mexico

MEXICO

Rain drizzled down, as my hands slowly froze in ever increasing increments of pain. The endless expanse of Texan interstate stretched interminably ahead. Nerves were high. What was I doing? And why was I doing it?.. Adventure perhaps? The call - the longing for unknown sights, vistas, and experiences? – The Mexican border loomed dead ahead.

“Why are you going there?!?!? Your going to get shot-stabbed-raped-decapated-toutured-harassed-inprisoned!!” said nearly everyone I’d met in the last 3 months of motorcycle travel through AMERICA-FUCK YA!

I crossed the border, was literally just waved through, and that was it, into Mexico, and on to the rest of Latin America...No big deal.

I spent an hour aimlessly wandering around the border area searching for immigrations-you’d think there’d be a sign. Nope. Eventually got my passport stamped, got a tourist card, passed a couple of military checkpoints, then a police checkpoint, and hit the road – N.L.#1 to be exact, an absolutely empty stretch of narrow, pothole filled tarmac running due south for hundreds of miles. I crossed the mountains to Sabanis Hidalgo - not the Hidalgo I hoped it was - realised my mistake, and kept going south. I had told myself I wasn’t going to drive at night in Mexico, and one shouldn’t, it’s bloody spicy. But of course darkness slowly crept on, as I weaved through dense traffic in the northern outskirts of Monterrey - Mexico’s second largest city – absolutely lost in every way. I was where my National Geographic map told me Hidalgo was, but Hidalgo wasn’t there. I asked for directions - well...just pointed to the town on my map - backtracked, and hit and scraped over endless topes – Mexico’s famous super-speed-bumps.  Asked for directions again, went back where I just was. After a couple more rounds of directions, and hand drawn maps, I thankfully, eventually made it to Hidalgo, and the camping at La Posada. It was ten o’clock at night and I was absolutely shattered.

Lessons learned on day one of Mexican driving: Topes are mean. Road signs and signals are merely a suggestion and may be completely wrong. Trains cross without warning. Maps can be wrong in every way. Roads may end without warning.  Dogs will try to bite your ankles.

It was a hard day...the next one was spent in posh hot springs.

 El Potrero Chico – “A sport climbing paradise of soaring limestone cliffs”.

I spent 6 days in Potrero; running, soloing long routes, roping up for some hard sport pitches, and partying the nights away. It’s funny how the days of motorcycle travel stand out in my mind; where as, the climbing days in Potrero assimilate into the normalities of my life, a life that’s far from normal. That’s not saying I enjoy one over the other.  I soloed 4 long multi-pitch 5.10’s; treasures, dope ninja, poncho via, and yankee. With treasures of the sierra madre (5.10c 7 pitches), and an onsite of poncho villa rides again (5.10c 5 pitches) standing out as exceptional quality. I didn’t really do too much cragging, and to be honest I don’t really think it’s that good, certainly no different than anywhere else in the world. I did somehow manage to onsite a steep and dynamic 5.12b in the Surf Bowl called Guppie, for what may be my hardest sport onsite to date.  Life was easy in Potrero, with good friends and fun times. But I was starting to get lazy and complacent.

A long and winding road beckoned. Besides I really wanted to climb stalactites.

I pack slowly, more so because I was terribly hung-over, than I was sad to leave. It was time to brave the insanity of downtown Monterrey traffic, and I have to say it was an experience. Grab a handful of throttle and be aggressive. I weaved the oil slickened and polished roads, for what seemed like an eternity of exceptionally high stressful driving.  I managed only one wrong turn in a country that doesn’t seem to believe in street signs. Thankfully the density of the city subsided. Off the highway a road of rough, and snott slick cement wound narrowly upwards into the sierra, with grades over 30 percent - Defiantly the most amazing mountain road I’ve driven since India. I set up my tent in Kika’s Deposito, sat by the road and drank beer for hours. A day well lived!

I climbed with a couple French Canadians for two short days, at a place that deserves way more time. We spent the first day at La Boca, climbing a few good lined on slightly overhung limestone. Las Animas wall on day two was absolutely spectacular – thirty five meter lines up a 110 degree wall ,with tufas protruding in unimaginable size and shape in all directions.  Possibly north Americas best sport wall. I nearly onsited a 12a called Culo de Negro, but missed a hold mere feet from the anchor and took a good whipper. There is also a cave at El Salto that is said to be incredible. Put this place high on the tick list!

A day of unforgettable beauty, adventure, and challenge – Adventure motorcycling at its absolute best!

We left Salto in a convoy of sorts; heading west on forgotten mountain roads, then south on highway 57. I followed two Canadians in a Honda fit with plans of climbing in a few areas on our way to La Chonta – Mexico’s premier Cave climbing destination. That day’s drive was the kind of drive you live for when traveling the world by motorbike. We crossed numerous rivers of varying depth and flow, nearing loosing the Honda in a waist deep section of river, motor sputtering as water crept its way in. I’m glad the air intake on the Suzuki is tucked high under the tank. The wake of water pushed high over the sides of my windshield. I dared not let up on the throttle as I spun through large smooth beach stones pilled deep under the water. Soaked I popped out the other side.  We wound up a narrow concert road, passed canyons, lakes, and sleepy mountain towns the world has forgotten. The terrain slowly changed as snow peaked mountain gave way to meadows, and eventually desert, with Joshua Tree forest stretching for hundreds of miles in all directions.  We cruised down highway 57, a thousand foot high dust devil momentarily distracting us from the pot hole ridden road.

We climbed for only a day at Guadalcazar. A secret local place, with amazing stalactite caves and crags dotting the hill sides outside of town, again worthy of way, way more time. It was incredibly strange to be lost in a horizontal roof of rock icicles. Finding the bolts was a grope affair.

 

 

 

El Chonta bound – off to the world’s best cave climbing

Isabeau and I once again hit the 57 south, with plans of driving to Taxco, and the climbing at El Chonta in two days. I followed Isa into San Louis Potosi – a stunning colonial city - in search of some internet. I had to stay glued to her rear bumper so the taxis didn’t bully me out of the way, and often had to do some creative manoeuvring to get back behind her. We found internet, and some climbing store addresses in Queretaro where we hoped to get a Chonta guidebook, saw an amazing colonial city with its cobblestone streets and impressive churches, and got back to the highway.

After wandering Queretaro lost for an hour, we finally found a small bouldering gym – not exactly a store.  They were super helpful, and we soon had two more spots on our list; Aculco, and Jliotepec.

Aculco was in its self a marvellous small colonial town, with 80 foot basalt pillar climbing a short distance out of town. It seemed to be a rarely visited cliff in a country of gym rats and sport junkies.  We camped and climbed there for 2 days. The climbing wasn’t world-class, but there were some true splitters, and leading then on a single rack was defiantly cerebrally stimulating. I led 3 lines in particular that were super memorable 5.11+, 5.12- pitches.

 

 

The short ride from Aculco to Jliotepec was a memorable one. Flames licked my boot from the endless bush, and grass fires on the road sides - the smoke, fire, and decaying concert building more reminiscent of a war torn Middle East than central Mexico.

Jliotepec is the “local crag” of Mexico City. We showed up on a weekend and it was a shit show. The rock is low quality beach stone conglomerate, and the bolts always seemed to be out of the way and hard to get to. I won’t be back.  We did drink whiskey with some locals for a while so it wasn’t a complete waste.

We took the long way to Taxco, checking out, and driving up to snow line on the 4583m Cinantecal volcano. The countryside was breathtaking, passing through northern Californian pine forest somehow thriving in central Mexico. It was a step back in time 100 years, a place where fields are turned by horse drawn plows, and wheat is separated from the stem by hand and foot. As a result, Isa and I got into Taxco at 10pm - exhausted. We dropped 750 pesos (about 60 $) on the first room we found. The luxuries of a clean bed, hot shower, and internet were truly appreciated after 7 nights of free camping.

Taxco is by far the coolest town I’ve seen, ever. Once made rich by silver mining, it’s now mostly a tourist town. Countless white VW bug taxies buzz around the steep cobble stone streets, in reverse nearly half the time. The combination of century slickened cobblestones, steep roads, and slow traffic was a true test on the bike. We explored the charms and architecture of the town for two nights then headed off to check out las Grutas de Cacahuamilpa.  A two km long cave system that came highly recommended. The 100 foot high stalactites and stalagmites were really cool, but I couldn`t help dreaming of climbing them. Eighty three percent humidity wasn`t helping our hastily increasing gastro-intestinal issues.  We were both sick, incredibly exhausted, and had painful stomach cramps. What better time than to finally go to El Chonta.

In the blazing sun, weak from little food, little sleep, and a slowly fading illness, we hiked the 45 minutes up to the cave, and what a cave. It took me a while to get on a route, I wasn`t feeling top shape to say the least, but I onsited an 11a, then an 11c, then an 11c.  Feeling better we headed down to the bottom of the cave where I managed to onsite a 12b then a 12a. Climbing on crazy steep terrain littered with massive stalactites. I onsited a 12c, then a 13a called El Jaguar on day two – my hardest two onsites ever. I don’t know if the grades are soft or stalactite climbing suites me. The moves aren’t that hard but you do get really beat up. I’ve never seen the insides of my thighs that cut-up and bruised before.  We left and drove towards Puebla.  The 7 pitch 12d will have to wait for the next trip. Another place worthy of way, way more time!!

 

 

 

The end of the dream team – and another new beginning

Long trips seem to ebb and flow in many different ways.  And one of the main defining factors of traveling is who you meet along the way. The friendships you build and the inevitable goodbye - To travel with someone for weeks with no preconceptions, and no promises or plans beyond the next few hours it a true joy.  At the last minute I decided to follow Isabeau and Gab to Guadalcazar, with vague plans of Isa joining me for El Chonta. We climbed in 4 areas, spent 2 weeks traveling together, and had a hell of a lot of fun. She’s stoked, and somehow leading 5.11’s after just 6 months of leading outside.

We had gone to Puebla to meet up with Isa’s friend, and to climb the 5636m Pico de Orizaba. Her friend was sick and in a different city, and our combined stoke for walking uphill was lacking – we wanted the beach, and I wanted to get some miles in.  Argentina suddenly felt really far away.  I got another top lid for my aluminum side boxes made - the old one fell off?  The shop made it in under 24 hours and I was only out 43$ Canadian. I said goodbye to another good friend and hit the road again.

Leaving Puebla I followed a sign for Veracruz HWY #150, and merged onto an empty freeway – clue number one. I looked up at a speed limit sign, 90 kph, and then looked down. Fuck!  I slammed on the brakes, ABS chattering, and then dropped off the end of the road into dirt and construction debris. What kind of a country signs a highway that’s not even built! If it were night I would be dead. Back on track, I rode through desert and along mountain switchbacks, backed by the snow capped Pico de Orizaba.  I encountered the strangest road system to date. On a particularly steep section of switchbacks large white arrows were painted on the road indicating for you to change lane. It took me a few turns to figure it out – downhill traffic always takes the sharper inside turn, sometimes driving on the right, sometimes on the left side of the road, an interesting system to say the least.

Corrupt police..Finally

I turned left just as the light turned red, and was immediately flagged over by a police officer standing on the side of the road.

“This is going to be fun” I thought. He asked for my license, I handed him my international driving permit – something that was cheap and I don’t really need, because I knew what he was going to say.

 “That was a violation I’m going have to hold your license till you pay the fine on Monday” – It was Friday – “That would be bad you wouldn’t be able to continue south” He said in Spanish.

I didn’t care if I never saw my international permit again, so played along. He spent the next 10 minutes trying to explain to me that I need to bribe him often saying, “cash...money”.

I acted confused and repeatedly asked him for directions to the highway – “Donde esta ruta 150?”

His frustration was hilarious.  He eventually handed me back my permit and I went on my way.  Another good experience had in Mexico.

As night fell I made it to toll highway 145 south, and it was well worth the 20$ I paid in tolls. For the first time in weeks I cruised at 130 kph, feet up on the crash bars. No smashing Topes at 80 kph, no lanes ending in dust and adrenalin, no dogs, and proper respectful drivers. I broke my rule, a rule I`ve stupidly broken many times, and drove late into the night. Smooth roads, warm mist, jungle foliage, and a blood red rising moon my welcome company. I slept on the side of the highway.

Beaches, cenotes, and ruins - Tourists and American prices – but the roads are nice.

Driving by 6:30 am, I continued south, then east, then north, following the golf coast up onto the Yucatán.  I turned down a narrow dirt track towards the ocean, and found a perfect tropical paradise; palm trees and white sand stretched in both directions. It was the weekend and it was nearly empty. A large group of local girls all wanted pictures with me, I happily complied – you don’t get that on a Cancun beach. I continued up HWY 180, the road closely following the empty coast for hundreds of miles. Pelicans dove for fish as I stretched out my blinking fuel light for nearly 100km. I recharged in Campeche – another beautiful colonial city – for two nights at a great hostel.

 

 

 

The Edzna ruins were my first Mayan ruins. I climbed pyramids, and reflected on a once great civilization. The place was nearly empty. I took back roads towards Chichen Itza – Mexico’s most famous ruins, and one of the 7 wonders of the world. I slept down a dirt track in the jungle.  My 50 minute morning run brought me to a creepy deserted ranch, toothbrush still on the bathroom counter.  In a way it was more interesting that the Mayan ruins.

Chichen Itza was cool, and the ancient stone artwork was amazing. But the tour groups, tourist crowds, and vendors took a lot away from the experience. I continued towards Tulum, and then followed signs to Centoe Maya – cenotes are water filled limestone sinkholes dotting the Yucatan, some are caves and some are just swimming holes. It was a bust, guided tour only, and 49$US. They were nice though, and gave me directions to some cheaper local ones.

Number one highlight of the Yucatán for only 4.50$ can.

I climbed down a small hole in the ground, then descended a swinging set of suspended spiral stairs, 50 feet down to the water below. Water and light trickled through a couple of natural skylights in the cave ceiling. Stalactites and roots hung down to the water level. Best of all – I had the place to myself! Artificial lights illuminated the cave. I paddled a wooden raft around, swam, and climbed stalactites - Mind blowing place.

I wanted to check out the Coba ruins but they closed at 5pm. I continued to Tulum, and found a campground – its days severely limited – tucked between pricy hotels, right on the beach. It was a spectacularly beautiful area, with even prettier topless girls. I had hoped to spend a few days there, but I realised my Mexican insurance had expired. I had already been a month in Mexico, and it was time for a new country. After a lazy beach morning swimming in the warm Caribbean waters, I once again hit the road south.

I was searching for something, I didn’t know what, but I hadn’t found it yet. I drove 50 km out of my way to Mahahual, about as far away from Cancun as one can get on the Caribbean coast. I drove a winding dirt and sand track along the coast south, passed one private beach club after another - Which is bullshit because every beach in Mexico is public domain. When the buildings and fences faded to nothing I stopped, and set up camp in the strong onshore winds. I started to change into swimming shorts...wait why wear shorts? Naked to the world, under a star studded sky, with my own Caribbean beach paradise stretching to the horizon. I swam late into the night. I don’t know what I had found, but it was what I was looking for. On that night I was exactly where I wanted to be, living how I wanted to live, and absolutely everything was perfect.

I smoothly crossed into Belize the next day.