MEXICO JOURNALS
Photography by Steve Wallstrom
Journals by James Mallory
Jim poses in front of a split rock at Laguna Hansen, Baja.
This road put the KLR's to the test. After a though day of washboard roads for 100 miles along the Sea of Cortez side of Baja we were both ready for any form of pavement.
This small pueblo in the desert defined the word oasis. Surrounded by barren dust ladden lands in all directions, the sight of palm trees and a small river gave this place a surrealistic feel.
Giving out shoes from the back of a pickup truck in Aguaseca
One of the Tequila Boys motorcycles. This Yamaha dual-sport is very similar to the KLR650 but is air cooled and has a 600cc engine. These guys gave us a free lesson in Mexican driving.
Tequila, Mexico - Hacienda Herradura
Tequila Distillery
Thousands of agave plants below, each one capable of producing many bottles of fine tequila. Somewhere near Tequila, Mexico.
Jim taking a look at flying fish on the pacific coast, Mitchocan, Mexico.
Beach campin in Ixtapa. No need for centerstands here, the sand works just fine.
Our first visit to Mayan ruins on this trip was to overlooking Oaxaca. Interesting, yet a bit too touristy and dry for my taste.
Fixin a flat tire in Chiapas, Mexico
NEVER BUY AN IRC TIRE- It's Really Crappy we found out. Only 4000 miles on this fairly pricey tire left Jim with a huge gash and Steve with stress marks that would likely lead to the same sorry situation.
With the sun beating down, us still confused as to how we could have bought such a terrible tire and us sitting ducks on the side of the road, Jim thought knocking the bike over might add a little extra challenge to the day- and it did.
Agua Azul - Mexico
Puerto Escondido, Mexico - Although we didn't even know the Machados two days before this shot was taken, they opened their home to us, fed us and became really good freinds by the end of our stay.
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 February 14, 2003
Our first day in Latin America and you guessed it- we're already bribing cops. The not so gracious officer wasn't interested in our sob story about how we were trying to get a tourist card and on the way decided that 25km/hr was insanely slow. I guess he was too impressed with the 20 or so words of English that he repeated to every not so lucky tourist that also failed to follow the speed limit. "240.00 dollars!" I cried in disbelief, how could that be right? "look, I'll give you 20 bucks per bike" I petitioned in Spanish. My first time using Spanish on this trip and it was with a cop trying to bargain my way out out an outrageously expensive ticket- I wasn't enjoying one minute of it.
By the time we had finished with the cop, it was already getting dark. Using my handy dandy Autocom communication device (which works like a walkie-talkie between the bikes) I contemplated out loud "so... should we check out one of these side roads and pitch a tent?" Jim replied a complacent "I guess. Looks like we're just about out of daylight." So we found a little road off the main highway and then another off of that behind a mess of bushes and shrubs. Very covert. That night we discovered that our closest neighbor illuminated by flood lights, was a prison about a mile away. Welcome to Mexico.
-SW
February 16, 2003
San Felipe
One must see it to believe it, but Baja actually does have more than just sand and cactus. Approaching elevations of 5,000 ft, our route snaked through the mountainous interior region before dropping to the Sea of Cortez. The Ponderosa forest surrounding Laguna Hanson could readily pass for Central Oregon.
Jim in front of a rock at Laguna Hanson. photo by SW
But as I was soon to realize, Baja doesn't hand over such beauty for free. Endless miles of dead straight pavement between such oasis' insured that you appreciated each one to the fullest. The trouble is, with a motorcycle you can't just throw in your favorite CD, chew sunflower seeds and blissfully distract yourself from the monotony at hand. Every mile you experience, for better or for worse. Sure, I have the usual tricks to keep me awake. Sing to yourself, recount love lost, extrapolate how much longer your money will last if you skip one meal per day and my favorite, crevasse rescue.
Fortunately Steve and I have managed to integrate this involuntary fasting technique quite well. Simply pick an obscure, empty road to finish the days ride. Preferably 30 miles from the nearest food. Then when it gets dark and you have to camp, there is no agonizing decision over how much to spend on dinner. So far we've managed to forgo one meal a day for the better part of our trip. Though I admit low blood sugar and motorcycling are not the best combination.
-JM
February 20, 2003
The Frailty of Life
Throughout Mexico there are sobering reminders of how frail we humans truly are. Every 5 or 10 miles the families of victims lost in car wrecks have erected miniature shrines. Sometimes just a cross with flowers, others resemble tiny mausoleums with candles perpetually burning. Sitting astride my motorcycle on the shoulder of the highway I soon understand why.
As Steve and I take a short rest a semi roars around the corner, nonchalantly plowing all 18 wheels in the opposing lane. "Hey Steve, if we had ridden that corner just then, we would have...well, no need to speculate." I silently vow to remain more vigilant and hug the outside of the lane.
True to form, the curves beckoned and I returned their call with renewed vigor. A glorious sun was shining and the smooth asphalt underfoot was a welcome change. Back and forth through the twists, each time a little bit faster, a little more commitment. Your mind is focused, there is little room for anything else.
Then I blow it. My stomach churned as the adrenal gland emptied its contents into the bloodstream. I've pushed it too far and with the bike leaned over to its limit I drift into the oncoming lane. Oh Lord, please don't let there be an oncoming car. Fighting every urge to the contrary I stay on the throttle to maintain precious traction. Seconds tick by as the tires whine in protest. Finally the curve relents and I crank the bike back into my lane. 4 or 5 seconds later a Grand Cherokee cruises past. Shuddering at the thought of what a difference a few seconds can make I send a lengthy thankyou skyward. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou.
--JM
Cofradia, Nayarit Mexico
Arriving late at night we stumble into our first volunteer stop after a long day of riding. The zig zagging line on the map honestly looked like a shortcut. 14 hours later we concluded that 200 miles of dirt roads is never a shortcut. The road covered about every climate in Mexico from desert sands to chilly mountain passes. Granted, we toured some amazing scenery but after nightfall it all looks the same. Yes, I know we broke the cardinal rule of adventure motorcycling but with thoughts of a warm shower and plentiful food swimming in our heads we pushed on.
Cofradia is a small town nestled between Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta on the pacific coast. The surrounding mountains are dotted with numerous Indian villages quite unaccustomed to the modern world rushing by at the popular coastal destinations. Cowboy hats and cattle drives are the norm and Spanish takes second place to their native Indian tongue. Many of their customs are a mix of native spiritual beliefs intertwined with a Catholic influence. National Geographic has printed several very interesting articles about the region. Holy week here would prove a fascinating experience as their idea of 'Holy' is the polar opposite of ours.
The mission itself is led by Dave and Kathy Elias and a mix of full time and temporary workers from the States and Canada. Teams of high-schoolers and adults regularly come for short-term trips, though lately it is mostly the former. Construction, clearing land, building houses for locals, teaching and music are all used to meet the needs of the community. We spent a day clearing brush, watched a Canadian team perform a drama, and distributed shoes to local children.
Steadily plodding southward we are beginning to see the opening glimpses of true Mexican culture. It is a constant balance between setting aside your American lenses and yet remembering the goals we all strive for. There is an art to this and I'm still holding a crayon.
Two local muchachos. Smiles and jokes built bridges between the kids and us... good kids. photo by SWIn one hand you praise their hospitality and relaxed pace and in the other you chide them for trash lining every road and their deplorable treatment of animals. Anyone who has spent time in Mexico knows this and I began to feel comfortable in my analysis. And you wonder is my couple of days here and there really going to make a difference?
Just as I've tossed in my two cents the road climbs through a remote mountain village. Squatting off to the side of the road a young Indian waves with an intensity reserved for the the handful of gringos passing through each year. The innocence and depth pouring out of those coffee brown eyes blows holes in the judgments I've passed. It is a face that cannot simply be brushed away and catalogued with an encyclopedia of memories.
Little kids waiting for shoes. Named Aguacera after the brackish hotsprings near town, this small pueblo near Cofradia is very indigenous and the basic needs are many. photo by SWEmblazoned on my mind and emotions it is a powerful reminder that yes, it is worth it. And when the day is long and I tire of bratty kids walking off with our tools, I dig out that image. Because for every mischievous punk there is a young mountain girl waiting for a hand. In a village near Cofradia we got to do just that. Dozens of kids surrounded the truck as shoes were handed out to the barefooted kids. Watching an 8 year old covered head to toe in dust and grim proudly skip off with shiny new shoes is a gracious affirmation of our efforts.
-JM
Our journey through the mountains did take us through areas that would put most national parks to shame. The depth and width of the space was humbling, another day of forcing myself to focus on the road and thank God for every breath I took. "We got cows ahead" was a common phrase coming across the Sierra Madre Occidental. Cows, donkeys, rabid dogs, little kids- we had our share of moving obstacles to watch out for.
-SW
Big City Driving
Thoughts of 5 lanes of traffic, roundabouts and everything else entailed in urban riding generally does not evoke a positive image. But with the correct vehicle and attitude it can entertain quite well. Though it should be noted that this thrill is confined to foreign travels where traffic laws are less strict.
With 6 million inhabitants, Guadalajara provided an ideal training ground for our first true urban adventure. It began after meeting a friendly local motorcyclist who offered to take us out to the finest tacos in town. Pulling out of the gas station it quickly became apparent our new friend wasn't about to just loaf through traffic. It was a sink or swim approach, because if we wanted a meal and some conversation we had to stick with him. Hungry for both we sped off into a cool Guadalajaran night.
For better or worse the normal laws that guide stateside traffic are respectfully set aside. Stop signs, red lights, speed limits and lanes for that matter are mere suggestions rather than mandates. Reassuringly I tell myself 'this guy seems pretty intelligent and he's managed to survive this kind of riding for years.' Comforting.
Cutting through traffic I realize a distinct similarity to the old video game Frogger. Punch the accelerator to squeeze ahead, than grab the breaks to miss the taxi. It is a sport of constant cerebral activity. Measuring, calculating and prediction, your brain flushes every out except for the 4 or 5 seconds surrounding you. Night time somehow simplifies this because everything is reduced to just head lights or tail lights. Odd for Mexico, but in Guadalajara both are usually working.
Perhaps the most liberating aspect of Mexican driving is lane splitting. While yes, it is legal in California, the Latin version ratchets it up a few notches. Effectively you never have to wait in traffic, just zoom to the front of the line. The practical side of this applies to air cooled engines which overheat without the cooling effect of wind. The human body also seems to appreciate the physics of convection.
Unfortunately, our luggage cases bulged out the sides of our bikes waiting to pop off the next unsuspecting mirror. After a few close calls, Alberto inquires why we failed to leave our cases in the room for the day. With no legitimate answer to give, I mumble something and smile. Hmmm, at least Alberto will be able to translate into Spanish 'hey, uh sorry about your mirror.'
Tequila, Mexico.
The Tequila Boys gave us an exclusive tour of the Herradura Hacienda, the second largest producer of tequila in the world.
Following someone was definitely the best way to see the city. After confessing that we really hadn't seen much of the city, Alberto graciously led us on a grand tour. No stoppin to check the map or asking locals, just follow the tail light and look where he points. Guadalajara is a vibrant city, rich in history and doted with cathedrals older than the States. Using red lights and pull outs for breaks, Alberto would give us a quick history of each site. If only we could tour every city this way.
Nearing the end of our escapade we swing by Alberto's good friend Aflonso. A party / wedding was in progress and less than 20 ft away sat the right hand man of the former president. Needless to say this was a very different slice of Mexico. Over refreshing drinks, a plan was hashed to tour the biggest Tequila producer in Mexico. Considering this private tour is reserved for family and friends we couldn't pass up the opportunity.
Tequila, Mexico. The distillation process carried out here at the Herradura Hacienda is very unique and precise. Check out www.tequilareview.com for more info. photo by SWOur main goal in visiting Guadalajara was to check out the Harvest Language School run by Jeff and Lisa King. Many people had referred the school to us and the praise seemed very well placed. The courses are taught in 7 week blocks with a total of 4 levels. Students also have the option of living with a local family for a full immersion style. Harvest is popular among missionaries from America, Asia and Europe as they adjust to life in Latin America. Guadalajara is a great place to study as the mountian biking, climbing and city life provide enough reminders of home while still giving a fully Mexican experience. More info can be found at www.harvestlanguagecenter.org
-JM
Puerto Escondido
Situated on one of the world's best surf beaches, Puerto attracts travelers from across the globe. Euro languages are heard more then English and most of the tourists seem to come for the waves. Not that this applied to me as I painfully recalled the coral reef and sea urchins that defeated me on my first attempt. Thus I spent my time sipping liquados and reading the history of Cortez's invasion. As the Mexican sun torched my Washington skin I was once again reminded that I belong in the mountains, not the ocean.
Fortunately we were referred to Danny and Melanie Machado, who live just south of town with the Pacific a stones throw away. We had such a good time that Steve decided he ought to develop an allergic reaction to one of the local hornets. As his arm swelled we obliged to spend a few days close to a doctor. Our extended stay gave us a better feel for future volunteer opportunities and lessons learned from the past.
With tourists, locals and numerous Indian villages close by, Puerto offers a diverse spectrum of service options. As a nutrionalist, Melanie provides education and vitamins both in town and in the outlying mountain regions. Subsiding off a heavily vegetarian diet, the Indians suffer from many forms of malnutrition. Iron deficiency is prevalent as the rugged topography and limited finances provide little opportunity for meat. Many of these villages are completely closed and approaches from outsiders are met with sharp resistance. Though usually they are more open to receiving medical aid.
Oaxaca to San Cristobal
One would imagine piloting a motorcycle at 70 mph would have a pleasantly cooling effect. While this holds true at more reasonable temperatures, when the mercury marches upward a distinctly opposite reaction occurs. Much of Mexico could be classifieds in this department and I hold no affinity for it.
Wind, by itself is simply an instrument of change. If the temperature of the moving air is colder than your skin, the wind merely increases the rate of which the heat is pulled from your skin. Thus, wind chill. Conversely, the thermometer on your backpack is unintimidated by the frigid breeze because the device doesn't produce any heat.
Unfortunately this principal we call convection has an evil twin lurking at the other end of the scale. When the wind whistling by is warmer than your skin, the air is just that much more effective at raising your temperature. After a day of skiing, that is why you put your hands over vents in your car. Though this is slightly mitigated by evaporative cooling, i.e sweat, which is more efficient with wind. The vista overlooking valleys of greenery were around every corner on this drive through Chiapas. Unfortunately for you, we spent little time documenting with photos, and more time just enjoying the ride. photo by SW
All this combines to produce a sensation akin to surrounding yourself with a dozen hairdryers on full blast. Even the luxury of sweating is nullified as any hint of moisture is torn away before the cooling is felt. Though dunking my t-shirt in a river offered a significant improvement. Steve utilized a different approach, riding his KLR back and forth across a stream until pleasantly soaked. But the a/c didn't last long, within 20 minutes the cotton was bone dry.
Finally, approaching San Cristobal the first sentinels of cold weather are felt. Soon the crisp mountain air envelopes us and billows through our mesh jackets. Several hot weeks have past since I felt a chill and I relish the sensation. Sure, it may sound a bit melodramatic but such are the rantings of a Northwesterner in the tropics. With spirits lifted our route crosses the mountains and drops in to San Cristobal.
Although this was the first time we had to fix the tire, it wouldn't be the last. The little 12 volt compressor Jim is using here (Walmart $15.00 US minus the plastic case) saved us many hours of pumping the tire by hand. photo by SWOne of the nicest towns in Mexico, San Cristobal sits in a valley hemmed in by rugged green hills. A mixture of pine and Banana trees provide a peculiar but beautiful combination. Right now I'll take anything with a hint of green. Fortunately the low population of the Chiapas region has kept the topography relatively lush. Feeling a bit guilty I admit this is my favorite part of Mexico. Not the long elegant beaches or stark desert landscape, just these simple crumpled hills of jade.
The Chiapas region is also well know for the sometimes violent relationship between the gov't and the indigenous people. Unfortunate, because this is some of the most enchanting terrain Mexico has to offer. Though injecting money into the local economy, tourism is also not received favorably. Even eco-tourism is unappreciated as attested to by the recent attack of a group of foreign kayakers.
With this knowledge stirring in our thoughts we cautiously rode towards Pelanque. Every truck a potential kidnapper and in each shadow lurked a native with poison tipped darts. With hours of silence on the bike the mind tends to get creative. Fortunately the profound scenery distracted us and I understood why they defend it so ardently.
Finally arriving in the area we've been repeatedly warned about, I decide it is high time for our first flat tire. Yes, 100 miles in, my IRC tire (It's Really Crappy), pops open a one inch gash. I thought it was a little odd when my foot brushed the pavement on the last turn. Dragging the pegs on a fully loaded KLR is not something usually encouraged.
Dripping under the midday sun I pushed a little too hard trying to put the repaired tire back on. Gear, bolts and radios take flight into the tall grass as the bike comes crashing down on its side. Steve points out that is may be easier to put the tire back on in its present state. Fortunately two Indians pity us and help muscle the bike into a more upright position.
-JM
More soon, as the trials of this day were far from over.
With the tire fixed, though quite fragile, we gently ride to Agua Azul, a beautiful cascade of turquoise amid a jungle backdrop. The sight was refreshing but difficult to enjoy knowing my tire could explode at any moment. Following some unusually logical discussion we reason that returning to San Cristobal is the smarter choice. Checking his watch Steve reveals it is highly unlikely we'll arrive before sundown. Perfect, riding in the night in Chiapas.
Plodding along at 30 mph we manage to scrounge 50 miles before another flat. Hmmm, unless our repair skills have speeded up considerably we'll be finishing this job in the dark. Pulling out our headlamps Steve reminds us that we're sitting ducks broken down on the side of the road, at night, in the Chiapas. 2 hours and 3 attempts later stumble onto a very ghetto solution. With duct tape lining the inside of the tire and a diminutive patch sealing the tube it just may hold.
Agua Azul (Blue Water) is a series of cascading waterfalls many of which are ideal for takin' a dip to cool of from the mid-day heat. Well worth a visit. photo by SWThough we have to stop every 10 miles or so to reinflate the tire we eventually limp into town. Needless to say I became quite adept at determining how much air was left in my tire. If you shake the handlebars and the bike responds sluggishly, you're getting low. When the rear tire goes in a alternate direction than the front, it is time for a pump. I created an interesting game that balanced covering as many miles as possible without driving a half inflated tire into a banana plantation.
History has shown that a common enemy soothes over a multitude of frustrations, and tonight we learned this first hand. When the road is mellow and the skies shine clear the external environment gives you no complaints. But we're programmed to find faults so we look elsewhere. Combing through the daily activities, searching for those little nuances that will surely annoy. Of course the microscope pauses over the most minute details. Like how long it takes to put on a glove, or the strap perpetually dangling off the back of my bike. Once or twice is unnoticeable but repetition has a way of placing a bullhorn on such trivialities.
Fortunately that is why God made rain, flat tires and dangerous countries. A brilliant technique to divert our attention to more pressing issues. Picking through the grass looking for lost bolts Steve and I realize that as of late, things were going a bit too smoothly. Smiling at our misfortune and the odd benefits it brought, we press on towards San Cristobal.
-JM
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