Jeremy's Bike Blog

​I take a day to see the sights of Guadalajara, which is by some measures the second largest city in Mexico, but has a core that’s easy to cover by bicycle and contains most all of the notable museums and cathedrals.  So, that’s what I do.  Standard tourist stuff.  I took some 3D photos which are, as always, viewable at my google photosphere profile page.

The following day, a group of solo travelers have banded and decided to do a day trip to Chapalas, a town on the shore of a lake of the same name, the largest in Mexico.  I’m torn between joining them and continuing on my way by bike so I flip a coin.  It says to join them, and so I do.  We cram the five of ourselves into a standard compact car cab and make the hour trip down to the lake.  There, we have some lunch, charter a boat for a ride out to scorpion island and hang out there or a bit.  

Then we come back into the lakefront town and walk around a bit more, have a beer and watch some soccer, and then head back to Guadalajara.  Nick, the guy I’d met a couple weeks earlier in Mazatlan, is sort of the lead instigator, taking thinly veiled pleasure in testing the limits of the rest of the group and the locals, but in a playful way that is self-deprecating when called for so that everybody involved seems to be genuinely amused.  Back at the hostel, Nick and I discuss the prospect of him sourcing a bike and joining me for a stretch in a month or so when he’ll be available.  I say that it would be particularly interesting because I expect that we would challenge each other to do things that we wouldn’t otherwise do on our own, to which he agrees saying that yeah, it would be a little competitive.  This isn’t how I see it initially, but after some consideration, I see how it could be perceived as a sort of friendly competition.  Not long after that, just after nightfall, a heavy rain starts, which is typical for the region this time of year.  The hostel has a large outdoor hallway/atrium with a marble floor which is incredibly slick when it gets submerged in rainwater.  To me, it’s a perfect opportunity for some slip-and-slide fun, but where you try to stay on your feet as long as possible.  If you’re not well practiced in falling without hurting yourself, this is clearly not a game you want to play.  The other hostel guests are amused but not interested in participating, except Nick, who doesn’t even consider not matching me slide for slide.  He mostly sticks to traditional slip-n-slide form, but this is all the encouragement I need to counter the clearly not-amused hostel staff.  From there we move on to handstands and other yoga-like poses on the edge of the pool, flopping over into it, all during the ongoing downpour, and while this is every bit as foolish, it isn’t nearly as prone to injury, and we have maybe a half dozen other hostel guests join in.

The next morning, I’m a bit banged up.  My butt and shoulders are bruised, but considering the number and velocity of the falls I took the night before, I’m in pretty great shape.  At the risk of being immodest, I’m quite good at falling without getting hurt (knock on wood).  The trip du jour is going to be to some nearby hot springs, and I’m encouraged to stay another day to join, but after 3 nights in Guadalajara, I’m pretty solidly inclined to continue on.  An additional factor is that I know some part of me wants to spare myself from a day on the bike after a rough night, and I don’t want to give in to that.  I made my bruised butt, now I have to bike on it.

I’m floating towards where the highway that I’m going to take meets the edge of town when I notice a mass of bicyclists a couple streets over.  I head to it and find that a major thoroughfare has been cordoned off from 8am to 2pm, according to the barriers used to do so, for bicycle and pedestrian traffic.   There’s easily a couple thousand people on bicycles going in both directions, and when I inevitably make the acquaintance of someone who strikes up a conversation based on my loaded rig, I learn that this happens every Sunday.  We ride for about 8 kilometers as he points out various transit projects in progress.  As he parts way with me and the cordoned off area to head home, it terminates in Jardin/Calle Hidalgo, which is a series of plazas and pedestrian thoroughfares that are bustling with locals and tourists that are clearly making the most of a beautiful Sunday afternoon.  I stop for some lunch and then hop on the highway and head out of town.

When I’m at about 50km for the day it starts raining.  It’s not very heavy, and I contemplate pushing through it, but when I get a second chance at a roadside rest stop, I think better of it and stop in for a snack.  The rain is letting up when I jump back on my bike and to discover my rear tire has gone flat.  Worse yet, I also realize that it’s worn down through the tread, to the rubber that is a different color so as to indicate that the tire needs to be replaced.  This is pretty disappointing as I had purchased tires for this trip with claims that they last for at least twice as far as I’ve gone so far, specifically so that I wouldn’t have to repeat the exercise of finding a replacement in a remote area, as I had to in Poland last summer.  I fix the flat, making use of the compressed air pump on hand at the service station, and then contemplate either going back to Guadalajara, by bus or bike, or forward to Ocotlan, and hoping that one of the two possible bike shops that Google Maps reports that town having will have a tire of the right size.  My wheel’s diameter is “700” which is, I’ve read, increasingly rare as you get further South and as “26” becomes increasingly ubiquitous, so it’s not a sure thing that they’ll have any in stock, and even then, less sure that they’ll have a width that’s wide enough for the beating I’ll subject it to, but not too wide for my fenders and frame.  Nonetheless, I opt to go forward.

I get to Ocotlan which is an interesting mid-size town.  I take the first hotel I inquire at.  I always set a price limit in my head before inquiring, and view the room before accepting, but other than the one about halfway down my run of the coast that I was pretty much pre-decided to turn down (was set on something in town, close to the beach, and just inquiring for the sake of establishing expectations), I haven’t declined a room yet.  I wander around and see some questionable (to my cultural sensibilities) belly-dancing routines being performed by very young girls, a massive cathedral (things are very Catholic in these parts) and a generally happy seeming, vibrant populace.  And, of course, I eat.

The next morning I’m too anxious to find out if I’ll be able to replace my tire to eat before scoping out the two bike shops.   The first one, closer to my digs at the center of town, is closed with no indication of when or if it will be open.  The second one is open, and the proprietor is super friendly and excited to see me.  He has tires of the same diameter and width as the one I need to replace, and while I assume we’ll make the sale and I’ll be left to swap them out, he says he wants to use his stand to do so himself.  Next I assume that he’ll charge me for labor, but I don’t want to make a fuss, so I just go with it without asking how much it will cost.  Many guidebooks will tell you to ask how much something costs before accepting it, and this makes some sense: otherwise you can be charged a lot with no way of declining.  But it feels kinda miserly to do so, and if you can keep a sense of perspective, you realize that the stakes are really quite low.  Sure, sometimes you’re charged 50 pesos for tacos that you know should really run more like 30, but we’re talking $2.50 instead of $1.50.  It sorta sucks that it’s the opportunists that benefit, and the honest people that don’t in this scenario, but everybody has their own motivations and their own sense of satisfaction.  Anyways, when the guy comes back with the bicycle, he asks me for 100 pesos, about $5.  The stickered price of the tire was 102, so not only has he not charged for labor, but he’s rounded down the price of the tire.  We chat for a while, he takes some photos for a post on his shop’s facebook page, and then I’m on my way, all in under 30 minutes.  The tire is probably not going to hold up for very long at such a price, but I’ll be in Mexico City well before I’ve done any major distance, where I can find a shop with a larger inventory and try again to find a tire that will get me through the rest of the tour.  I have to believe such a thing exists. Slav, of the Bulgarian couple I met in Sedona, says that they’ve put 15K km on their tires and they’re still going strong.  I’ve gotten what brand they’re using from them and hopefully can find them in the big city.

I hit an oxxo for coffee and a taco stand for a savory, meaty breakfast.  Chat with some more locals in mix of spanish and english, then head out of town under a light drizzle.  The route runs along the North shore of the lake from a couple of days earlier, and through some quaint but cobblestoney towns.  I stop to use a bathroom at a highway-side gas station and one of the attendants is super friendly and eager to chat.  He has a squinty smile that reminds me of a friend back home which makes me take a quick liking to him.  This is in spite of the fact that he follows me into a cramped 2 stall restroom to continue our chat, while smoking a cigarette that quickly fills the room with smoke stench, and is unphased by the fact that I’m dropping a duece in mid-conversation.  About 10 minutes later I’m in the Oxxo about 150 feet away, nursing a coffee, when he comes in to return one of my cycling gloves that had fallen off my bike on the walk over.  A few minutes after that, a caravan of soldiers sporting very large guns stop by the Oxxo.  I surreptitiously snap a photo of a couple, and then one of them comes over to chat.  I give him the standard run down of my trip, we shake hands, and he hops back in his truck.  The trucks full of soldiers are still there when I go to leave a few minutes after that, and another soldier summons me over to chat.  He asks me if I have any cannabis while making the universal sign for smoking a joint, to which I feign total non-understanding.  It would make me nervous except for the fact that he’s beaming a huge smile the whole time.  He switches gears and says ‘muy athletico’ as he shakes my hand and lets me go on my way.

Google Maps bicycle directions have me take a short cut out of a town called La Barca on dirt roads.  I’m several km committed to it when I encounter a stretch that is under about a foot of water, judging by the cars driving through, with no way to circumvent the pond.  I consult with a guy whose just driven through it to deliver something to a woman that lives along side it, and the woman as well.  I think they’re telling me there’s 2 more of the floods before the route rejoins the road.  I double back a bit, and then commit another km to an alternate shortcut.  This ends up in another pond road-block.  This time there’s nobody around to see me suffer the indignity, so I try to ride through it, am quickly and predictably stopped cold by the muck, and then I push my bike through it.  My only regret is that I kept my leather sandals on in the process.  They’re fine now, but were pretty slimy the rest of the day.

I get into Zamora and have only done 80km for the day, but the skies are threatening to open up, and the hotel I inquire at only wants 170 pesos for a room. I take it, and am glad to have the time to check out the city.  There are masses of kids in catholic school uniforms being picked up by their parents, a really nice town plaza, a gigantic cathedral, and tarp-covered networks of narrow streets that are fun to get lost in.  I eat and then am back at the hotel a half hour after dark where I’m a bit dismayed by how loud it is in the room.  I have one foam earplug, having lost it’s complement, but I’m a side sleeper so this is enough so long as I switch it to the ear that’s not on the pillow whenever I roll over.  The guy in the lobby/parking garage outside the room finally stops watching TV at blaring volume some time after 1am, and the street noise subsides a bit, and I get decent sleep.

 The following day, the initial climb is tough but not grueling, and just as I get to the top I meet a couple of bike tourers going in the opposite direction.  We stop and chat.  The guy is from France and Luz, the woman, is from Chile.  They’ve come up from Central America, and have not a lot of good things to say about the cycling down that way.   But then, they’re also critical enough of a number of things (my fledgling Spanish skills, for example) to suggest that they’re glass-half-empty kinda folks, which I can appreciate, but also makes me take their opinion of the region with a little more salt than I would otherwise.  They also give me the info of someone I might stay with on the way to Mexico City.  They are averse to paying anything for accommodations, whereas I’m fine with spending $10 a night to not have to deal with logistics of finding a host, and then worry about being sufficiently grateful to them for putting me up for free.  Of course, in very remote areas, camping is cost and hassle free.  It looks like I’m getting back into sufficiently remote areas for camping, but have not been for the last few weeks.  Anyways, we exchange information, them telling me about stuff further South, me telling them about stuff further North, and then part ways.   They have a easy 50km descent to Zamora, their destination for the day, whereas I have another 60km and more climbing (and a TBD amount of off-roading) to do for the day.

The Google Maps route takes me off road for 9KM about 20KM short of Bosque Villiage.  This is a net time loss, as there is a paved alternative only about 2KM longer, which I figure out when I’m nearly met back up with the paved route, but I’m happy with it.  It’s incredibly beautiful, if somewhat bumpy biking, among cows and horses and no other humans whatsoever.  On the other hand, it’s a lot more strenuous than it would be to glide on pavement, and I’m characteristically low on food.

I get to the town where the directions Brian has provided, specific to getting to the Bosque, start.  They’re fairly easy to follow, and the route is well signed.  I let myself in through the gate and am calling out “hello?” when Alicia appears from a large structure, greets me by name, and takes me up to the main area up a hill.  Brian is there to greet me, show me the cabana a short walk away where I’ll be sleeping, and leaves me to get settled in.  I do, and then go back to his place where I’m grateful for some food that Alicia prepares, as my settling in pretty much amounted to scarfing down the last bits of nuts and granola that I’d had on hand.  We chat for a bit and then I head back to the cabana to pass out.  Making up for delays the two days prior to keep my ETA of that evening has entailed one of my biggest biking days in some time (7.5 hours ride time).

At around 6 in the morning I’m woken by the sound of a chainsaw, which I later learn is Gonzalo doing his daily work in the village.  I later learn that things generally pretty much run at the sun’s schedule, and Brian’s been up since sunrise.  At around 9, Brian comes by to see if I want to take a trip in the van to the nearby town of Erongaricuaro.  In town we get green smoothies then see Alicia off in a cab she’s taking to Moralia to inquire about a possible job.  Brian and I grab coffees, and I breakfast, and then he shows me around town including some canals leading from town to Lake Pazcuaro.  Back in the van, he’s about to pull into a gas station when we spot a tiny puppy standing in the middle of the road.  He goes to check it out while I stay in the van and take a video.  I continue to tag along as he gets gas, some bread from a guy walking around with a basket of it, some meat from a butcher for the puppy and his other dogs back in the villiage, and stops by the vet who’s not currently in and so unavailable to examine the puppy.  We head back to the village with the pup and give it a bath.  It’s then we discover that it’s crawling with at least a hundred fleas.  We comb them out and pick at them while drinking some beer and chatting.  The puppy takes a little bit of water, a tiny bit of milk but no liver.  It occasionally shits a little and foams at the mouth, based on which we suspect it’s been poisoned.  It convulses pretty much continuously, and when it tries to stand, it’s legs nearly give out with each convulsion.  Later that evening it’s nearly flea free, looking a good deal cleaner and bit better, and we’re both relieved to see it eat nearly half a raw egg, fairly eagerly.  Then we call it a night.

The next morning when I join Brian at his place for tea, I’m happy to see that the puppy is still alive.  But about 20 minutes later, Brian goes to check on it and comes back carrying its limp, lifeless little body.  He questions what he could have done differently, and l point out that it was almost certainly inevitable and that he surely made the pups last hours much less miserable than they would have been otherwise.  All the same, we’re both a little sad, having gotten a somewhat attached to it in our attempts to feed, tend to, and de-flea-ify it, and because it was really very adorable, all the more so because of it’s struggle to live.  Ah well, so it goes.

A short time later, a biologist named Jessica comes by to collect fern samples for a project of cataloging the village’s fauna.  I join her, and then Brian joins us.  We hike down into a gully and then around a part of the village that I hadn’t yet seen.  The village is quite large, 83 acres in total, and there’s at least a dozen sizable structures, and a dozen more smaller ones, each one an experiment in sustainability and permaculture.  The project/village is truly impressive, and beyond the scope of this blog to do justice, but thankfully it’s well documented, perhaps best starting with this post.

We walk into the nearby town of Yotarito and stroll around a bit, then head back to the village.  We make a video of Brian interviewing me about my trip, and then Brian makes some dinner.  We read and chat, and then I head to bed.  The next morning I finish up and try to submit this post using Brian’s WiFi, but am stymied yet again by WordPress’s legions of bugs around images within posts.  From here, I’m heading to Patzcuaro, Morelia, then Mexico City, where I’m happy to have just learned I’ll be able to meet back up with Buenos Aries-ian Felli, who was part of the crew that went to Lago Chapalas from Gaudalajara.

PS With any luck I’ll succeed in uploading this now from the hostel I’m staying in, in Morelia.