A Commentary on Speedbumps

Think of Mexico, and tacos and Mayans come to mind.  Beach resorts are also well known.  Corona beer with a slice of lime...oh yes.  Having traveled some of this beautiful land will leave me with at least one more, slightly more perturbing memory:  the speedbump.

More accurately, speedbumpS.  There are as many variations on speedbumps as Bubba Gump has recipes for shrimp.  Their names vary too, although it`s not always clear why they vary.  "Reductors de velocidad" is a fitting label for almost all of them.  "Topes" or "Zona de Topes" is another label.  One other is a bit different:  "Vibradores", which I know probably makes some of you with dirty minds think of something other than a type of speedbump.  Get your minds out of the gutter and back on the road!!

Speed bumps here vary from town to town, state to state.  They vary in height, width, length, spacing, even texture and color.  And they are found on every road in every little town or big city, no matter how great or small.  There are the big bumps over which cars nearly bottom out.  Some of those have rounded tops, some have a short flattened top (picture a staff sargeant), others are long enough to let a vehicle set atop it before heading over the backside.  Some are very short, but have sharp corners that double their impact.  Some are sculpted nicely with smoother corners so you can roll over them more gently.  Some only rise a couple inches, but then have several grooves across the top, perpendicular to the direction of the road.  I have also encountered stretches of pavement (barely elevated if at all) about 10 ft in length that also have such grooves.  Some of those grooves  may be squared in shape, others are wavy or goovy.  Those are usually categorized as vibradores, although other vibradores are distinguished by their spacing.  Vibradores may also be little speedbumps about 10ft apart accented by white stipes.  These may be trying to slow you down or simply warning you about a school crossing or a "curva peligrosa".  I have even encountered a tope on a dirt road, as if the road itself was not enough to slow one down.  Perhaps that is an effort at some kind of socialist egalitarianism?  Would Mao also want peasants to enjoy the fruits of speedbumps, not just the proletariat?

So what`s the big deal? It is nearly impossible to drive 10km without having to come to a near complete stop for these merciless constructions.  Usually, it´s more like every 2km.  Downtown Guerrero Negro (in Baja) had one every two blocks, making cruising in the evening a bit more onerous.  I wonder how much better off Mexico would be without them.  Think about the drop in fuel mileage, the wear and tear to motors and brakes and suspension.  Do you smell a plot?  It`s probably the mechanics and the cement lobbies pushing their proliferation!  Consider the poor souls in the back of the plethora of buses that ply this land. Maybe the chiropractors are in on the plot too! Air pollution is defiitely worse because of them.  Poorly muffled diesel trucks spew black particulate matter after each bump.  So, while people are nominally protected from speeders, they are in fact breathing tangibly worse air.  Speedbumps probably even add to the drug problems here.  If I really had to live with these not-always-marked impediments, I might turn to drugs too!  Dope might make me just chill out about it; cocaine might make me think I can beat the buggers; tequila might make it so I am totally oblivious to their existence.

Alas, I have found advantages.  Motorcyles like mine can usually go over these speed reducers a lot faster than cars and trucks.  That is a huge bonus when I am stuck behind a caravan of vehicles on a two lane road with no good passing opportunities.  See a sign for topes and I know I can zip past them then.

Perhaps the real problem is my yankee mindset.  Everything is ben on efficiency and minimizing time wasted.  Maybe I am just an Andy Rooney.  Fortunately, all the other things Mexico has to offer assuage my aggravation, especially that Corona and lime before bedtime.

From Oaxaca to Palenque

Another beautiful day driving through at times stunning scenery in southern Mexico.  Another day of really curvy roads and nearly constant ascents and declines...until I reached the coast.  There, the hills and curves were replaced by wind.  It was`t an epic wind, but it was constant.  So, the surprise was not great to see wind turbines appear on the horizon.  The closer I got, the more I saw.  When I finally reached the first turbine, I could see hundreds of them.  Some were relatively small (and old, I reckon), others were huge and not even running yet.  A quick google later told me that that is Latin America`s largest wind farm and one of the largest in the world.  It was financed largely by Cemex, Mexico`s huge cement producer.  Cement production accounts for a considerable amount of the world`s CO2 production.  Cemex claims the wind farm offsets about 25% of their total energy use.  Wow!

Shortly thereafter, I crossed from Oaxaca State into Chiapas. Again, the road coiled and rolled.  My hope was to camp, but no good spots appeared.  Onward I pushed then to San Cristobol de las Casas.  The last hour was rather intense drive.  It was night when I drove up into hills surrounding SC.  As my sister put it, it was like a video game.  It was dark, the road was twisty, lightning was in the background, there were animals (mostly dogs, but an occasional cow and horse too) along the road and lots of indigenous people walking without lights.  Then came the fog.  Almost forgot the mention the trucks I encountered.  Pickups with neon lights, above the cab, flashing around some religious message, frequently asking God`s protection.  I was really happy to pull into San Cristobol.  Finding lodging was not too hard as my guidebooks finally begin down here in Chiapas.

SC is a lovely city of mostly two story dwellings set at about 2000m elevation in a little valley.  Despite the southern location, the evenings were cool - perfect for walking around, checking out the pubs and restaurants and markets.  This city also dates back to the 1500s.  The oldest church has a nearly completely gilded interior with a very ornate exterior that bears the double headed eagle of the Habsburgs of Spain (probably during the reign of Philip IV).

The indigenous peoples that constitute the majority in this region are mostly either peasant farmers or selling crafts in the towns.  The women are easiest to distinguish with their fluffy/furry skirts (I think a variation on this could catch on in New York) and their colorful blouses.  They are all over town marketing their colorful  wares, this includes setting up a new market in the center of town each night at 8:30pm.  The men stand out less.  Some sport cowboy hats, but most dress with jeans and t-shirts -- especially the young.  Many of these people are rather small in stature.  The older ones have darkened skin and show the wear and tare of years of hard work and probably substandard nutrition.  I felt pretty big next to some of these people.  But then there are some tourists.  Quite a few northern Europeans here.  Some of them were enormous and made me feel small again.  They towered over the locals.

I spent three nights in SC.  The hotel price was right and I needed to change my oil.  I found a little motorcycle shop with just the oil I needed.  They let me change my own oil there.  Good thing, because the oil alone cost me nearly $30!!

The next ride was four hours through Mayan countryside to Palenque.  Again, green valleys, much of them farmed.  The locals grow corn everywhere they can, including steep hillsides.  They also harvest lemons and bananas.  Men, boys, women, girls along the road had bags filled with lemons for sale.  While I zipped along on my motorbike, these people are mostly walking everywhere they go.  Their area is beautiful, but that does not translate to a good standard of living.  Signs along the way indicated support for the Zapatista rebellion against the Mexican government a few years ago.  Boys pretended to conduct roadblocks.  When I approached, they would simply drop their rope and let me roll on by.  Just the day before, though, there was a real roadblock that forced a French couple (Laurent and Carole) to drive 25km of terrible roads on their BMW.  About half way to Palenque, the temperature started warming and the air grew more humid.  Oh no, here we go.  Good bye cool, fresh air.

Following the advice of Lonely Planet, I pulled into Maya Bell, which has Cabañas, camping places, and Palampas, thatched roofs under which you can stretch a hammock.  My hammock has been dead weight since Malibu.  At last, it could start earning its keep.  Maya Bell also has a lovely pool - that`s where I met Laurent and Carol.

Take a listen, though.  This is a new climate and with it come new critters.  Most unmistakable are the howling monkeys.  Yes, that`s what they`re called.  They don`t howl like wolves.  This is a deeper, more gutteral sound.  Buddhist monks might be impressed.  Birds and insects are also adding to the green noise here.  Laurent and Carol asked me to join them for a ride into town for tacos.  It was sooo nice to ride in light clothes through such temperatures.  The tacos and conversation were very nice.  We returned to a darkened Maya Bell.  I groped through my panniers to find something and instead found pain...all around my ankles.  Damn!  Fire ants.  I parked right on their turf.  How many more tropical denizens are going to get me?  After a beer with L and C listening to live music that is a nightly occurence at Maya Bell, it was time to climb in my hammock.

I was smart enough (for once!) to buy a hammock with an insect net.  I tentatively climbed in, laid myself diagonally (as instructed), and enjoyed a floating sensation.  It was really quite comfy...and no bugs!!  At 2am, the rain started.  With the exception of two really random splatters that hit me in the face, I stayed dry, as did all my gear.  With the rain came slightly cooler temps.

Today, I rose early and went to the Mayan ruins, just up the road.  This city grew from 600AD to about 900AD when it was abandoned.  Much of the ruins remain unexcavated.  What we tourists see though are temples, a palace, and a couple rather small residential areas.  It is hard to describe such a place without resorting to cliches.  Indeed, I think the cliches color one`s perception of it.  Yes, it`s an amazing place and it is staggering to think of the labor involved in building up monuments, some of them dedicated to war, in such a climate.  Of course, war led to many prisoners and I`m sure they did much of the grunt work, if, that is, they weren`t beheaded for losing a game in the ball court.  I bet those were intense games.

As always, click on the link to the right to see more pictures.

From Morelia to Oaxaca

Hola Amigos!  Greetings from Oaxaca in south central Mexico.  It is a beautiful day in a lovely city of quaint buildings, bustling town squares, and colorful markets.  Good friends have also been a big part of this day. 

I left Morelia with the goal of getting to Oaxaca without going through Mexico City.  My plans to go there did not pan out and the daunting scale of that metropolis compelled me to find a way around it.  That is not easy.  Like Paris, all roads lead to and from the capital city.  Determination and lots of stops to ask for directions made it happen though.  This path took me up into the highlands south of Mexico City.  The nicely paved roads reminded me of country highways (Landstrassen) in Germany.  The difference was the multitude of curves.  Usually, such treacherous curves are labeled "curvas peligrosas", but here there were so many they didn´t even bother.  The scenery was spectacular.  Sheer drops down many hundreds of feet to verdant valleys and then steep climbs up other nearby mountains with equally verdant summits.  The air was lovely and the population sparse, especially considering the propinquity to the capital.  One closed tourist building declared "El Mejor Clima del Mundo" - the best climate in the world.  I could not disagree.

The next day took me through more of the same.  Finding the way that morning was really tough.  My method is to stop, ask someone, drive a bit further and ask again to make sure the answers are the same.  Again, very twisty roads and lots of hills.  What a surprise to find a big white factory in this rather rural area - it was a Mercedes/Freightliner assembly plant!  I emerged in the city of Cuernavaca.  As I drove down to the city, my rear brake gave out.  Damn!  I motorbraked and feathered the front brake to come to a stop.  Directly ahead of me were signs for a brake mechanic!!  I turned into his drive and then paid handsomely for his 15 minutes of service - a simple fix. 

That afternoon, I stopped in the very hot little city of Ataclan.  I asked a young "elder" mormon missionary for directions to a hotel  (There are quite a few mormons proselytizing here in Mexico.)  I found a hotel and then explored the town.  I was charmed by the nice little town square where all the school kids gathered still in their uniforms as dusk set in.  Near the square were lots of food booths.  I chose a good one and got a couple very tasty tacos.  I was also intrigued to find walls painted red with yellow PT initials.  The workers´ party.  Yes, there are communists here - no surprise given the poverty.

The next day, after sleeping in and then watching a really sappy German romance program (with Spanish subtitles), I pointed my bike to Oaxaca.  Tenting was high on my priority for that night - a good way to save money.  The outskirts of Oaxaca confirmed that I should drive through and out of the city to camp in the countryside.  The traffic was terrible, the roads were worse.  However, as I penetrated the old city, it´s architecture and charm convinced me to stay.  I found a hotel and then started exploring.  One of the first things I found was another KLR in a hotel courtyard.  I waited there to meet the owner (a woman rider and writer), but first heard another bike arrive.  It was my Swiss friend, Andrew (Andre)!!

Together we found Oaxaca´s plazas, churches, and street life to be excellent.  Bands were performing in the different plazas, there were even classical dancers performing to Vivaldi.  Arts and crafts, especially from the local native Americans, were on sale everywhere. 

Andrew planned to go to Puerto Escondido for the next two nights.  I joined him.  The drive there took us high into Pyrenese-like mountains and on roads both good and horrible!  Landslides were being cleaned up in many places.  Towns were few and poor.  Exhausted, we arrived in the very hot and humid ´lost port.´  Mercifully, it was not tourist season, so it was easy to find a Cabaña for cheap.  We had two beds, a nice shower, a ceiling fan and a covered porch with a kitchen.  We went to the local supermarket (Super Che - Imagine Che Guevara in tights!!) and bought food for two days. 

The next day we awoke to rain.  How depressing.  We schemed about what to do, but then the rain quit.  We walked to the beach and then toward town on the beach. Puerto Escondido´s waves are famously labeled the Mexican Pipeline and they are indeed impressive.  We waded into the water and found the currents to be fierce.  A lifeguard told us to swim elsewhere.  We did and had a great time fighting these 5 meter monsters.  After school was out, there were also quite a few local boys out on their bodyboards. 

We returned to Oaxaca the next day on a different route, starting at Puerto Angel.  Again, curves, mountains, etc.  There were more towns here, though, and they appeared less poor and more like (nearly) idyllic alpine villages.  Life looked wholesome and not so downtrodden.  We came across two barriers.  One was a brief police check.  Later, our route was blocked by peasant farmers protesting something.  We and other capable vehicles were diverted to a dirt road to circumvent the protest.  It was fun to put our riding skills to the test in really dusty, rocky conditions.

Back in Oaxaca, Andrew and I reunited with Mark and Maggie, the Swiss Australian couple.  They were with two other Aussie bikers they had met up in Canada. The latter, Wade and Phil, are raising money for the Make-A-Wish foundation and hope to cross both the Arctic and Antarctic Circles with their motorcycles. Today, we all walked the city, explored the very colorful markets (with highlights such as dried grasshoppers - I tried one and don´t think they´ll ever replace popcorn), visited a famous chocolate factory where we enjoyed some delicious chocolate milk, and sampled some Mezcal, the local version of Tequila.  We happened upon a wedding in one of the main churches here.  The interior of this church was extremely ornate with an impressive altarpiece.  I was halted by a live singing of "Ave Maria".  How sublime.

Yes, there is violence here.  Mark and Maggie were just in Veracruz where unbeknownst to them, some 30 bodies were dumped right in the city by the narcoterrorists. At one of the plazas, there are mothers protesting the loss of their sons (and daughters?).  If you didn´t read the news, though, you would never know it.  Life is normal here.  Tourists are lucky in that the terrorists are not interested in tourists; they are interested in a society being compliant with their demands.  They target those who oppose them.  There are literally hundreds and hundreds of bikers around here.  None have been ensnared in any troubles that I know of.  There are thousands more tourists from all around the world.  We are not looking for danger or getting a rise out of taking chances.  We are tourists and explorers enjoying what Mexico has to offer, no different than traveling through Canada.

Please click on the link to the right (pics from Baja to Morelia) to find new photos in my album.

From Baja to the Mainland

Time has been rushing by and with it the miles!  Baja, its heat, and the beautiful blue waters of the Gulf of California now seem rather distant.  I am learning about the fleeting acquaintances of the adventure motorcycling experience.  Ade, who I met near Guerrero Negro, and I were travel partners for just three days.  He and I met Mark, a Brit, between GN and Loreto.  Mark and I traveled to La Paz where we caught the ferry boat to Mazatlan together.  On the ferry we met Mark, Maggie, and Andre - all of them Swiss.  Mark and Maggie live in Australia but have been on the road for six years now.  Andre is making his way to South America on his 1990s Honda African Twin.  As soon as I saw it, I knew he was from Europe.  I don´t think Honda ever sold those here.  Upon arrival in Mazatlan, Mark headed back to the US.  I spent just one day and night with the Swiss crew and just last night I met an American from Massachusetts, Christian.  We´ll be going our own ways today.  It is great to meet these people, learn from their experiences and enjoy their company.

The mainland of Mexico has been great!  Mazatlan was a sweltering hot town, but was much bigger than all the previous Mexican cities I´ve visited so far.  In the early evening as the city cooled, Mazatlan proved to be a vibrant place.  Even on a Monday people were going to markets, stopping to get fruit or tacos from street vendors, or just walking about to see and be seen.  Mark, Maggie, Andre and I stayed in a very inexpensive but quaint hotel complete with air conditioning!  We were allowed to pull our bikes into the lobby for parking.  In the evening, Andre and I went back into town to see what happens at night.  It was rather quiet, which one can either chalk up to the fact that it was Monday or perhaps danger played a role.  The narco organizations are supposedly active in Mazatlan and the police maintain a nearly menacing presence.  Andre and I found a bar and were intrigued by the decor.  Behind the bar, images of the Virgin and baby Jesus.  Just across from the bar hung posters of women, some nude.  We were clearly the outsiders there, but most were pleased to have us there.  The bartender did not hide his disfavor.  We just kept to ourselves though and had a great conversation in German about politics in Mexico, Switzerland, and the US.  Andre asked me the very interesting question of what the difference is between a hillbilly and a redneck.  Hmmmm...  Despite the poverty of Mazatlan, the city was pretty clean and very orderly.  Even the cars were well muffled.

Being some of the very few foreigners in Mazatlan and thus supposedly those with the most money, we became magnets for musicians.  Wherever we sat down, they were soon there.  Most of them were older.  They played instruments from guitars to accordians to tubas.  We just wanted to rest and talk, but we got a good chuckle from one local man who was surrounded by a band that blasted away full tilt.  We´re not sure what he did to deserve that.

The next day, Guadalajara was my destination.  Given the security situation in Mexico, I drove on the toll road, 15D.  What a nice road!  The pavement is in great condition and there is very little traffic.  I soon found out why.  I think my travels that day cost me nearly a peso for every kilometer.  I was speechless at the first toll booth, but what was I to do?  The elevation climb of the 15D was very welcome!  The surroundings became green, then hilly and even mountainous as I approached Tepic.  Best of all, the temperature went down!

I found my destination in Guadalajara without any major snafus.  Lacking a gps device, I simply have to stop and ask once in a while.  What a surprise when I asked someone where the Plaza del Sol was and she responded "Aqui" - Here!  Casimiro Arce (Cacho) is a former Academy student.  He was in my Model UN club and he is the reason I visited Guadalajara.  He put me up with some very nice friends of his.  It was great to see Cacho, but our time visiting was mostly constrained to the evenings as he had papers due.  I explored Guadalajara on my own.  This is perhaps Mexico´s wealthiest city and it shows.  This city of 4 million has a lot to be proud of.  Right now, it´s looking forward to hosting the Panamerican Games.  I took greatest interest in its culture.  I first became acquainted with the murals of Orozco at Dartmouth College.  The library there has an amazing mural that Orozco made in the 1920s (or 30s?).  Orozco was born a couple hours from Guadalajara and spent a lot of time there.  He has prominent murals in the Palacio Gobierno, at the University and in an old hospital.  I saw all three.  The first was the most impressive, depicting a determined Hidalgo rising up in a red background to create Mexico while the forces of despotism and the fools that led them linger and fester in the background.  Chavez Vegas also left a mural in Guadalajara.  It´s in a high school that I visited.  A kind faculty member showed me around this arcaded old building.  I also became a fan of an ex Carmelite convent converted to an art institution not unlike Catamount Arts.  The contrast of the catholic background with some really provocative modern art was electrifying.

Guadalajara also houses and enormous indoor market.  I heard it´s the largest in Mexico.  A plethora of vendors hawk their wares here.  Everything from crafts to tennis shoes (of every imaginable shade and variety) to watches, knick-knacks and butchers ares to be found there.  The scale of Mexico´s poverty and underemployment is also to be registered there.  All these young and old people sitting at stands just like their neighbor´s hoping to sell a few things a day just to get by.  I found it rather depressing, even if the scene was fun and colorful. 

Poverty can also be seen in the men waving towels around town.  These men find spare parking places and announce their presence for drivers, who had better tip them or run the risk of retribution later on.  Hustling was also seen at the intersections.  Cleaning windows, selling newspapers and candies or soda; even performing mime or in a quartet.

My last night in Guadalajara was their equivalent to July 3rd.  There were celebrations to scream in the next day, Mexico´s independence day.  In a reenactment of Mexico´s founding, people cry "Vivo Mexico" repeatedly.  I joined Cacho, Alex, Juan and Natasha that night.  We went to a carnival complete with rides, mariachi music, and churros to snack on.

Alex, Juan, and Natasha gave me a great start the next day with scrambled eggs, pancakes and VT maple syrup, which Cacho had given them earlier.  Awesome!  Then I headed off to...well, I didn´t quite know.  It´s now clear that I will not be going to Mexico City.  I aim to circumvent it.  So I headed southeast and would see how far I get.  No toll roads, though - too expensive.  The drive was beautiful.  I am in highlands that are lush green and highlighted by ancient volcanoes and even by picturesque lakes.  Aside from the scenery, my back tire was on my mind.  It is worn and needs to be replaced.  Please don´t blow on me now! 

It got me to Morelia without a problem.  The first thing I saw of Morelia arriving from the west was a public housing project.  Identical homes/apartments - there must be thousands of living units there!  Then I saw smoke from a plant of some sort.  The smell told me it´s a paper plant. Yuck.  I found a hotel for 150 pesos.  Perfect!  However, when I checked in, I learned it was 150 for three hours.  That explains its propinquity to a ´dance club´.  So, I drove further into the city, crossing a bridge and then arrived in the most beautiful city I´ve encountered here in Mexico.  The old city of Morelia (founded during Philip II´s reign in 1541) is like Quebec City.  Old buildings, beautifully maintained and still lived-in.  Like all such old cities here, it is dominated by a lovely cathedral and a number of other churches, convents, etc.  The only thing it lacks is Quebec´s wall.  It makes up for that with its own aquaduct.  The town was a hive of activity as it was still the national day.  So, I decided this would be a two night stay.  I drove around and around looking for a hotel and finally found one for a surprisingly good price.  I showered quickly and headed out in time to watch the fireworks and the lighting of the cathedral and the other historical buildings at 9pm.  The clubs were thumping with music, the city center park was swaying to mariachi.  All were festive.  It was a lovely evening.

Morelia also has poverty.  The prostitutes near my hotel attest to that.  This city is spic and span clean, though.  Even cigarette butts are rarely seen.  The red light district (where I stayed) has neither red lights nor any sense of danger or dread.

The next day had its ups and downs.  I got the runs and didn´t feel good for much of the day.  However, I did manage to find a bike shop with a new rear tire for my bike.  What luck.  It was the last tire in the last shop and it´s a really good tire, a German made Metzeler, which is recommended on the BMW bikes.  Plus, the guys put it on right away, they let me watch to see how it´s done, and they cleaned my bike so that it shines like it did when I bought it!  In the evening, I went looking for an internet cafe, but instead found a guy riding a KLR.  I ran him down.  Christian is from Mass and needed a place to stay.  We crammed together in my room and divided the room costs.  Anything to save money!

My first two days in Mexico

Bienvenidos dear readers!  I´m sitting in a little internet cafe at a grocery store in Guerrero Negro, Baja California Sur.  Mexico has treated me very well so far, but it nearly started in a perilous fashion.  Approaching the border guard, there was one of those embedded barriers that flatten tires if you go over them the wrong way.  I was worried they would not collapse under the weight of my bike.  Flat tires before even crossing the border would be a major bummer.  So, I angled to the side by the curb to avoid them.  But in so doing, I ended up riding parallel to a grate over a pit just after this barrier.  I didn´t even notice it until I put my right foot down and it hit...nothing!  I looked down and saw the grate and nearly blanched with the realization that if I had fallen over, it would surely have broken my leg as my bike´s weight would push me down.  Yikes!

After that, the formalities of importing my bike were slow, but pretty easy as soon as I figured out where to go.  There were many helpful signs and mercifully no line when they finally opened at 8am.  At last, I could hit the camino.  All names on my mapquest directions were nowhere to be found.  So, I just wandered around.  A couple kind people asked what I was looking for and I blurted out Carretera - highway.  They pointed in a direction that did not seem to match my mapquest directions.  Eventually, their advice proved to be correct.  I foiund highway 1D (cuota - I think that means it`s a toll road).  This led me along a spectacular coast on a very well maintained road.  It reminded me of CA´s Hwy 1.  At the port city of Ensenada, the highway was no longer a toll road and it left the coast.

The ride inland warmed up quickly.  Soon I was in temps that must have been at or more than 100F.  In no time almost all towns were behind me.  It was just me and the desert and some traffic on this narrow two lane road.  For a motorcycle, this winding road was quite fun, as long as you and the bike didn´t overheat.  I was wearing my Camelbak and was still going on adrenaline.  As I approached San Quintin, there was some agriculture.  At first a couple random plots of cacti (for tequila?), but then big vineyards and then even larger fields complete with a network of a sort of greenhouse containing I don´t know what crop.  Peppers?  That seems unlikely.  At any rate, it´s clear that an effort is underway to create a sort of fertile crescent there.

I rode right through San Quintin without realizing it was actually SQ.  I stopped at a gas station to check.  Mercifully, its proximity to the ocean made it cooler than the inland.  I checked two hotels and stayed at the cheaper one for 200 pesos - around  $18.  It was a tough night.  A connected bar where I enjoyed a Dos Equis earlier came to life when I went to bed.  The air was filled with thumping mexican pop music and constant sreams of "Aye, aye aye!!!" (really)  There was also a thumping sound accompanying those screams.  I wondered if Khrushchev was there pounding his shoe.  This continued non-stop until 3am (I had put my earplugs in just moments before).

Still, it was a great first day.  Regarding safety:  There was one federal police check and about four military checkpoints.  Mostly, these are young soldiers who were professional and courteous.  I found their presence reassuring.

The next day led back inland.  I got an early start to avoid the worst heat.  Valleys and mountains made for another day of curvy, fun riding.  Some mountains were old and warn, others looked young and verile.  All were brown.  Cacti appeared in one region and then something remarkable:  boulders.  Hundreds of thousands of boulders of enormous proportions littering the landscape.  Some were piled into little mountains. I am still baffled about what caused this amazing scene.

Amidst this unique grandeur was a little town.  A sign indicated gas was available here.  I only saw a closed gas station, though.  Across from that was an elegant hotel.  I rode to the entryway and found a BMW800 sitting there all geared up to go.  I went inside and first met Arturo, who took an immediate interest in the bikers and assumed we were together.  Nope.  Arturo encouraged me to go to Bahia de Los Angeles.  Sorry, Arturo, we didn´t go, but thanks for the map!!  Finally, Arturo and I met Ade, a self-described tech geek from Toronto (his parents are Indonesian)..  How cool.  Arturo and I decided to ride to GN together.  Arturo took pics of us and then gave me his card.  It showed his employer to be Steelcase, a company very near home for me.  He has been to Grand Rapids many times.

Ade and I were near twins.  Black pants, lighter jackets, blue shirts and the exact same helmets.  Wierd.  Ade showed me where the guy was with extra gas (in lieu of a gas station) and we were off.  It was fun to ride with someone, especially through such a foreboding environment.  Without the extra gas, I would not have made it to GN.  After a couple hours of riding, the air cooled again and GN was near.  We were welcomed by a giant Mexican flag blowing in the stiff westerly wind.  A couple hours earlier, this flag had been worrying me.  It had occured to me that I wasn´t sure I had a Carta Turistica, which is required for travel in Mexico away from the border provinces.  After all the effort of importing my bike, it baffled me that I didn´t have this. I had certainly made clear to the customs official that I was going all the way to Belize.  Then it hit me, though.  I had filled out a form and paid for something prior to getting the importation permit.  That had to be the Carta Turistica...and of course, it is.  No worry, though.  The immigration agents at the NG checkpoint just waved us through.

Ade and I got a couple tacos, got settled in our respective hotels and then set out to explore.  We rode out to the Faro Viejo - the old lighthouse.  This late afternoon ride took us down a long road built through salt marshes that team with birds and fish.  This drive comes to a close where the marsh gives way to open water with undulating wanderdunes across the water.  It was spectacular.  This point had belonged to a salt company where the salt would be loaded on ships.  Apparently, salting began here in the 50s.  Today, this is still home to one of the largest salt operations in the world...if not the largest.  This harbor was no longer used for shipping though.  All that was left were ruined buildings, a few fishing boats, lots and lots of shells, and of course an old lighthouse.  The beauty of this place and the sense of having discovered this place so far away from home was intoxicating.

That adrenaline kept me up until quite late.  It was not just adrenaline, though.  The cockroaches were disconcerting, but didn´t fill me with dread.  They stuck to the floor and actually stayed out of sight (three of them had already found an unnatural end).  Mosquitos hummed around my head.  THAT was annoying.  At first, I thought it was only a couple, so I turned on the light, read my Spanish phrase book and waited to kill them.  I got three, turned off the light and bzzzzzzzz.  That was it.  I got up (shoes on, of course!), pushed the beds together and erected my tent.  I crawled in and was finally able to sleep!

Tomorrow, Ade and I will continue toward La Paz and the Gulf of California.

The Foggy State of California

Since my last entry, I have dashed through barren lands and past alkali lakes in eastern Oregon, swam in the deliciously blue and refreshing waters of Crater Lake and overnighted off the beaten path in the Siskiyou National Forest, also in Oregon.  California and the Pacific Ocean were just miles away.

California!  What a fabled land.  It's known for glamour, for sun, for geeks, and for dudes.  One lasting impression I have had of this electoral college powerhouse is the fogginess.  It could be argued that these are foggy times for California.  It faces an economic crisis and political gridlock.  Its current governor has been recycled out of the 70s (California loves to recycle) and its past governor was living in a fog of delusion thinking he could hide a past affair and love-child.

The fog I write of though is the literal kind.  It first greeted me in Crescent City when I greeted the Pacific Ocean for the first time.  I accompanied me to the redwoods where it was kind enough to grant me a reprieve for some sunny viewing of those ancient giants.  It also joined me as I first twisted and rolled with the countless corners and arcs of the first miles of Highway 1.  The chilling effect and premature darkness also urged me to take the first campsite I could find - it was a good one, though, with nice RV neighbors and a short, but impressive view overlooking the beach and the pounding waves.

The next day the fog clung to the coast and made my ride to San Francisco a little less remarkable.  Where the road hugged the cliffs hundreds and hundreds of feet above the rocky shores, all I saw was a steep hillside plunging into white.  When Highway 1 deviated from the shoreline, the fog released me and allowed me to enter Sausalito on a busy but sunlit highway 101.  As I approached my sister's place though, the fog was rolling over the hills from the Ocean and kicking up remarkable gusts of wind that battered me as I rode by.

Hanging with my sister, Gayle Ehrean, was great fun.  She took a number of days off from work so we could enjoy our time together.  In the following days, we explored San Francisco's different quarters and ate some great food.  I found SF's Little Italy much more charming than New York's.  Chinatown was bright and musical and filled with bargains of all sorts.  Haight-Ashbury was...well, I'm not sure that place will ever change much.  We had an amazing lunch in the nearby Zazie's (as in Zazie Dans le Metro) on Cole Street.  If you're in SF, it's a must.  Gayle and I explored the parklands around the Golden Gate Bridge and drove up to the Twin Peaks' overlook.  We also just enjoyed drinking an occasional brew together and eating very well in the evening with her boyfriend, Chris.

Another highlight of the stay at the bay was visiting Jess Xu and Wonhee Lee at UC Berkeley.  It was very fun to meet up with these former students and new frosh at Berkeley.  They are two bright and fun young women who are going to shine among the multitude of UC students.  We enjoyed some Indian food and some yogurt, which is all the rage out here.

It was sad to leave my sister and SF, but it was time to explore Highway 1 south of San Francisco.  Well, the fog was there waiting for me.  It was not as dense this time, but it was still mighty cool.  I put on extra layers and motored south not knowing how far I would drive this day.  When the fog finally lifted and I came across a campground right on the Ocean, I seized the opportunity and claimed a site.  The campground host turned out to be a biker.  He went home, got his bike and took me on a ride up the mountainside.  We reached about 2700' above sealevel and enjoyed amazing views.  I think I was most stunned by the sight of redwoods that had been totally charred, even their limbs were gone, but they were still alive.  Green shoots were sprouting out everywhere along the tree stem, making them look like rather phallic Chia Pets.  That night, I had the good fortune to meet a super nice guy who had been biking for two months, having started in Virginia.  We shared a lot of stories.  I'm embarrassed to say I've forgotten his name.  Academy friends can picture him well as he reminded me a lot of Duncan Bond with his white hair and beard and tall, but slender frame, not to mention his keen mind.

The next morning did not disappoint.  The fog did not abate.  That's ok though.  I was pushing south and looking forward to arriving in Malibu where I sit right now.  I am staying with Sheri and Brooks Hilton, whose elder daughter was with me in Stuttgart this summer.  This was not planned, but since it's Labor Day weekend, Sheri returned home from Saint Johnsbury with her daughter's exchange partner, Sophia, who I last saw in Stuttgart.  I'm having a great time.  We have been out walking the beach, hunting for beach glass (also a popular Michigan pastime), and watching the exceptional surf crush all but the most skilled surfers.  We have also cruised around on bicycles and then checked out the kaleidoscopic scene that is Venice Beach.  Little did I know that I could simply walk in a sidewalk office, meet briefly with a 'doctor' and get a prescription for some medical marijuana (I did NOT do that and isn't all marijuana medical???).  Last night we also visited the carnival.  It's not really any different from the carnival at the Caledonia County Fair or the Fruitport Old-Fashioned Days, except that there are paparazzi outside the gate and the people are all so damn good-looking.  It struck me that of course people resort to plastic surgery here.  When everyone looks as good as you do and when everyone is as fit as you are, how do you set yourself apart?  I should note though that the people I've encountered here are not shallow, souless people.  Everyone has been really nice and kind...even Pamela Anderson.

A couple more days here and then I'll dash to San Diego and then across the border to Mexico on Wednesday.

Oh, and no, I did not meet or even see Pamela Anderson.