From the city of angels to the land of fire. Danny Beer, gringo on tour

And zoom, zoom, zoom, down the freeway you go. You pile on the miles. La Cruz is the destination but it never seems to arrive. It gets dark. Time to start looking for a place to camp. You get a flat tire. Time to start looking for a place to camp very soon. And you find a place. It looks good despite being about four metres from the freeway. But it is semi-secluded and on flat sandy ground. Bed time. And look at all that pretty lightning.

Mazatlan.: More problems with the bike

Friday August 17, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) – Total so far: 1,759 km (1,093 miles)

After a sleepless night from the noise and humidity you pack up early and hit the road. It takes a while to sort out the tire and when you do it only lasts ten km anyway. But it doesn’t deflate that quickly. If you persevere and inflate the tire every few km you might be able to make it somewhere up the road. At least somewhere to find water. So thirsty!!!

Eventually the turn off to town arrives and you find a shop. You waste another hour or so trying to sort out the tire. Why is this so difficult? You head back out onto the freeway. Everything goes fine enough for a while. Road works are not too friendly. Nor are the big semi-trucks who absolutely insist on driving you off the road. By now you’re quite used to it, a natural almost.

It sure is hot. With the first day of wearing a T-shirt, your arms are burnt red. With just thirty km to go until Mazatlan your rear tire goes flat. Well, it was bound to happen really. It seems such an easy task to fix. So why do you spend two hours at it and you still can’t fix it?

Time to start walking. It’s hitching time. All seems hopeless. But someone does stop to give you a lift. You jump in back with the bike and cruise into town, pass all the expensive resorts, and are dropped off on the main strip in town. You wheel the bike around until you find a hotel which is not astronomically expensive. “Can I have a look at the room?” You ask. “No.”

No wonder he wouldn’t let you check it out. Dump is the only word to describe this. But it will do for tonight. Tomorrow you can find something in the old town where prices are not so extravagant.

Mazatlan.: Prostitutes and madmen

Sunday August 19, 2007, 30 km (19 miles) – Total so far: 1,789 km (1,112 miles)

A couple days rest is what you need. And you kinda get it. You use the half useless tube on the tire, re-inflating it every couple km or so until you get to the old town. You find a hotel a little cheaper, but no better, and check in. With the bike as it is you really don’t want to be tramping around looking for a hotel.

After the hotel is sorted what you need is a swim. And the water is oh so nice. You ask at a café directions to a bike shop and after wandering about town in the heat you find some. But two tubes is all that you can acquire. With the luck you’ve been having they will barely last until you leave town.

And it’s true. During the night the front tire also goes flat. You need to use both tubes. But before all that.. You go looking for a third hotel to stay in for your third night in town. And find one which looks nice. Another hotel looks pretty bad, and expensive too. As you walk out one of the ‘ladies’ inside asks if you want something else. But you don’t understand the Spanish. That’s okay as the fucky fucky gestures are obvious enough. Also obvious are the blowjob signs she gives. “What?!? You want me to pay you? It aint gonna happen lady.”

You meet some guy and he invites you to go for a ride with him and his friends. You um and ah over the safety of it and go along anyway. So you jump in the back of the ute with a beer in hand and cruise around town. Later, just the three of you inside the cabin your new friends pull up and chat to a hooker. They are trying to get you laid. But she wants money first for drugs so you leave unloved but still disease free. You find out later that your friend was asking for all three of you to, um, do her.

Your friends take you to there soon to be gas station. They even invite you to work tomorrow. “No, thanks.” You say and hope things don’t get awkward. It rains. It rains a lot. The town floods. On the way back into town your friend screams around a corner sending a wave of water all over a pedestrian. He screams out and you just can’t help but laugh.

You kill eight roaches that night. Hopefully the next hotel will be better.

Late and hungover you fix the bike but a new tube still leaks. It gets you to the next hotel though. It must be the valve. You fix it and the tires don’t seem to go flat anymore. But for how long?

You don’t do much today. You look for a bike shop but they are all closed. Well, it is Sunday after all. You go for a swim and chill out at a café. You want to see a bullfight but it’s the wrong time of year for that. Too hot apparently. No shit.

To Escuinapa.: A real Mexican town

Monday August 20, 2007, 98 km (61 miles) – Total so far: 1,887 km (1,173 miles)

You wake up late feeling very lethargic. Indeed with the luck you’ve been having lately you really are reconsidering the whole trip. You pack the bags, get a bite to eat, some spare tubes and are on your way. You get six spare tubes. That should be enough for a day or two.

The tires are holding up well for now but you are very careful not to run over anything. You really are quite nervous about the whole thing now.

It is hot but soon clouds over to the point of rain. Perhaps thunder and the whole shebang. The road is great. It narrows down considerably at one point but the traffic is so slow you just nudge right in with it all. This is supposed to be the start of the most dangerous stretch of road in the world. But the new toll freeway may have negated this. It is near vacant of traffic too.

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, I’ll 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 you’re 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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t seem to be much about this town. It has the facilities for tourists, ie hotels, but not really. And it doesn’t 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 it’s 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.” You’re 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 doesn’t 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. It’s 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 isn’t 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. “It’s 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 you’ll 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 it’s 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 aren’t interested in smoking.

You take a bus to a village on the edge of town. To where the jungle is. “I’m going to need ten dollars for the dope.” “No, I’m okay. I don’t really want any.” “Okay. Five dollars.” “No thanks.” “But that’s why we came here.” Tony is angry. He buys some dope. You sit near the river and drink water. Tony comes over. He’s not happy. “Why are you so bad to me?” He asks. Company doesn’t look so good. Tony wanders off. You see him board a bus back into town. He’s 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. He’s already half drunk. The bar manager isn’t 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 he’ll 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 don’t 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. You’re not welcome here. You go up the road and eat where you are welcome.

Tomatlan seems to be today’s 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 don’t 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 aren’t too bad. There aren’t 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 haven’t 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 isn’t 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 it’s 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 it’s going to rain all day. So you head off. The rain’s 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 day’s 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.

St Juan de Lima.: The wake up call from hell

Thursday August 30, 2007, 67 km (42 miles) – Total so far: 2,689 km (1,671 miles)

You awake to the sounds of loud awful music next door and even louder banging from outside. Two trucks are outside. Evidently there owners have decided that two meters from your front door is best for fixing their tires. And of course the music needs to be loud to hear it above the noise of all the banging. This is the least value for money hotel you’ve stayed in so far. Yes, it is even worse than the one with the eight cockroaches.

In town another hotel exists. Too late now. The road continues as it did yesterday, ie narrow and full of asshole truck drivers, for just a few more kilometers. Where yesterday the scenery around the lake was nice you now ride through an evidently poorer barrio. You join up onto the freeway and enjoy a nice wide shoulder. A few more opportunities of accommodation present themselves. Too late now.

Except for Tecoman you enjoy forty km of nice wide shoulder. The traffic is heavy but it feels good to be riding. The road narrows but that’s okay because it also coincides with a reduction in traffic. In particular a reduction in trucks.

You spot a large hairy tarantula crossing the road. You ride on to St Juan de Lima, a nice little beach resort area. There isn’t anyone here. It’s off season. You find a cheap hotel and relax for the rest of the day. You’re out of pesos and there aren’t any ATMs about. No breakfast for you tomorrow.

Along the Pacific.: A great little camp spot and restaurant

Friday August 31, 2007, 113 km (70 miles) – Total so far: 2,802 km (1,741 miles)

You skip breakfast. You are out of pesos and the next bank machine is sixty km away at Maurita. Land around here doesn’t like to stay flat. There are always hills to climb. But with the ascents come the descents and they are always fun. Two towns lie before Maurita. Both have accommodation but neither have a bank machine. You find the town. It’s small. Just a beach community really. No paved roads and certainly no bank machine.

You do have some US dollars though. You exchange five dollars and buy some lunch. And away you go.

For more than forty km there is nothing but tarmac. The scenery is quite nice. The road winds around and around, skirting the Pacific. At around six o’clock you do a quick calculation. Two hours of sunlight left. And at least forty km until the next known town, Campos, with a bank machine no doubt. You’re almost out of water. You’ve only eaten two hotcakes all day. The road has many ascents and is bound to have more. Time to push on.

There is a small village with about three shops. Soon after a sign points to an RV and camp ground. They have a restaurant too. One problem. No pesos. Americano dollars. Not important. Bueno. It is nice here. Very quiet. Cheap. And friendly. You relax with a few beers. It rains. It gets dark. Your hostess warns of a storm approaching. A typhoon or hurricane or something of the sort. No use worrying about that now. The tent is already pitched. It’s under cover. You’ll be fine.

Playa Azul.: Out of cash

Saturday September 1, 2007, 115 km (71 miles) – Total so far: 2,917 km (1,813 miles)

It rains all night and all day today. There is a storm with lightning and all that but no hurricane. Apparently it is crossing through at Playa Azule, 100 km to the south and today’s destination.