Mexico0013

Mexico

I should have known…. Countries typically have a “can’t be arced” attitude to the areas close to their borders. Why waste time and money on things like the roads, signs and towns out here? Why encourage the people to live close to their richer neighbours? Take the road to the border, it looks a short and easy route on the map, looks quite straight too. Fact is, the cartographers couldn’t be bothered to put all the twists and turns in because there are just too many. Tarmac quickly turns to ‘tar-kak’ too.

All the signposts have been removed and smelted down and the towns are on big turntables so as soon as you go in it’s entirely possible for you to pop out at exactly the same place. It’s all just completely random and it makes the journey a long, hot and very frustrating ride to the border. We get out of Guatemala fine, now into Mexico. I know from previous experience what a compete ball ache this can be. First, fumigate the bike. My bike smells sweeter than I do it’s been fumigated so often. There is a bit of a ‘mix-up’ with getting the fumigation ticket. I come very close to deleting a Mexi’cant’ before being pushed out his office and having the door shut in my face. I think they carefully select the problem kids at school then nurture and encourage their skills before employing them all as border guards. What a complete bunch of tossers. One thing they can’t do though is maths. I gave them 50 pesos and he gives me 30 change. ‘A slight argument’ ensues when he wont give me my ticket then he throws a strop, shoves me out the office and gives me my 50 pesos back. If I did that move about 10000 times I could pay for my holiday. Eventually we get some tickets and go to immigration. You have to pay 250 Pesos to enter Mexico and the others in our group all pay as they reach the passport window.

Mexico0001For some unknown reason, maybe to do with the fact that the young Mexico0002computer operating tartlet riding shotgun to the head hombre with the stamper had just started attending to her fingernails, declined to take our money and decided instead to give us a ticket to pay the 260 pesos at a local bank. Yep, thanks, excellent, cheers mate, and may you knob drop off in your hand next time you shake it, git. I loose the ticket before I even leave the office, fantastico, welcome to Mexico. There are approximately 250,765 border crossing points within 2 miles of each other down here so they all share one common customs post for vehicle imports instead of having one at each crossing. We’re told it’s 20 minutes from here and hidden in a maze just to make life interesting.

There are no signs, no directions, no fucking sense at all. We eventually find the place and find ourselves at the back of a long queue. We wait…. time passes… (2 hours later) … we wait some more… We’ve lost an hour because of the time zone change and it’s getting late. We’ve got a long way to go tonight. I’m doing the human tap thing again. I take off my jacket and put it over the bike….water continues to drip from the sleeves for a good 5 minutes. Someone makes the big mistake of buying a local map. 470km to our destination from here. The sky has opened, its absolutely shitting down and the sun is getting ready for it’s bed. Its now 5pm local and we start a nightmare wet, sweaty, dark and dangerous journey to a small town way up the coast.

You sometimes get to a stage where you just forget you’re on a bike, forget the danger, forget what’s real. These lights heading towards you illuminating every raindrop an inch in front of your eyes, that’s a 40 tonne lorry so you’d better get back on your side of the road. That sensation of slipping and sliding, that blur of concrete just to the left of your knee, that loose gravel on the corner, they just seem to be images in a dream, nothing to worry about. You can just open your eyes if something bad happens and you’ll be laying in a nice warm bed. That’s most likely to be a warm comfy hospital bed at this stage. When you get to this stage you have to make a huge effort to drag your consciousness back into focus and actually process the information rather than just observe as if from afar. We stop, late. There was a sign miles ago, it read ‘NoWhere’.

I think we’ve about reached the middle. Unending dark extends in all directions. It feels like we’re in an unmapped part of the world, off the edge of the maps, an area that is still under planet construction. Someone decides that now would be a great time to fiddle with his headlight adjuster… and break it. You just couldn’t make it up. Middle of the night, middle of nowhere, we have the good fortune to be in the company of a mechanical gorilla with a uncontrollable fiddle fetish. The feeling is quite hard to describe. I look at him, I breath out, I’m really finding it hard to be bothered to breath back in. Kill me now. The bloke embarks on a 30 minute swearathon barely punctuated by any non profanities as the rest of us tell him its ok and to just get on with it while all our other faces are thinking what a dick he’s making of himself and that perhaps if we all promise not to say anything we could just kill him and do the world a favour. We eventually get going again and follow the thin black line that leads us north. What a fucking stupid ride. At this moment, at home and around the world everyone is carrying on life as normal, nobody knows you’re riding in ridiculously dangerous conditions whilst only 10% awake and perilously close to just letting go of the bars and letting fate decide how the day ends. We eventually arrive at dive central after midnight, soaking wet, no food, shit hotel. All good in the hood.

I wake up and hear other riders leaving about 6am. Such is the chaotic organisation we often don’t know the day’s destination until we’ve got our kit on and we’re ready to go. It’s like some sort of weird treasure hunt or something. Turns out we’re off to somewhere near Mexico City today, about 500 miles is the guesstimate. Mexico0011We head out and immediately get ourselves on the wrong road. The signposting is completely shite and it is virtually impossible to get a map, the one someone bought yesterday is the only one in the country it seems. I found this last time I came here (so I really should have bought one with me shouldn’t I!). None of the petrol stations sell maps, its just plain weird. We get onto the wrong road – tits. Lots of the roads have the same number (except for some have a tiny D underneath to distinguish them), anyway, it’s generally a frigging nightmare unless you’re on the autopista.

We were looking for the 190 but got on the wrong version. As luck would have it, the road from Santa Cruz is one of the finest biking roads known to man. It’s amazing. It’s in my top 3 ever certainly. 90 miles and a million smiles. Etched on the side of the mountains again this road has HUGE positive cambers at every turn and it throws you from one corner to the next like brilliant black bobsleigh run, its a non stop thrill ride. Mexico0005Flick flacks, up downs and loads of arounds. As a motorcyclist you have to get used to looking a long way ahead of you on a road like this and letting your brain ride over road that your eyes saw and processed some seconds before. I know that is the same in cars but for bikes on switchbacks like this you will often be looking way over your shoulder and a long way up the road, like driving the car while looking at something on the rear parcel shelf. Difference on a bike is that there are no metal pillars, no passenger seats, no windows, nothing to fill or obstruct your vision, nothing at all.

Your hands and feet operate the controls as you lean hard over and trust. You can feel it all happening beneath you as suspension try to control a huge lump of hot metal and flesh on two credit card sized bits of rubber. Its a weird, exciting, exhilarating balancing act as you thread the beast from one corner to the next without ever seeing anything of the machinery thats making it all possible. It really is like flying very fast and very low. This is a gold star road with distinction. If I could I’d give it a Blue Peter badge. We’ve had some fun but now we’re late again and the only way from here has to be the autopista. The autopista are the only way to average reasonable speeds in Mexico but their tolls make this a very expensive option, a very very expensive option. The tolls are way more expensive than the petrol. We were only on them for the afternoon today but they still cost $25 as the bikes get charged the same as cars.

Off we chase to Mexico city. The autopista IS a fantastic piece of engineering on a huge scale. 100s of miles of big roads are carved through copper coloured rock,or pink, or red, or brown or any one of mother natures palette. Regardless of the terrain, the road goes through, smooth and easy, mountains, plains, valleys, anything. Mexico0012As Mexico0013you approach Mexico City the road begins to climb in huge constant radius bends to reduce the gradient and give the trucks a chance to make the climb to the capital. The city is at about 8000ft and it’s a constant 80mph corner fest. You arrive quite suddenly on the main city and our road climbs above the mayhem below on a huge overpass giving us a chance to see the sea of static metal that is the Mexico City gridlock. There is suddenly a split in the autopista…left or right… decide now… sun in our eyes… no signs..errrrr…… too late and I take the left fork. The left fork is WRONG. The road descends into the melee and its time for road wars again. We’ve no idea where we are so I just follow the sun.

Two hours, no real progress. They don’t have a rush hour here, they have a quiet hour, once a year, at 3 in the morning, the rest of the time its chaos. The traffic is expertly packed into the space with every car looking like its towing the one in front using a 2 inch towrope. Driving in this city is an experience like no other. Its dark, we’re lost, there are no signs and the engines are struggling. Mine comes within one bar of self destruction and that’s with tuning off every time we stop. Should I navigate by the stars, get some divining rods, follow my nose, what. We keep asking but it turns out there are about 50 places called the same name round here and fingers point us in all different directions. About 3 hours, yes that’s 3 hours after making the wrong turn we eventually get back onto the right autopista and head out of the city.

Its now pitch dark, cold and quiet. We’re cruising at speed, round a big long bend and suddenly the night is transformed. You know those rides in Disneyland when you sit in a little cart and go through cool dark tunnels then suddenly appear in huge rooms filled with scenery and light? That’s the effect I saw as I came round the corner. I can’t explain it. It must be in the shadow of a mountain or something as suddenly there are skyscrapers filling the night and a big commercial district below the road with big squares, restaurants and green areas teeming with bodies. The whole scene is rendered in a thin evening mist that glows with the lights of the buildings. It all looks just magical then as quickly as it appeared it just disappears again and we’re back in the dark, alone with the sound of the engines and the wind. Even after all the nightmare of the city, the hours of frustration and sweating, the chaos and the feeling of helplessness, it was all worth it for that 20 second memory of the city appearing out of the darkness, it was beautiful. Get near to the hotel and ask a bored policeman who decides to escort us, complete with lights and siren, to the destination. Arrive at about 10:30 and we’re the first here. Hardly anyone else makes it tonight, most just find somewhere near to wherever they got lost in the city.

Mexico0017More autopista, more pista off. Lots more money, heat and toil Mexico0021today. When you only need to cover 300 miles you have time to stop and take pictures, look at the local life in a little more detail, enjoy. when you move up to 500 then it mostly goes out the window and it’s just the miles that matter, nothing else. Add the poor signage and an R1 that drinks more water than fuel and the day becomes a real trial. No photos, no time. I don’t enjoy days like this when its just tolls and tarmac all day long. $70 in tolls alone today. I just want out of Mexico at the moment. I know there are some beautiful places here but they’re not where we’re going at the moment.

If a picture pains a thousand words then I need to write a few million to cover all the pictures I’ve missed on this trip. Today it’s a 550 mile ride and there is no time to stop and stare. Its a shame but that’s the way it goes sometimes. I’ve taken virtually no pictures in Mexico and I’m not happy about it. If any of you want to climb inside my head and take a tour of my mental gallery then feel free and take your time. This whole trip is now about getting to Alaska. We’re a very very long way away and we’ve not got much time. The mileages are going to get stupid I’m sure and I just don’t know how its going to end. It’s taking up a lot of my day just trying to make a plan to get there and then across to New York. It’s not going to be easy. We’re out early today to try and make some miles before the heat comes in. Luckily for us they’re having a heatwave.

It’s nearly 40 degrees in the shade but I’m dressed like a gimp in full black leather and a black helmet. Solar Panels ‘R’ me. The autopista in the morning runs close to the coast and there is a sea breeze to take my sweat away. Tolls, Tolls and more tolls. One of them is $10 alone. It’s costing about $100 a day in fuel and tolls alone, fucking ridiculous. Chase, chase and chase the tarmac north. Mile pass slowly as 5 bikes take time at the tolls and fuel stations. After lunch the scenery changes completely. the land flattens out and there are miles and miles and miles of corn as far as the eye can see. I reckon we’ve wandered into ‘Maizeico’ by mistake. All the horizons are golden with the crop swaying in the breeze. Whatever crop it is there is absolutely shit loads of it. We manage to get to the hotel in daylight for a change and find we’ve gained another hour on the clocks – result!

Mexico0022

Last day in Mexico today. I’ve really seen nothing of it this time though. All I’ve seen is road, toll booths and petrol stations with all the scenery far away on the horizon. 2000 miles of hot toil, just 4 average days on this tour. Mexico is so big though, the scale is a bit like America. It’s HUGE plains today, never ending straight roads joined to the horizon and beyond. Loads of police about today too. They all cruise around in their pursuit weapon of choice, the Ford Mustang. Mexico0025It feels like I’m in GTA and I’ve got a 2 star wanted level, the buggers are everywhere. The only thing to break the tedium today is when one of our group runs into the back of another at a toll booth. Road, road and more road. I saw a bloke at a junction, he had round cages the size of beach balls and they all had big parrots in. We’ve seen all sorts of wildlife for sale on this trip.

Mexico0026In Nicaragua we saw kids with parakeets tethered to sticks, and huge iguanas too, all being held up by their tails and up for sale to make a few pennies. Sad really. As I head towards the magnetic pull of the USA I see more and more change. The south of Mexico is proper Mexican and It seems to a real identity. As we get further north a lot of the usual north American suspects have a big corporate presence with fast food and chain stores that the Yank free south is still without. The American culture cancer is more and more evident with every mile we ride. Apparently the Mexicans are getting more obese than their neighbours. They’re adopting the culture with such enthusiasm that they’re loosing their native culture hand over fist. It’s sad to see but I guess the whole world will end up looking like just another American state in the end.

We’ve stopped at a petrol station not too far from the border and as I get off the bike my bowel sends the emergency signal to my brain. Eruption approaching, countdown started, poo due. I hate using bogs at petrol stations but there is no choice and I head round three back to see what awaits. The toilet is a work in progress. A work of destruction in progress. Two stalls, only 1 has a door. The stall seems to have been designed for an infant too, it’s tiny. Pressure is reaching launch level, go in, trousers down, shut the door… lock….. lock… where is the lock? The lock is probably still in a builders merchants somewhere and never made it to this toilet. So, I’m in a tiny cubicle and I’ve got the door shut with my fingers. My boots are sticking out under the door because the stall is so small. Then I hear voices, loud drawling American voices. The pressure wave breaks and I’m a Mr Whippy machine with the lever stuck down producing a constant stream of cappuccino ice cream. All the flies in Mexico smell food and are buzzing me like the planes round King Kong. Now you might think the fact that there are some motorcycle boots sticking out under the door plus the noise of a million flies together with the smell of a one man sewage plant would indicate that the stall was in use wouldn’t you? Well, apparently not. Not if you’re a stupid fucking witless American twat with a Tweedle dee figure (and dress sense) and the brain capacity of a carrot. Mr Twat just pulls the door right open and stares. I hope he has nightmares, idiot.

We head into the border town. They’re always shoddy and this is no exception. We follow roads and just keep hitting the huge fence and nomansland that holds back the human flood waiting to burst in to the states. There are no signs anywhere so we follow the fence and find ourselves at the back of a huge queue of cars and trucks. We filter to the front – not a popular move – only to discover this is the USA border, bollocks. Mexico0033The Mexican border post is the other side of a huge fence and is either a) a long way round an unknown road system or b) the wrong way down a one way road then through some pedestrian access. Make that pedestrian and motorcycle access. Through we go and get ourselves out of Mexico. Option 1 from here is go round and to the back of the queue. Option two is to go back through the pedestrian access and push back in at the front. There clearly is no option.

Maybe the USA border guards have been watching us as when we get through the barriers we have to sit and wait for about 30 minutes to get our passports stamped at some random office. Super Dumb and incredibly even dumber are on the desk and between them I don’t think they have the ability to operate a propelling pencil, let alone a computer. How the hell America got where it is I have no idea. I think it imports the clever people from elsewhere. We get to the hotel, nice old place I’ve stayed before. ‘Hi, I’m Elephantitia. welcome to the Gladstone’. How is it that someone thinks wearing distinctive brown contact lenses like polished Maltesers will distract your eyes from the fact that looks like someone has pulled the collar of her shirt and poured in 200 gallons of chubberrubber? She looks like a snowman in drag. One little ball on top of a huge one. She offers to show meet my room but it’s on the 2nd floor and I fear for the building if she moves more than 1 foot above ground level. This hotel is old by American standards, 1930s maybe. It’s a really nice place though, apparently haunted. I wonder if the ghosts are fat too?

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