Keeping Things Interesting
More pigs as we get further south into Mexico. Pigs running across the street on their stubby little legs. Pigs digging through garbage. On one notable occasion, pigs routing through a giant pile of trash that was on fire. My dad later suggested that “Pigs routing in flaming trash” would make a fine title for my book, but I think it’d be important to first identify my target demographic, as I suspect that could be a divisive name.
On our way to Puerto Escondito, another tourist town and our cue to finally jump off the coastal highway to head towards Oaxaca City, I started having issues with my bike. It seemed to run ok at higher RPMs, but at low engine speeds, it would die. Repeatedly. Usually at dangerous or at least very annoying spots. When attempting the fabled blind mountain corner double-semi pass, it’s remarkably important to have a motorcycle that doesn’t stall facing speeding oncoming traffic.
When we found a hotel, my dad started working on the bike while I went in search of a new spark plug, some carb cleaner, and fuel filters. We figured a bit of dirt or bad gas was likely behind the issue. After being bounced from pemex to pemex, I found a guy who sold me some carb cleaner, and a genuine motorcycle shop for fuel filters and a spark plug. By the time I found my way back, my dad had my carburetor out. It didn’t seem to be very dirty, but we cleaned it anyhow. Then we checked the spark plug, which was practically hanging out of the engine. D’oh! Who ever heard of a spark plug working its way out of an engine after 5,000 miles of reliable performance?? We tightened the spark plug and grabbed dinner: “Domino Pizza.”
In the morning we assembled my bike and put the fuel filter’s I’d bought onto both bikes… big mistake. We fueled up and got about 10 clicks north of town on our winding mountian road, and my bike stalled. Pulling to the side of the road, fuel could be seen pouring from the bottom of the bike. Whaaa? It turns out in the few short miles we’d gone, the fuel filter had already shattered, severing the fuel line between the tank and the carb. Fuck. A quick look at my dad’s bike, and his had shattered but not completely severed yet. If he tried to go back to town, there’s a god chance he wouldn’t make it, and we’d be stuck with 2 disabled bikes, no longer together and watchable by a single person.
So I started walking with my thumb out. I made it about 30 feet, and the first car that passed stopped and picked me up. I explained to them that I was having trouble with my motorcycle and jumped in. I sat in the back of his old van with an old man, two women, and two young girls. They drove with the sliding door open, and I had a rear-facing seat next to the door, which meant every time he made a left turn, I had to strain from falling out. There were, of course, no good places to hold onto, so I got stuck pushing against the track for thedoor, which was oozing with black grease. I’d be the last person to complain though, as even if no one spoke on our 10 minute trip back, he blared old Queen music in English, and took me all the way to the motorcycle shop I needed. I picked up two different fuel filters and some new fuel line, and caught a cab back.
Then things really got interesting. The road from Puerto Escondito to Oaxaca winds through a particularly rugged set of mountains. On our map, there’s a stretch that has the same length as others listed at 40km, but this one says 167km. But curves and topes have been done to death out here, and we’re looking for an adventure, right? So they added extremely poorly maintained roads, car-eating potholes, rocks, sand, washouts, and traffic. Bouncing through steep corners, avoiding potholes, sandtraps, and oncoming traffic, we entered the clouds and a slight sprinkling of rain. We must have been over 7000 feet up in a matter of miles from the coast. There were ledges we passed so thick with fog that the world seemed to end at the side of the road, with only gray mist beyond. The mountain views were the most epic I’ve ever seen, but as tempted as we were to stop, our bike problems had sent us out of Puerto Escondito horribly late in the afternoon, and we had to make it to a town with a hotel before the sun went down, not to mention how hard we worked passing slow-moving vehicles we didn’t want to get stuck behind again.
We stopped briefly in the small village Jauchatengo to grab something to drink. I opted for a coconut full of coconut juice, squeezed orange, chili, and about 3 shots of some weird kind of booze. The town was made entirely of women and little children, and in a matter of moments, small girls were being flung upon us. Was I married? What did I think of some little boy’s sister? Thoroughly uninterested in trying to lash a 12 year old girl to my bike, I stuck to enjoying the booze-filled coconut before pressing on to Sola de Vega where we stayed for the night, just as the mountains became completely shrowded in darkness.
We went to the restaurant across the street from our hotel, and halfway through our meal, the bartender walked over with 2 more coronas that one of the bar patrons had sent us. He came over and told us welcome and proceeded to explain how Oaxaca is the greatest place in Mexico, which really means the world. We decided when he excused himself to allow us to finish our meal to get him and his friends a round of Mezcal – a tequila-like liquor made from the same Blue Agave plant as tequila, but outside the one state of Mexico that owns the rights to call its Mezcal “Tequila” – since I hadn’t tried it yet. It’s not imported into the states. The guy and his friends were, of course, only too happy to have some Mezcal with us. Completely tanked, they proceeded to banter on, belching and regaling us with reasons Oaxaca and Mexico are the best places on earth. We wanted to make it to an internet cafe to work on our blogging before it got to late, so we begain working on our exit. My dad escaped first to the back of the restaurant, where he was hit on by a couple homosexual males near the back of the bar. I guess we’re back to Xenophobia: 0 Homophobia: 0.
Aaaaand for the first time in ages, I’m current! It’s Sunday morning in Sola de Vega as I type this. Next up, Oaxaca City.