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| A view from Mazatlán |
Somewhere outside of Mazatlán
Finally, I had a good rest last night!
I didn't think I would find a place so close to the city, as I was.
I got a late start because I was sightseeing in Mazatlán.
I chanced upon a pullout next to the road that led to a stream and a walking path that ducked under the small bridge that carried the road over the stream.
It was dusk and almost dark, and a cloud of fog was billowing from the surface of the cold water. The fog rose up to cloak everything in an eerie quiet.
Cars and trucks rushed over the bridge and their lights chased the shadows around the trees and across the bridge in a choreographed game. The long Doppler effect of the whoosh of their movement adding a climax to each round.
I'm growing use to the road noise, and with confidence I would not be discovered because of the late hour and cloaking fog, I slept well. Probably for the first time since my trip began.
~*~
I´m sitting at a cafe eating breakfast (pollos rancheros). I´m on the porch, on the only corner getting sun. It´s around 8 A.M.
I can tell it will be warm today, but right now it´s next to chilly and it feels perfect, as the sun warms my left side.
Earlier, I drank a glass of fresh orange juice.
There are birds chirping and they are so pleasant.
´´Hello!´´
´´Good morning!´´ They say.
Or, I suppose, ´´Hola!´´
´´Buenos días!´´ Or maybe it´s an indigenous language. I don´t know.
~*~
Yesterday, I went exploring in Mazatlan.
From afar, I saw a peninsula with a light house perched high atop a hill, and a road leading to it.
Following the road, I arrived at the base of the light winding road that led to the top.
As I arrived, I saw another motorcycle start up the road. ´Encouraging,´ I thought.
Over the road was an arch that announced this was the path to the top and and gave an average walking time (25 minutes) to reach the light house. A bit strange to put on a road I thought.
I started up anyway.
30 yards on, I could see the concrete ended and a very rough dirt road proceeded beyond. I grew cautious.
At that moment, a motorcyclist came around the bend.
He pulled up to me. I couldn´t be sure if this was the motorcyclist I had seen ascending just a moment before.
He greeted me and I asked if motorcycles could make it to the top. He spoke Spanish but seemed to understand me okay, and he said I could make it. I asked, ´´Are you sure? With this kind of bike?´´
He reassured me, ´´Yes, just be careful.´´ He was riding a small cruiser or standard style bike, and he didn´t say he´d just been to the top but I assumed he had, optimistically.
I revved the engine and proceeded slowly.
To those who´ve been there, it reminded me of Camelback Mountain in Phoenix. An urban hiking trail with steep grades.
There were many groups of people ascending and descending and I felt acutely out of place, but buoyed by will, desire, and the encouragement of a stranger that I chose to trust.
The road quickly went from cement, to dirt road, to washed out hiking trail with protruding rocks and runoff trenches formed by erosion. I did not belong there and I knew it, but I kept revving the engine, feathering the clutch, and coercing the bike to climb, albeit slowly.
I rounded the first switchback, lost speed, pulled in the clutch, pulled in the brake, and stopped. It was a sad, wobbly sight. I put my foot down. It kept going down. I had stopped next to a trench. The bike kept leaning over until my foot finally touched down, but it was too late. The 480 lbs or more had traveled too far away from the center of gravity and I could not stop it, but I did slow it down. All the while saying (not too loud), ´´No! No! No! No!´´
But yes, yes it did. The bike toppled, I toppled. All in the middle of several groups of hikers. I sat up, and began laughing.
This was ridiculous, I knew it, and I persisted. Why wouldn´t I laugh?
Once the bike was down I became aware that I had made a spectacle of myself, but I had that coming and I knew it.
I tried to lift the bike but it kept slipping downhill when I did. Soon, some hikers offered assistance and we had the bike upright.
The headlight cluster was broken and hanging by wires. The handlebars slightly askew.
Since the bike was upright there was no immediate rush (fuel and oil can flood the engine or otherwise leak into places you don´t want them to when it is horizontal).
I took some pictures, sat down and laughed some more at the situation, then fished out my duct tape, reaffixed the headlight cluster to its approximate location, gingerly turned the bike around, remounted, and coasted down the hill.
I´d only made it 50 meters but it was enough adventure for me, and I decided to keep on moving.
~*~
I have pictures of several of these locations and events but they are on my camera (all pictures posted so far are from my phone) and I can´t upload them until I can process the raw digital images. So, sadly no visuals to help tell the story.
I want to specially acknowledge the financial contributions from Alexandre Nguyen, Manny Rangel, Michael Pang, my mom, and my aunt Julie, as well as Kate Phillips and Ian Wheatland for helping make these words and pictures possible!
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