.
The next morning we loaded up and got ready to head back to La Paz from where we would be taking a eighteen hour ferry trip to mainland Mexico. As we got ready to pull off, nothing happened. It turned out that after our two flat tyres, the battery decided it would have a go. On a lighter bike we would have attempted a push start but with the bike being so heavily loaded and the temperature already in the low 40s we decided that a jump start from a car would be preferable. After a good attempt at asking around without success, Byron eventually spotted some Policia and explained our predicament through some first rate Spanish, mixed in with some charades. Not having the necessary leads to hand, the police asked us to
wait while they drove off to collect some. Sure enough, minutes later they returned and got us started. Despite our offer of some pesos to them, they politely refused with a 'no gracias amigo'.
While in the past, similar incidents would have had us cursing our luck, we have found that they now have us wondering who we will meet and where we'll end up. So far, and fingers crossed, the wide variety of people we have met in Mexico definitely don't warrant the suspicion and bad press they seem to be afforded by other parts of the world.
Once back on the road we travelled via San Jose and back into the desert, past the Tropic of Cancer monument, through more tiny colourful towns and an abundance of yellow desert butterflies that unfortunately split on our helmets almost as satisfyingly as the thwack of leather on willow.
Once back in La Paz we went straight to the centre of town, bypassing the brothel we'd stayed at before and onto the pretty seafront. On the recommendation of some fellow travellers, we sought out Hotel Lorimar where we could park the bike in its lobby. The hotel was
a great little place with a maze of tiny corridors that led off to each room, framing a tropical little courtyard. La Paz wasn't the port town we were expecting and actually seemed quite upmarket with some great little shops, a beautiful promenade and some delicious Mexican restaurants that are turning out to be incredibly cheap. A decent meal out with drinks doesn't cost much more than £20 and a good hotel costs less than a US campsite at about £18 per night. While there, we sorted out our ferry tickets for the long trip to the mainland, bought maps, oil, much needed insect repellent and seasickness pills, just in case!
The day of our trip to the mainland was incredibly hot and humid due to an approaching hurricane. Unfortunately for us we had to be at the port three hours before the ferry left, which was bang smack in the middle of the hottest part of the day. The formalities to get through security took all of about fifteen minutes and, being prompt Europeans, we were left to twiddle our thumbs in the roasting sun for three hours before we could get on board. It was an interesting
wait though, watching the variety of overloaded and questionably road worthy trucks and lorries line up. When we finally did get moving with one other fellow motorcyclist, Raoul, we were the last to board and ended up getting locked in the car deck. We lugged our luggage up the back stairs into the engine room and via all manner of restricted areas before we reached the top deck, much to the amusement of a couple of engineers. They led us through to the salon and, just as we were about to collapse from a mixture of intense heat and exertion, the cool draft of air conditioning hit us. Our prayers were answered! We spent the next eighteen hours in air conditioned, comfy-chaired, cinema bliss. All the tales of drunk and rowdy lorry drivers, uncomfortable seating and tough crossings passed us by and we got to watch at least four decent films, catch a few hours of sleep and eat a free breakfast.
The next morning we reached Mazatlan and followed Raoul to the nearest petrol station. From there we said our goodbyes as he made his way to Guadalajara and we attempted to navigate out of the heavily congested
and chaotic city. We rode about ten miles from town, past the rotting carcass of a whole cow, before we hit a military road block. There we learnt that we'd gone the wrong way and turned around just when extreme tiredness hit us. Finding the nearest hotel, another brothel, we instantly fell asleep in a much seedier room than the last one where the colour red featured prominently. A huge storm hit the city that night and we were thankful that we hadn't found a campsite before we found the hotel. When we woke up and took in our surroundings, we packed up quick sharp to get on the road to Durango.
Mexico highway 40 is also know as Espinazo del Diablo - the Devil's Backbone - and can take up to eight hours to ride about 200 miles due to the number of tight curves, steep gradients and narrow lanes. A new road is currently under construction that aims to cut the time to just three hours using enormous tunnels through the mountains and bridges that cross the valleys but we were too early for that route. The first section of the road was truly incredible and almost
akin to riding through a jungle. The landscape was incredibly lush and full of sheer cliff drops, huge rising mountain ranges and many tiny rural villages made up of more colourful huts built into the hills. The road is also home to a number of donkeys, cows and horses that wander about aimlessly. Enormous trucks also use the road and aren't too particular about which side of it they stay on, which we discovered around many a tight bend when cabs the size of entire lorries back home came inches from the front tyre of the bike. The route this road took us was through the Mexico that we really wanted to see and when we stopped at a small family run restaurant at the top of one mountain, just before a military checkpoint, we were more than satisfied. The place was overrun with mischievous little kids running in and out, and was managed by the matron of the family who was helped by her daughter to cook our meal of beans and cow chops - we think! The men came and went, at one point bringing in what we thought was a huge snake, all the while not taking
much notice of the gringos in the corner, while the dogs sat patiently waiting for us to finish and the flies that seem to plague Mexico, went about their usual business of annoying everyone.
As we made our way on, we rode through the military checkpoint ahead and asked one of the guards for some help with the map. They didn't seem to have a clue where we were on it but the diversion meant they couldn't be bothered to ask us the usual questions and waved us on. The guards at the military checkpoints on the mainland are more serious than those on the Baja and definitely don't laugh at our poor Spanish quite as much. We think it's probably, and understandably, down to the more imminent problems of the cartels in this part of the country in comparison to the Baja. The national newspapers keep a front page tally of people killed by drug cartels and bandits on a daily and cumulative basis. The number averages around 30 deaths per day and exceeds 54,000 during the term of the current government so far. Most people we've met assure us this figure is a result of inter-cartel and
government fighting and is mostly from northern regions of the country.
We finally arrived at Durango in pouring rain and found our way to the centre, via it's parks, universities and beautiful cathedral. Our quest for an affordable hotel took us right out onto the edge of town where the paved roads disappeared and the locals were pretty curious at the sight of the gringos in this part of town. We reached the very edge at the top of a hill where a barrier stopped us going any further. As the sun was going down fast, we got off to enquire about somewhere to stay and were told to go back into the centre. Once back on the bike the battery died again. Luckily we were on a hill so Isabel pushed Byron and the bike down it. As Byron dropped the bike into gear firing up the engine Isabel proceeded to jump on and we headed back into the city centre. Eventually we found a place that we could lock the bike away at and got ourselves set up and dried off. As rain was forecast again the next day we decided to make our way on to
Zacatecas.
We went to start the bike in the morning and the battery was completely flat. This time we couldn't even jump start it and realised it was time to fork out for a new one. With the invaluable help of Jorge, the owner of a store next to the hotel, we got searching for a supplier as it turned out none of the garages in town stocked the type needed for our bike. About three hours into trying he eventually called a friend who just happened to be in a BMW store in Monterrey and would be coming to Durango in three days' time. Jorge sorted out the purchase of the battery over the phone as we booked in to stay at the hotel a few more nights.
The next day the rain stopped and we had a good look about the city centre before taking a bus out to the famous Durango film set where many a classic Western movie was filmed. We spent the rest of the day watching Mexican cowboys, Indians and can can girls put on dramatic and, according to the rest of the audience, hilarious shows while eating a hearty dinner at
the set saloon, spending some time in the Sheriff's gaol and sparring with some Apache Indians. That evening Jorge and his girlfriend took us out to one of the oldest restaurants in town that had an incredibly beautiful, old interior, before heading to a couple of bars and ending up at a Mariachi show.
While we were out, Jorge got a message from his friend who had picked up our new battery saying he and the battery were currently in Las Vegas! It turned out he was a private pilot for the owner of a mine in Mexico and would still be coming to Durango the next day. The people we've met as a result of all the unlucky-things-coming-in-threes have really made this trip so far and have shown us a side of Mexico and its people that we probably wouldn't have seen otherwise - and so far it's been nothing but good!
(Scroll down for more photos)
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Jerry and Carol
non-member comment
Having a blast reading your blog!
So I just "caught up" on your travels since you visited us here at Summer Breeze Campground in Iron Mountain, MI....it's raining and cold here now on this, our closing day for the season! Jerry's ready to get a bike and do a "great adventure"! ha ha! We're so glad you guys are having such a fantastic adventure and we just love following it through your pictures and blog! Can't wait to see where you end up next! (oh.. What kind of camera are you using??) Stay safe and enjoy life!