The Cruel Roads of Mexico

4 Months in Mexico

You never want to drive at night in Mexico. Never. Just accept that and don’t make me go into a full chapter on how to scare my mom. Having adopted that as a maxim, I always start before noon. About 5 hours of driving Elsie on the roads of Mexico is all one can stand. It’s exhausting. No one would ever call driving a Ford F 250 with an oversized cab over camper plus these 2 ridiculous boxes (they add 3 feet of length and love to clip buildings and cars and anything else that is in my “turning radius of destruction”); RELAXING. 

The Mexican driving experience is an exercise in non-stop vigilance. I am constantly scanning for pot holes, low hanging wires or trees, other drivers, “whoopty-doos” and topes (Speed bumps. They love to keep them unpainted so the suspension expert in town can feed his family). At the end of my 5 hours my neck is killing me and my eyes are about to bleed. I don’t think I even blink. My range is about 150 miles per day. Bad things happen when I drive over 30 mph. The roads are so bad that my reaction time isn't safe over 30 mph. Stupid huh? 5 hours at 30 mph = a range of 150 miles.

The Toothpick of Destiny

I have a toothpick that fits the scale of my map perfectly and I roll it around looking for my next town. Yea, I'm complaining, But I can take it. I've got plenty of time and I like the challenge.

Borracho means drunk

I like almost everything about Mexico. Almost everything. I do take issue with their lack of sensitivity to peace and quiet. Trucks drive around all day blasting pre-taped sales pitches from loud speakers on the cab rooftop. Purified water, or seafood, or propane - It’s nice that they still make home delivers for nearly everything, but it can get irritating. In Indo it was the mosques with the loud speakers. Here it’s the churches with their early bells. Both will wake you before 6am. Religion is bad for my sleep. And then there is Norteno. Do you know what Norteno music is? – It’s the 3^rd worst music in the world behind Gamelan of Bali and anything you hear in Viet Nam. It abuses an accordion and a tuba. Click here for the 3rd Worst Music In The World Sounds like German Oom-pa-pa, but even more ridiculous. I keep waiting for the clown with the huge shoes to appear and start blowing up balloons. It’s unbearable. Even if you like riding carousels with calliope music this Mexican polka crap is a crime against humanity, which is made even worse by their blown out speakers turned up to 11.  But that’s it. I’m only complaining about the auditory assaults. I like everything else.

Except the roads.

If I reported only the pleasantries you would quickly flush me out as a fraud. Please know that although there are plenty of gorgeous sunsets with warm water lapping at my toes and a cold drink in my hand, I pay for these memories with hard miles, ripped knuckles and lots of back aches from crawling under Elsie.

Goodbye Sayulita

I caught an epic right, just as twilight bullied its way into the blackened blue of day. I rode it all the way to the sand. It was a perfect dismount - highest life form at the beach. Some days, if I packed my headlamp in my beach chair, I’d stay well past the sun drowning in Old Salty and I’d read my book knowing that I’d lived another perfect day.

Sayulita has everything going for it. Surprisingly, its saving grace is probably the dirt and the dust. It’s a beach frontier town wallowing in its final years before the death throes of gentrification. Once it gets vacuumed out and hermetically sealed its soul will die and you’ll pass it by just like Mazatlán.

David and Carrie

Chris and Ingy

I left the rig in the Placentia’s driveway and flew back to California for 18 days to attend the weddings of my friends Chris Miller and David Leppert. I was fortunate enough that they were on back to back Saturdays.

Leveling is always an issue

I got back to Sayulita, and Elsie on June 16^th and my buddy and neighbor from S’Mish; Nate Ihm, flew down for a visit 3 days later. We surfed and drank. It was a great ending to my time in Sayulita as it made me appreciate it anew through his first time eyes. 

Check out the hats! What a guy....

I Got Some Air On That One!

Nate and I left Sayulita on June 23^rd. I launched the truck on the road to Punta Mita. There is almost no engineering to their highways. Speed bumps are hidden and the “whoopty doos” they build into a freeway would be hilarious if only it would happen to you instead of me. I scream in anger and lose days and lots of money. I bucked the whole camper off its pallet that it is supposed to sit on in the bed of my truck. Giant problem. I couldn’t fix it for a week.

The Crack

Nate flew out that day and I contracted with a welder in La Cruz to fix a crack that was threatening to rip my hitch in half.

Half ass welders

My work started at 7:30 the next morning.

It would have been impossible to have packed more dirt under my fingernails. There wasn’t one square inch of my clothing that wasn’t drenched with sweat and sticking to my body. It was both 95 in temp and humidity. I had sped past exhaustion an hour before and it was only 2pm. I had another 7 hours of work. We got it done but it was a crap job completed with incorrect tools and every shortcut taken when I looked the other way. The reprieve from this horrible day was the coldest shower I could get (not that cold) and a couple hours in my air conditioned rig. Saved. I was revived enough to fight another day.

I Don’t Particularly Care for Puerto Vallarta

That' s the "Happi-Jack" extended on the cinder block

I left La Cruz, drove the 30 minutes into Puerto Vallarta, stocked up on groceries, propane, and tools at Home Depot, and parked Elsie at a deserted rv park near the beach. I had an electrical problem with the “Happi-Jacks” that lift the camper. I hired a rip-off artist named Abraham. He ripped me off but I learned something and the “Happi-Jacks” barely work again.

Then I got sick. Nothing new. It was the #1 killer in the Middle Ages but Cipro saved me from disappearing, and though I lost a week, I am now just fine.

Arturo And His Angels

Once I got my strength back it was time to re-position the camper correctly on the pallet in the bed of the truck. I had spotted a Goodyear tire shop on the way to the rv park. I walked back to it and explained my plan to Arturo the manager. It was quite ambitious and required me plus 3 men separating the camper from the truck and then lifting and shoving the 9000 lb truck in order to re-seat the camper. After 2 attempts we got it done.

Arturo's Angels Saved Me

Changing Course

“That ocean is an awesome giant -- and the beach makes a wonderful curb.” – Jere Mae Friedman (AKA: The Momma). 

When I was a sailor, I used to say: “keep the land on my left.” Now I say: “keep the water on my right.”

My original plan was to take highway 200 all the way down to Hualtuco. That's the coastal road that takes one from beach town to resort mecca to surf pueblo. However, I was warned about dangers in the states of Michoacán and Guerrero. The real clincher was the heat. It's atrociously hot at sea level and I had just done 3 months at the beach surfing. After some further research I changed plans and decided to head to altitude and culture. I’m glad I did. I’m writing this from Guanajuato, but I’ll save this place for the next dispatch.

On the Road Again

The nice thing about sitting still is you learn all the strong wifi spots, where the clean toilets are, the best restaurants and how to play that wave like a local. What sitting still lacks is the daily new sensation of exploration and adventure.

It feels good to hit the road again: July 2nd – PV, July 3rd - Mascota, July 5^th - San Miguel El Alto, July 6^th – Guanajuato. That windshield is like a big movie screen. I love watching the landscape unfold before me. I can do the miles. They aren’t easy, but I just eat ‘em up.

In Summation 

I’m not mastering my surroundings. That was the colonial mentality of 400 years ago. I’m not assimilating either. Yea, I’m darker, I move slower, and I siesta, but I’m conscious enough to realize that I will always be an outsider. I’m okay with that. I’m trying to live in some semblance of harmony with my host country, while soaking up the cultural differences that make travel wonderful. It’s working. I've made a commitment to inconvenience and hardship, but it's worth it. 

Your man on point,

Blacktop Bobby

Stationary in a Seaside Mexican Surf Village

SWEET and SOUR

Drinking vodka straight, just felt a little too Slavic. I splashed in Midori to change the color and throw a blanket over the bitter taste of chemical potatoes. Then it was too sweet, so I crushed in a lime. Life is a balancing act. And so began my new chapter, and life in Sayulita, Mexico. One dominated by surfing and drinking, yet going to school 5 days a week. Sweet and sour was the drink that I celebrated with when I parked my rig for the next 3 months in a stranger’s driveway.

My 5' 10" Mini Simmons

LA CRUZ HUANACAXTLE

True to my promise after bidding bon voyage to Dan and Ashley of S/V Coyote fame (they made it safely across the largest expanse of saltwater on the planet and are now in the Marquesas Islands) I drove the few miles to La Cruz.

I stayed a week and watched the carnival roll into town to help the locals celebrate Semana Santa. These gypsies in the jalopy that I parked next to in the plaza lifted the manhole in the sidewalk, disappeared into the sewer below and reemerged with a live electrical cable that they spliced into, and voila, they had power. I watched another man climb a telephone pole and do the same trick. It was ingenious, but dangerous. I guess the cops look the other way so their kids can enjoy the merry-go–round.

SAYULITA

A friend invited me to dinner just 20 minutes away at another beach town. The minute I drove into Sayulita I knew I would be leaving La Cruz as soon as possible. There are places around the globe that are immediate magnets for expats. Examples include Chiang Mai in northern Thailand, Bali in Indonesia, Da Nang in Vietnam, to name just 3. But if you look a little closer; Pai just north of Chang Mai, Limbongan just east of Bali, and Hoi An near Danang All beat their neighbors easily. Why? They have infrastructure without being ruined by resort or big city mentality. They’ve achieved the critical mass of foreign visitors, that it takes to attract investment to build further infrastructure; to attract more westerners. This eventually cycles into an unattractive ruination of the place, but if you can catch it after they bring in an espresso machine and get out before the “all inclusive” is built, it’s a traveler’s sanctuary. Compare Zihuatanejo to Ixtapa. They are so close they share the same airport but once the 30 foot building rule is deleted from the law books the town gets ruined by the corporate resorts. But until then – they are wonderful because I can get reuben sandwiches and there are white chicks traveling there without boyfriends. My friend and classmate Jan, who has been coming here for 10 years says Sayulita is going to be ruined soon. He knows this because this is the first year he’s seen women walking with baby strollers. An ominous portend of doom. “Too much infrastructure and the clientele changes”. But this year – I rejoice.

MOVING TO MY NEW TOWN

I took the bus to Sayulita from La Cruz and spent 4 hours searching for a place to park Elsie. I could have gone to the rv park but I dislike rv parks and this one cost $28 per night. My requirements are pretty simple: flat, shady, affordable, and within walking distance to the sea. I came up empty handed. My new friend Ricardo who owns a restaurant offered to call his friend and help me find a place. Cristobal drove me all around and introduced me to different people until I found a family that for only 500 pesos a week ($33, or $4.75 per night) would allow me to park on their property.

Included in my low price rent was water, sewage hook up and most importantly; electricity. For the first week their 20 amp breaker would pop when I turned on my air conditioning if theirs was already running. I paid to upgrade their electrical panel and gave them some extra money to offset their electric bill increase and now I have unlimited air con. Life quality soaring. I know my European friends will mock this. Smirk all you want. You’re a Luddite and I also unapologetically enjoy ice cubes.

MY EPIPHANY

Until I can proficiently speak Spanish I am relegated to speaking only with English speakers. That one fact will brand me an eternal tourist for my entire 3 year journey. That can’t happen. One of the pillars that I stood my reasoning on for choosing this trip is the following: Nowhere else in the world can one cover so much land with only one language. Mexico, Central America, and all of South America (except Brazil and the Guyanas) speak Spanish. That’s 380 million people. The truth is, you can’t really penetrate a culture unless you speak the language. I currently speak Tarzan Spanish, and I no longer find that acceptable. I want real meaningful conversations in Spanish, and I will have it. I have enrolled myself in the language course here in Sayulita. 5 days a week I report to class and most weeks I do private lessons with my teacher Erika after our classes are over.  My world is now overrun with direct and indirect object pronouns which are incredibly difficult. The reflexive pronouns and imperfect tenses scramble my brains, and the “la and “el” guessing game is a spirit breaker.  One morning I caught myself thinking: "I didn't drink last night & I ate a good breakfast this morning so I have no reason to believe it is ever going to get easier." I get so frustrated with Spanish that I want to go in search of a Spaniard & punch him in the face. Then I realize I should really go in search of a Brit and punch him in the face for not doing a better job of dominating the new world. I believe I have earned my USA tattoo with those last 2 sentences.

I’ve constructed the dialogue that I believe occurred during the formalizing of the Spanish language. I will now translate it into English for you:

“No! That’s too easy. Let’s make them work for it. What if we assign genders to each word at random so they have to memorize one more thing?”

“Oh that’s good. I like that. And we can also add accent marks to change the meanings. At first glance it will look like a word you know but the barely visible dash that we can hide in the dot of the letter “i” can change it.”

“That is devious. I love it! Let’s also have 6 different ways to say each verb and let’s make some regular and some irregular conjugations so that just when they think they see a pattern we can dash their hope.”

“Perfect. You are good at this Don Francisco. Maybe we should also make some unpronounceable words like: “caminabamos”, or “estacionamiento”, or “arriesgarse”, or “desperdiciar”, or my current favorite: “tortilleria”

“Yes! That is smart. I think we have done good work here today. My final thought is to also add one more layer of difficulty by making a familiar & a formal version of the language based on with whom one is speaking”

“Brilliant. That should inspire the will to quit!”

SPEAKING OF TORTILLERIAS

Tortillas are so important in this culture that I walk past 3 tortillerias every day. In the morning I get up before the sun to go exercise or surf and they are the only places that are open. “Time to make the tortillas”. Is it the perfect food? It’s a wrapper, it’s a chip, it’s heavy in calories, it’s delicious. It’s the tortilla. It’s the foundation of Mexican cuisine. Never forsake the tortilla.

I STUCK MYSELF IN A RUT, AND I LOVE IT

It’s nice to build a routine. I surf every day. I’ll do dawn patrol at daybreak for a week and then switch to sunset the next week. It's the only way to beat the crowds. During my morning surfs, I tuck 200 pesos in my leash pocket and spend it at breakfast while soaking wet just after I get out of the water. Lifestyle. The sea is my hair stylist. I never wash the salt out. Debutants in New York City are paying top dollar for salt additives to make their hair fuller. Mines free and I wear it all day. 

The mornings are cool until about 10. You can be in full sun until then. If you hide in the shade you can extend that till 11. I get out of class at 13:00 and it’s scorching. I quickly seek relief in the air conditioning of my rig. I call it “Mandatory Siesta”. I set it to the warmest setting and it gets so cold I have to put a hoody on or get under the covers. I’ll nap, read, write, watch a movie or study Spanish. These hot climate people have it figured out. Why fight it? Once the shadows get a little longer and the day begins to cool I venture back out. My afternoons usually look something like this: More surfing, chores, a Spanish intercambio with the jewelry sales force and a nice meal with some cold beers. The sun doesn’t set until 8:30. I’m usually in bed by 11 ready to fight Spanish again the next day. She has bloodied me and blackened my eyes but I can see that the rounds are slowly turning in my favor. I will persevere.  

IN CONCLUSION:

Spanish is a bitch but I will own her. Reuben sandos good. Baby strollers bad. Sweet and sour is the flavor of life. Balance your act, and drink it in.

Salud!

Bobby (Freedom Machine) Friedman

P.S. / I’ll be back in California for 2 weddings from May 28^th to June 16th

Moving Through Mexico

Last Stop; Tucson

I was so excited the day I left the States that when I stopped at a Walmart to buy batteries I accidentally walked into the ladies room. I didn't see any urinals and just figured it was a handicapped bathroom. The ladies on either side of my stall must have been shocked to see my non pedicured feet facing the bowl. Maybe I was a little more rattled about embarking on this challenge than I was allowing myself to admit. Thank you Tucson!

Magdalena plaza

The Bones of Father Kino

It was an easy border crossing and there were no vehicles trying to run me off the road in order to carjack me. Fear mongering runs wild in my country. I parked that first night on the edge of a pueblo’s plaza in the shadow of its church. This was just about 2 hours south of the border in a charming little town called Magdalena.

I ate birria tacos and vanquished a couple of Pacificos. The man who served me told me that the place was secure and though it was not customary to live in your vehicle parked in the plaza, the cops wouldn't bother me since I was a turistico, and only passing through. The next day I reached San Carlos. These roads are worse than I thought.

San Carlos

The Coconut RV Run

I paid $24 per night and stayed 2 nights at an RV park. I’m pretty sure I hate RV parks. I was the youngest guy by 20 years. I tied on my new hiking boots and climbed the nearby peak to snap photos. I needed to get into character for my role of international adventurer. I’d had great times in San Carlos many years before on several occasions. But now it left me flat. I drove south to Los Mochis. Did I mention that these roads are freaking horrible?

I dodged pot holes all day but at one point there was a vehicle passing me and I couldn’t swerve to miss the sinkhole that was directly in my path. I slowed, but it was too little too late. Man that thing was wide and deep. I dropped the whole left side of the truck into the void in the road. I knew instantly I had a problem. I made it to Los Mochis and checked into another RV park. Ricardo was my helpful host and he immediately called a mechanic to help. Not only did that suspension murderer in the middle of the highway sheer 2 bolts on the mount for my airbag above my leaf springs on the rear axle, it also popped the airbag itself. We drove all around looking for a replacement. None could be found. Los Mochis was just too small of a town. 

The sheered bolt and popped bag

The consensus was that Mazatlan would be the place to find it, and, with greatly reduced speed, coupled with an eagle eye combined with catlike reflexes – I could get there in one piece. Now I felt like an adventurer! I bought beer and chicken for my 2 new friends and got to bed early.

I slowed it way down. I drove the whole 270 + miles with my hazards blinking. That metronome tick tock noise will drive a person insane. I averaged 32 mph and pulled into yet another RV park in Mazatlan around 5 pm. That was a tedious nerve wracking day. 

The new morning introduced me to Pablo; Mazatlan’s best mechanic, who had a Jimmy Smits air to him. He rummaged the city for a replacement bag. The only one he found was used and sunburned and way overpriced. But, it’s holding air and I’ve put another 1000 miles on the truck since then. Trust me; I’ve taken nothing but the toll roads. They are just poorly engineered and full of holes.

A final few words about Mazatlan and then I think I’m done with it forever. It holds the distinction of being the only city of which I can say the following: I have flown there. I have taken a train there (twice), I have sailed there, and now I have driven there.

Insert Google Pic Here

San Blas was my next stop. I remembered it from my Barraveigh days. I was looking forward to it. This time the rain and the sand fleas were so bad I only got out of the truck to get into the camper. Sorry, no pictures.

Puerto Vallarta – My Long Awaited Goal!

One more awful road and I arrived in Puerto Vallarta! My friends Dan and Ashley made it a very soft landing. Dan smooth talked a guard into issuing me a blank parking pass that I have milked for a week. They gave me the wi-fi passwords and a magnetic key to the showers. Their marina fee entitles them to all of the above plus the resort pools. It’s pretty nice here.

Dan and Ashley

One Problem

Dan noticed the crack. That $3200 cargo carrier that I paid to have fabricated back in San Diego was breaking. The man who welded it would make a great drinking buddy but I don’t think much of him as a structural engineer or a welder. Dan and I spent the whole first day of our reunion finding a welder to add pounds of reinforcing steel. I think I will eventually have to abandon it. But not just yet.

Banderas Bay – Where the tropics really start

North of here, and especially in the Sea of Cortez, the surroundings could be called “starkly beautiful” on a generous day, or “god forsaken” on any other. I prefer the tropics. It’s good to be back. Cassava grows next to bananas on the sides of the roads and papaya trees show off their intricate trunk patterns as they climb above the dense undergrowth.  

Great temps and heaps-o-beauty

San Sebastian Del Oeste

Ancient Euro Cobblestones Suck

Yes, eventually things all fall over

Dan and Ashley have been turning into little raisins during their 5 months in the tropics. I promised I would take them on a road trip and treat them to some high mountain air and cool evening pine scented forests. Their only job was to pick the spot. Boy did they choose a winner. We parked our first night in the only flat spot in the whole town, which was right next to the plaza that the Spanish had built in 1605 when this was a mining town. The next day we climbed a hairy road to camp on top of the mountain that overlooks the valley that holds San Sebastian. I love camping. Even saw a mountain lion rummaging through our trash one night. It was a splendid trip and I didn’t even break anything.

Coyote pulls away from the dock

The Big Salty

Coyote begins the crossing

Just a few hours ago I waved bon voyage to Dan and Ashley as they head 3000 + miles to Fatu Hiva in the Marquesas chain of islands in French Polynesia. Suzi and I did it. It wasn’t easy, and I was forced to reflect on that voyage vs. my current outing: Elsie is “consequence lite”. Barraveigh, and their little boat Coyote, not so much. They showed some brave faces and swallowed the butterflies that I know were fluttering. God that’s a long passage on the world’s biggest ocean. My hats off to them while I embark on my next leg …… 19 miles to Punta Mita to surf my arms off. Everything on land is SOO MUCH EASIER!

Your man on point,

~Blacktop Bobby~