| Jeff Poulter & Graham Tillotson: 22nd July 2004 |
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Hermosillo, North Mexico
We are in Hermosillo, in the middle of the north Mexican desert and it´s
very, very hot. We have been travelling the last two days in temperatures
up to 110 degrees. Really uncomfortable, especially as it's mile after
mile of straight desert road.
Yesterday we crossed the border at Mexicali. Well, it wasn't really a border, we just drove straight through along with everyone else. About 200km down the road we were waved into a customs and immigration point! We need a tourist visa and also a permit to temporarily import the bikes. We had been doing very well and were ahead of our plan which, of course, means that we were heading for another setback. It came in the form of the computer that issues bike permits which decided that it did not want to recognise our bike´s VIN numbers and, being Sunday, there was no one at headquarters to sort out the problem. So we had to go back 25 km to Sonoyta, a dusty, middle of nowhere place. Just as we rode back into town my rear (brand new, of course) tyre punctured so, as ever, stuck in the blazing sun, over 100 degrees, we took out the wheel, then the tube and replaced it. As you would expect, after an hour of this, we were both lathered in sweat and covered in dust, sand and assorted crap from the chain, the tyre, etc. Two unhappy bunnies booked into Sonoyta's one motel which was downright cruddy, especially at $40 a pop. However, the air'con worked so we took cold showers and stood in front of it all night. Exhausted I went to sleep at 9.00. Dirty, dusty, hot and unhappy we were then ripped of the town´s only motel. Bienvenida!
We were back at the checkpoint at 8.00 on Monday, by which time it was already searingingly hot. This time the problem was our UK address. The girl operating the computer asked "What is London? Is it a country?" She had never heard of London, nor had she or the computer heard of the Spanish equivalents of England, Great Britain, United Kingdom, Britain or any other combination we could think of. She didn't know how to spell Europe, or where it was. So, our permisos have us living in a country called otra. That day we travelled 460k across the desert to pick up lost time and stayed in Hermosillo, a large (600,000) town which closed tight as a drum, including restaurants, at 7.30. So we got a polystyrene plate of revolting nachos and sat in the deserted main square like a couple of tramps. Anyway, we had obtained the prerequisite papers and had been through 460km of shrubby desert. All except 30km were unpleasantly hot whereas the 30km was a gale with a few yards of very heavy rain. Heavy or not, just let it rain on me. And any wind is better than the awful temperatures. Of course, even the locals are complaining about the heat! Wherever we go we get hot, except California, where we brought three days of cold and rain to the coast, froze and didn't see a thing. So now we carry 4 litres of water each, just in case we get stuck in the desert. On top of that I´m drinking at least another four litres, if not five. And I still haven´t had a pee all day.
Radio Shack in El Centro
At last (sorta obviously) we found an internet cafe. We didn't see one
in the US. Not one. When we complained bitterly to a bloke in Radio Shack
in El Centro (just by the border) about how poor America was in this respect,
he let us use his demo models to check our e-mails!
We did, however, stay in a smashing old hotel called the Westminster. When I asked the guy for safe parking for the bike he gestured around himself, indicating the lobby area. I then looked at the two front steps up to the beautiful double iron gates and one look told me that, at more than a foot high each, the bike will not make it, especially after having to climb a similarly-sized kerb only a few feet previously. I shrugged. The proprietor then pointed to a purpose made ramp which fitted the steps, albeit at an angle of 45 degrees, and beamed. It would have to be a slow approach to the kerb, bounce the front forks down just before and, as they rise, gun the bike to get the front wheel up, again to lift the rear, then give it loads of welly to shoot up the ramp before slamming on the brakes, on shiny marble tiles, to avoid demolishing the reception desk. Graham video-ed it while half the street looked on. Everyone looked impressed while I was scared witless. I parked the bike outside our room and went back for a repeat performance with Graham's. We had heard that the safest place to leave your bike was in the hotel lobby, but had put that down to traveller's exaggeration.
Chihuahua
From Hermosillo we rode up into the hills, heading east towards Chihuahua.
(And, no, we didn't see any.) Our original destination was to be a place
called Creel from where we could see the famous copper canyons, twelve
of which are bigger (deeper, longer) than the Grand Canyon. However, the
cartographer had neglected to take bends into account when the distances
were calculated for the maps. On a road that should have been 396k, we
had already clocked over 300 and hadn't reached halfway (The actual full
distance would have been 656k, nearly double the map distance, all bends.)
when an almighty thunderstorm stopped us. Not only couldn't we see but
the road was almost immediately flooded, with mud and rock slides around
every bend, so we decided to call it a day. The nearest place was called
Tecora, one sea of red mud without a metalled road in the place. You can
guess what the only hotel was like. Graham Green was in the next room.
So, from Tecora we had a fabulous ride, dodging the remaining mud and fallen rocks to Chihuahua. Again 400k of the most amazing scenery: humungous canyons, valleys, rock formations and winding, winding roads. Not a straight stretch for the first 250k. Fabulous. Er, except for the rain and the sheer drops off the edge of the unguarded road, oh, and dodging the odd pissed up lumber truck driver. Actually I don´t know whether they were pissed but they were wearing singlets like in a Humphrey Bogart movie, and all tyres in Mexico are bald. So they were either nuts or pissed or both.
Gomez Palacio
So that's how we ended up in Gomez Palacio, where we have just finished washing our clothes and have hung them on the front balcony to dry. We left before they could ask us to take them down as they might be giving the place a bad reputation. English bikers!
Now we're in San Miguel and we've moved into a new hotel - less than half the price of the previous one, in the centre of the town and very pretty. Graham and I are very pleased with ourselves for finding it - we looked at about seven before passing it by accident.
Language lessons have started slowly, really elementary stuff but one rank beginner has moved to another class and the other only takes two hours a day, so our tutor is tailoring the final hour to our requirements. Should be much better. Today I attended a Mexican cookery class: cactus salad and a dish made from fungus that grows on damp heads of corn. A great delicacy hereabouts and deservedly so. I lunched well!
I took my boots in to be repaired (interesting vocabulary) because the sole decided to detach itself from one of them and have arranged for the bikes to be serviced by the local bike hire firm - more good vocab! Actually I must rush to get the bikes into the garage before they close which is in about ten minutes.
Jeff 22.07.04 |
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