Monday, April 25, 1994 (Day 7):
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I slept pretty well despite the hard bed. I then got up around 7:30 AM and walked into town with Ed. The market square didn't get going until 9:30 or 10:00 AM. We found the post office a block from the main square and mailed some postcards. We wandered into the Cafe de Jardin where I had scrambled eggs, frijoles, and coffee - very delicious. I found a film store and bought a cheapie disposable camera for about 28 pesos. Both of spent two or three hours walking around taking photographs. I bought a couple of t-shirts with Aztec artwork on them. Ed bought some silver jewelry. It started getting hot so we walked back to the hotel. Frank the guide had replaced his clutch cable with one from a Volkswagen bug. He'd tested it and it seemed to work pretty good.
Frank told Ed and I to gas up before heading out the next day, so I bought veinte litros of MAGNA SIN (20 liters of unleaded). The tank didn't leak much so the fuel must have been below the rust spot in the tank.
As I write this, I'm sitting in the shaded patio. It is quite sunny and about 80 Fahrenheit with a cool breeze blowing from the southwest.
I'm thinking it would be very nice to live here in San Miguel if you had some sort of steady income. You could take spanish lessons at the local school and then head out for nice long twisty rides a couple of times a week. In the winter the temperatures drop to as low as 55 Fahrenheit - gosh how awful! I think I'd want a BMW or maybe a Honda to do much riding in Mexico, as it is very difficult to get parts here. You'd have to order parts in from Mexico City and wait a few days as they were shipped to you by bus or truck. I've seen lots of BMWs, Suzukis, and Hondas, a few Yamahas, Kawasakis, and Harleys, and no Ducatis or other brands.
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Once across the border, I saw cops on the open road only once or twice. Once a black and white passed me while I was doing 70 MPH in a 60 zone. Most cities have a few traffic cops, but if you don't behave like an idiot they'll leave you alone. I've been told that if you are ordered to pull over, do so immediately and let the cops see your vehicle permit and passport. Because you are a turista gringo, you will be let go almost immediately unless you are stupid enough to be carrying any illicit drugs or firearms. The Mexican government has apparently cracked down on big-time on crooked cops and the drug trade as they want to promote the concept of Mexico as a safe tourist haven.
Since arriving in Mexico, we haven't had one single problem with cops. Once through the border, we had to stop at one checkpoint where a cop spent about five minutes looking over our papers and permits. That's it.
Montezuma's Revenge: I was advised before I went to eat Pepto Bismo tablets for three days before I left, then maybe one day after I arrived. I've been doing this and (so far!) haven't had any health problems. I've been drinking some tap water and eating whatever I want. No problems so far.
Gasoline: my BMW has been running very well on MAGNA SIN. The others' bikes have been running fine as well. The gas stations are not very common out of towns. Since 'Pemex' fuel is state-owned, there is usually only gas station operated in each town. Occasionally they run out: this almost happened to us in Jalpan. I'd recommend riding a bike with at least a 200 mile range, and always try to keep the tank at least half full. There is also good quality motor oil, but I would bring a liter of your favorite brand.
Bike stuff: I would bring the following:
spare clutch cable
spare spark plugs.
tire patch kit and inflator.
water bottle.
duct tape.
tools, including small vise grips.
spare fuses.
spare indicator bulbs.
spare oil filter.
tie down straps or rope if you need to put your bike in the back of a truck.
Make sure you have good tires and a good battery. Make damn sure your motorcycle is in excellent mechanical shape. All the above may sound paranoid, but if you have a breakdown in Mexico, you'll have a hell of a time getting parts. I warned you!
Since the roads can be so bad, I would highly recommend stripping you bike of any unnecessary plastic body work. These cost $$$ to fix and replace. Also if you can get crash bars fitted, I'd recommend it.
Safety: I felt much safer in Mexico than I would in a large Canadian or American city. Mexicans have little tolerance of violent crimes. Their laws are based on the Napoleonic Code: assumed guilty until proven innocent. They also have a 'three strikes you're out' law: three strikes (felony convictions) and you can get twenty years without parole. Mind you, there is a lot of petty crime such as pickpocketing and hotel theft, so be careful with your money and important papers.
Money: Most of the hotels we stayed at were clean budget rooms. They seemed to be about 75 to 100 pesos per night. Gasoline was about 1.3 to 1.4 pesos per liter (that's about $2 US per gallon). Breakfast can be around 10 pesos for a good breakfast and coffee. Dinner was usually about 15 pesos plus drinks. A bottle of Coke was usually about 2 or 3 pesos, and beer was about 6 pesos. A peso at the time was roughly $0.35 US. Mexico devalued its currency by 1000 to 1 in 1992, so you will often see two identical bills where one says 10,000 Pesos and the other says 10 Nuevos Pesos.
I just spent ten minutes talking with Frank. He told me that the medium-size bikes seem to do best. A BMW GS, a KLR650 or an XT600 would be a great bike for Mexican touring. One small woman from Chicago showed up on a well-maintained Honda CM200 and was able to blow the bigger bikes away in the mountain roads. The most important factor is that the bike be in great shape.
We went to Mama Mia's, an italian restaurant. I ordered lasagna. Quite honestly, it tasted so-so. As I finished eating it, I started feeling queasy. I had to go outside for some fresh air. After gulping down a coke and some Pepto Bismo I felt a little better. I think I'd have to give Mama Mia's a thumbs-down.
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Tuesday, April 26, 1994 (Day 8):
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Woof! I got very sick from last night's lasagna. I had to get up four times in the night because Montezuma was calling my name. I had perhaps three hours of sleep. I tried eating a small bowl of plain oatmeal but only managed to eat a few spoonfuls. I stood outside to get some fresh air while the other riders ate, but San Miguel can get very smoggy for a town of 45,000 people.
We saddled up and headed out, stopping at the top of the valley to look back and take pictures of San Miguel. I was shocked by the layer of brown smog in the valley. Mexico doesn't have any vehicle emissions laws so even a small town in a valley can have bad air.
We then took a somewhat rough, boring country road to highway 57 north. HWY 57 was a fast multi-line highway where the average speed of our group reached 75 to 80 MPH. This road was mostly straight with a few gentle curves, so it was easy to keep up a fast pace.
The highway narrowed to a strip perhaps three lanes wide but was completely unmarked. Most of the traffic consisted of tractor-trailers. These guys were very courteous; they'd hug the shoulders in both directions, deliberately allowing us plenty of room to lane split up the middle of the asphalt.
To bypass the busy city of San Luis Potosi, we all took a brand new toll road that cost each motorcycle 15 pesos (about $5 US). This road was very smooth and straight with virtually no traffic. It times I was doing up to 85 MPH. The R80-GS handled a bit nervously at this point so I didn't push it. The terrain was flat, desolate sandy desert with sagebrush.
Heading north, I passed by the Tropic of Cancer again. Here in the middle of the desert there was an ugly concrete monument and a small shack with the sign 'Cafeteria Becky'. A Mexican woman lived there with Becky, her cute little daughter perhaps three or four years old. Becky peeked around her mother's skirt as she stared at our strange-looking motorcycles.
This was a sight that made me very sad and introspective. I had to wonder what kind of life Becky would grow up to live. So many of Mexico's kids grow up without any chance to be 'successful' (however you might define that) in life. In Canada, America, or Europe a bright or talented child can overcome poverty or abuse to go to college, study a trade, the arts or music. For all I know, little Becky could be a potential de Vinci or Mozart, but here in the middle of the desert what chance would she have to bring forward any talent or genius she might have? The situation reminded me of how someone (Sting, I think) wrote the following line in one of his songs: 'How many Einsteins have died under a hot African sun?' I snapped a couple of photos, drank a Coke and gave Becky a handful of old pesos coins I had in my pocket.
I got into Matehuala after riding 225 miles. The rest of the group wanted to go to Real de Catorce, an old silver mining town 10,000 feet up in the nearby mountains. I decided to lounge by the pool, due to my unsettled stomach. I took some imodium and this seemed to help a lot.
When the others got back they raved about Real de Catorce. At the heat of the mining boom there were 40,000 people living there, but now that the mines have run dry there are only 1,000 inhabitants. One of the group said that it was as if someone had evacuated San Miguel or Guanojuato at the height of its glory and then stuck the entire town in a time capsule for one hundred years.
Finally feeling better, I ate a good chicken dinner. Some riders were discussing the differences between meats in the US and in Mexico. During a lull in the conversation, Ed piped up with 'Hey, do you know how they butcher turtles in Wisconsin?' He then told us that one of the turtle's limbs is cut with a small knife. The hose from an air compressor is inserted and the turtle is blown to pieces! We were all stunned speechless. 'Yep, turtle soup,' said Ed. 'Them's good eating.' I asked him later that night if he was pulling our legs and he insisted that this was the truth.
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Wednesday, April 27, 1994 (Day 9 - the last day):
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We had breakfast at the hotel Las Palmas. I felt okay and ate a ham omelette. We rolled out at 8:00 AM and hit Highway 57 north. It was pleasant and cool. We were riding at 70+ MPH. Frank had warned us of 'border fever' - the desire to get back to the US makes riders careless.
We reached the road that turned from the San Roberto Junction to the town of Linares. This road climbs up into the mountains for thirty miles. Very, very twisty hairpin stuff. V-shaped valleys with winding low traffic roads. |
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