To escuinapa you go. This has a real Mexican feel. Some kid throws a ball at you. You pick it up and take off with it. But what do you want with a ball? So you drop it and keep going. You find a hotel but it is too expensive so you cross the road and find one for half the price.
Ruiz.: Another real Mexican town
Tuesday August 21, 2007, 147 km (91 miles) Total so far: 2,034 km (1,264 miles)
You leave Escuinapa in hope of finding the freeway. But first there is a stretch of highway to cover with the all to frequent trucks running you off the road. The highway runs parallel to the freeway, which is closed for construction. This means you have the freeway all to yourself while you watch all the other traffic battle it out on the single lane highway.
The kilometers fly by but soon you need to top up the tanks again. You have shite all hope of finding anything to eat but road kill on the freeway so you head off and detour fourteen kilometers to a restaurant near Acaponeta. There is also a road toll here. The girl waves frantically as you ride out but catches you on the way back. What she wants is you to put the big onto the raised sidewalk for all of four metres and take it off again. It seems uselessly official and it probably is. You have read about this before but never bothered, succeeding quite easily with riding through. But if it makes them happy then sure, Ill play along. Oh and you do get a flat on this detour too.
More km go past. An exit to Santiago sounds nice until you see that there is still thirty km to go on a semi-truck packed death road called route 15. So back onto the freeway you go where, sooner, you are promised haven in a town called Ruiz. The name is a lot longer by the way.
You find the exit and ride the rickety road into town. Then walk through town on the cobbled roads, across the train line and to the hotel. You see some women wearing traditional garb but have no idea which people they belong to. Well the Mexican people of course. Yeah, but which tribe?
The plan is to follow the coast all the way to Guatemala but the freeway has been so nice compared with the highway and all the buses and trucks trying maim you that it really is quite a dilemma. The decision needs to be made now.
San Blas.: Trouble buying beer
Wednesday August 22, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) Total so far: 2,119 km (1,317 miles)
You wake up early to the sound of something turned up really loud. The host is watching television. Oh well. You wanted to get up early anyway. Some sandwhiches and coffee from a restaurant nearby and youre off. Directions to San Blas take you to the dreaded highway 15 which you follow for near forty km. Thinking you should have just back-tracked to the freeway 15D you realise with no uncertainty that you very well should have when the highway literally takes you onto the freeway for a couple km until the San Blas turnoff.
But traffic is quite accommodating for once. It doesnt last long though as this traffic is soon replaced by less friendly drivers bent on squeezing you off the road. One truck comes up over a hill, overtaking another truck and heading straight for you. You stop and jump out of the way at the last moment as it sure aint. Quite a few snakes end up as road kill on the side of the road. Some are impressively scary. One or two might be something else entirely, a boa maybe.
There are many little hills on the way to San Blas. Up and down you go like a never ending roller coaster finally at last smoothing out the last few km into town. Off the highway traffic is much lighter but some drivers insist on being unfriendly, driving as dangerously close as possible. Of course others are friendly, not overtaking until absolutely safe to do so.
And into San Blas. There doesnt seem to be much about this town. It has the facilities for tourists, ie hotels, but not really. And it doesnt have the character Ruiz had. Maybe all the character is to be found on the hotel strip towards the beach.
So you head to the beach. Restaurants line the beachfront. A cerveza on the beach sounds nice. You make conversation with some foreigners. You say hi to some other foreigners but they are somewhat less responsive. It gets late. You head back into town. Some food, a banana milkshake, and its about time to call it a night.
You stop off at the off license for a couple of beers. How much is one? Ten. You take two and give the guy a fifty peso note. He gives back ten. You stand, waiting for the rest of the change. Ten plus ten equals twenty. I gave you fifty. Thirty change. Youre not getting the rest of your change. The guy looks a little mentally challenged so you try your best not to resolve to asshole mode. You ask a question and he gives you an almost nod. Is that yes or no? Ten and ten equal twenty. Not forty. You put the beers back in the fridge and leave with your fifty. Fuck that.
Los Ayalas.: Helmets are used for a reason
Thursday August 23, 2007, 101 km (63 miles) Total so far: 2,220 km (1,379 miles)
After a restless night you head off down the coast to Los Ayalas. The first twenty km follow the coast along for an idyllic ride. After that you head inland up and down tall hills. But the road is nice and traffic minimal. You even feel safe riding helmetless. At one point the road is blocked by two cowboys, complete with lasso herding cattle.
It rains. Hard. You come to a town and pull up at one of those OXXO stores you like so much. They have stools set against the side. You lean the bike against the wall. You lock the bike. But by the time you step inside the stools are taken by two staff members. You stand dumbfounded just inside the door for a few moments. The staff look at you, wondering what this foreigner in the strange clothes is doing. Then you go. But fret not, a nice restaurant is close at hand for you to wait out the rain.
The rain doesnt stop so you move on anyway. One, then another truck reinforce the notion that helmets are there for a reason. So you put yours back on. Most of the traffic is very cyclist friendly. Its the loud minority you need to watch out for.
You make it into town and cruise down the hotel strip looking for a bargain. But none are to be found. You spend over an hour heading up and down the strip but eventually go back to one you found early on. This place looks touristy and fake. San Blas was the place to chill for another day or so. Okay, maybe not THIS day being wet and all but once you found the beach it was alright. There must be a defect in your guidebook. You are best off throwing it away and getting a different brand. It isnt in sync with where people actually go. Oh well.
Puerto Vallarta.: Dangerous? No shit
Friday August 24, 2007, 76 km (47 miles) Total so far: 2,296 km (1,427 miles)
The road is narrow and hilly. Traffic is for the most part unwelcoming. The usual array of buses and trucks pass with as little room as possible no matter what conditions you are present. A cop pulls you over. Its very dangerous. He says. No lights. No mirror. No registration. After a while of this and your agreeing with him he lets you on with the assurance youll buy a mirror in Puerto Vallarta.
At the peak of the tallest and the last hill traffic builds up and remains constant for the remainder of the day. But its not that bad. At the foot of the hill, and on the coast, the road widens allowing an extra lane of traffic and nice wide shoulders just for you.
At the peak of the tallest and the last hill traffic builds up and remains constant for the remainder of the day. But its not that bad. At the foot of the hill, and on the coast, the road widens allowing an extra lane of traffic and nice wide shoulders just for you.
You ride past the expensive resorts and through all the built up area into town. There are three or four lanes each way. Bus drivers still manage to make assholes of themselves though.
And welcome to Puerto Vallarta. Yesterday saw some hurricane action so some streets are still a little wet to say the least. It looks like gringo land too. Lots of white faces about chilling in cafes and relaxing. A few places offer massages but they are all a bit expensive.
Puerto Vallarhta.: The Mexican from hell
Sunday August 26, 2007
It is Friday night. You go out. You get drunk. You dance. And you meet a man called Tony. Tony is a middle aged Mexican. On Saturday you meet Tony again. You sit in a café reading your book and Tony walks past. He invites you to go up town where the real Mexico is. To go where the girls are pure. He invites you to smoke dope. You say you arent interested in smoking.
You take a bus to a village on the edge of town. To where the jungle is. Im going to need ten dollars for the dope. No, Im okay. I dont really want any. Okay. Five dollars. No thanks. But thats why we came here. Tony is angry. He buys some dope. You sit near the river and drink water. Tony comes over. Hes not happy. Why are you so bad to me? He asks. Company doesnt look so good. Tony wanders off. You see him board a bus back into town. Hes ditched you. Good. You get on a different bus for the ride back into town happy to be out of there.
You see Tony again that night at the bar. You wave when you make eye contact and he comes over. He says the police were there on horseback and he had to bolt. If they caught me with the weed I go to jail. You go to jail. Tony is full of shite. It is all you can drink again. You have a metal bucket full of ice. One corona in your hand. One in the ice. Tony wants some drink. Hes already half drunk. The bar manager isnt happy with him. He swaps the full corona in the bucket for an empty one. The bar staff see him and the manager comes over. He tries to hide it under the table but they are on to him. The manager is not happy. No more open bar for you. He tells you. Tony says hell sort it out. Tony leaves. You speak to the manager and apologise. Eventually he says okay. You go back to the bar and drink your cerveza.
They dont give you any more buckets full of ice. You order your beers one by one. You get drunk. You go back to the hotel. You stay one more day. Sunday is uneventful. You sit in cafes reading books and chat to an American guy looking at buying property here. He says you were lucky nothing bad happened. Perhaps you should be a little more careful next time.
Towards Tomatlan.: Bad doggy
Monday August 27, 2007, 92 km (57 miles) Total so far: 2,388 km (1,484 miles)
You have nightmares about fixing flat tires. You wake early. The bed feels good. You get up late. It is after one by the time you get going. You head south out of town. Up and down the little hills. Then the hills get bigger. No matter. It rains. You get wet. It stops raining. You are still wet. Wet with rain. Wet with sweat.
Traffic is light. In fact it is idyllic. All day traffic is minimal and courteous. But of course that one asshole bus driver does have to appear and try to run you off the road despite the rest of the road being open. But after dealing with a hundred such assholes each day a single cunt is of no bother.
Some dogs run out to attack. Usually in Mexico dogs stop the chase after the second shout. They all seem to ignore the first. You stop for a break at a roadside stop. Three dogs come out to attack. You swing at them. Youre not welcome here. You go up the road and eat where you are welcome.
Tomatlan seems to be todays destination. But will you make it before dark. You eat dinner at a restaurant. Thunder calls out. It will rain. Tonight. In one hour? Two? Is it enough to find a place to stay? Back on the bike a gang of dogs attack. You shout and swing you whip at them veering all over the road. They dont give up easy and you are glad no other traffic is about.
You pass through a town about twenty km from Tomatlan. It is on dusk. You find a hotel. The price is about right so you call it a day.
To Melaque.: A nice fine day
Tuesday August 28, 2007, 124 km (77 miles) Total so far: 2,512 km (1,561 miles)
You leave town without breakfast hoping to find something further up. There are restaurants but you pass on them and soon it is time for lunch and you are hungry and you need food. You stop and get a bite to eat. The front tire hits a pot hole and punctures.
The day is fine. There are hills but they arent too bad. There arent any dogs out attacking you today except for a small gang towards evening. It rains all day. Just a drizzle and it feels good. But around dinner time it gets heavy and you wear your coat. Kilometer markers count downwards. Closer and closer you go. You havent really eaten all day and with less than twenty km to go you feel fatigued. No more water. No food. You press on.
One last hill to climb and then down, down, down for the last few km to town. You head into Melaque and find a place to stay. It seems nice here. You are close to the beach and it isnt so touristy, more like San Blas.
Towards Tecapan.: The wrong way
Wednesday August 29, 2007, 110 km (68 miles) Total so far: 2,622 km (1,629 miles)
It is nice here in Melaque and not as touristy as its supposed to be. Well, like San Blas the hotels are here. It just aint tourist season though. A day on the beach sounds nice but not if its going to rain all day. So you head off. The rains not bad. You feel good about life.
For the third day in a row you wear your coat. Traffic is heavier today but wide shoulders more than compensate. Soon the road follows along the coast and you ride up on the esplanade towards Manzanillo. The road turns abruptly inland and uphill. Signs indicate also. Ahead there is remnants of a road. But you can see many buildings and cars driving about. So you continue along the seaside and it does hook up with the Manzanillo road.
You chat to some surfers you saw earlier. And again when you see them further ahead. Before Manzanillo is the new town where it all happens. They also have a Burger King so you stop inside for an early dinner to get your fix of foreign food. You continue on to the old town where it looks much more Mexican and much less touristy than its northern counterpart.
You continue on. Perhaps now is the time to call it a day. You head out and when the time comes to choose between the toll road and the highway you choose the highway. Well, traffic is light and you should find a town up ahead with a hotel and a bed. A sign indicates a hotel on a beach another ten km further. Surely that must be on the highway.
You choose wrong. Another road connects onto the highway and traffic increases. There are no shoulders and trucks heave along. One truck forces you off the road. All the days happiness disappears in a flash. An insect flies into your eye. Two more follow suit. It gets dark. There is no hotel. You chose the wrong road.
By the time you adjust the lights it is only about twenty km to Tecapan, the next town on your map. But with only thirteen km to go you pass through a small nondescript town. It has a hotel. You get a room. It is overpriced for what it is but it has a bed and beats heading on. For what was planned to be an easy day you sure knocked up the kilometers.