Oaxaca was roughly four hours south of Puebla, and where we had originally planned to have met up with Hank and his tour group.
We’d stayed with a couch-surfing couple and their dogs (too much with the dogs) and got an early start to minimize traffic in Puebla and soon were on the tollway south in 60 degree temps.
Could've slapped an 80 mph high five
The concrete ribbon led into high mountains, with Colorado-like views of massive peaks and valleys. The highway was a great ride, but all things come to an end and as we approached Oaxaca, the heat intensified as we dropped down into the valley.
Oaxaca city was larger than I was expecting, but nice and we found the main plaza easily, circling a few times before snagging a spot directly on the square. After 5 hours on the road it felt good to find some shade and sit a bit. We watched a shoe shine guy a few feet away who seemed a bit perturbed at our presence, and we soon understood why. A couple came up, apparently friends and they all seemed interested in our spot on the bench. Best we could figure was that this was "their" bench at lunchtime. Stares and consternation continued, as well as words we couldn't pick up. Bench space was rare and having earned our spot, we weren’t budging. They finally left.
We were discussing the dubious welcoming to Oaxaca when a couple of women with children stopped a few feet away and began staring at us. Fully expecting to be reprimanded as gringos, we were shocked when they broke into big smiles and indicated they would like to take pictures with us. The ladies sent the little girls over to stand by us, when Kim began saying "Moto!" and pointing back across the square. I'm sure they had no idea what she meant as they followed, until they saw the bikes and got excited. They took a bunch of cell phone pictures and gave us hugs when they left. What a nice surprise indeed!
Our Oaxaca welcoming committee
We hung around the square and wandered into the church to escape the heat, Kim finally locating a place for the night on AirBNB.
Not sure why, but this church was very different in design from all the others we'd seen, having no general open area in the center, and a few small chapels off the sides.
As the day faded we found the home of our host, whose wife clambered aboard the back of my bike and pointed out turns through the neighborhood until we reached their rental property. Thank God she did, as it lay at the end of a narrow private alley we'd never have found.
She indicated leaving the bikes in the alley for safety and that it was no problem, then left. Shortly after she disappeared, two neighbors appeared, a bit ruffled and pointing to the bikes, speaking aggressively. One, a native Indian women, was a bit fierce in her language and eyes, and the other man, who apparently ran a small welding shop whose entrance was on the alley, waved their arms and kept saying "no, no". The language barrier didn't help matters until I said "viaje" and "dos noches". They seemed to calm a bit and then I walked out showing them to ring the doorbell and then I walked back over and pushed my bike a couple of feet, trying to show we'd move the bikes anytime they wanted. They nodded and we smiled big, the mood lightening as they understood we were only temporary and happy to be unobtrusive.
Problem solved, we walked our gear to the second floor and relaxed for a while. As I lay on the couch, I heard the sound of a handsaw and a crash. Poking my head out the window, I saw a man on a ladder leaning against a lone, tall, fir tree, which grew through a hole in a tin roof, adjacent to the alley. It was the only tree for miles around and of course, he'd decided to cut it down the one and only time two expensive motorcycles were parked underneath it.
I watched as he cut branch after branch until the roof, alley and our bikes were covered in the little cedar-like needles. He finally reached the point where his extremely tentative extension ladder would extend no more, still twenty feet or more of tree above him. He clambered down and began pushing branches off the roof, luckily none hitting the bikes while an old lady swept needles in the alley below. A he prepared to move his ladder to the other side of the tree, a gentle rain began and as he climbed higher, it turned into a full on storm with lightning. He finally gave up and abandoned the attempt, much to my delight, as the motorcycles were safe for a while. The rain came down in torrents and sheets until late in the evening.
The next day was spent exploring the area around the square, the fresh markets and endless vendor stalls. Oaxaca felt good, filled with art and culture, and it was easy to understand why it is on the list of places to see when in Mexico.
A massive statue in a dedicated gallery - amazing piece in real life
Kim had a hankering for carnitas, and our hour-long search for some proved fruitless, save for looks of incredulousness when asked if there were any around. Each town seems to differ as to foods and Oaxaca was not a carnita town lol.
Eventually we found a food cart with some fantastic chopped beef that tasted awesome after our hungry search. The monetary tip to their young teen daughter who served us brought a big smile, apparently a tip and acknowledgment rare to receive.
Returning that evening from watching native Indian dances in the plaza in a gentle rain, the bikes sat covered in needles from the previous night. Kim repacked her cases for the next morning's leaving and we retired for the evening.
The morning came soon, bringing sunshine and cool temps with it. I guess an AirBNB "room with a view" can be fairly broad in its interpretation.
As we finished up loading and gearing up for the ride, the Indian woman who’d been perturbed at us a day before came out of her house with a couple of children and her mother to watch as we backed the bikes out of the alley and onto the street. As I walked back over, she smiled very big at both of us, then gave us each a big, long hug. I think we were both in shock for a while, but were happy to know she no longer mistrusted us.
While we prepared to fire up the bikes and leave, her family and a couple other folks stood around to watch us ride off. Kim hit her start button to the deafening sound of silence. She played with switches, ignition and gears to no avail. Only a tiny click sound under the tank when the button was depressed. Great.
The "bon voyage" crowd slowly dissipated at our lousy departure show, as I peeled off gear and tried to figure what was up. We'd replaced an intermittent clutch switch previous to the trip, so I played with it, the kickstand switch, kill switch, etc. No luck. Whacking on the starter did nothing either. Once again I went through the same routine, this time wiggling the starter wiring as well. It fired up to our great relief. All I can figure is that in the torrential rain, water must have gotten into the contacts and had a day to corrode the starter terminals. We departed to the waves of absolutely no one and headed south for Puerto Escondido on the Pacific coast.
On the map, Hwy 131 looked curvy as heck and we knew that meant a lot of fun. Google said it was about 160 miles and 6.5 hours, but we'd been told by Hank that it took him almost 12 hours one time... sheesh.
With that in mind we went full force for the beach town, but the endless little villages, trucks and countless topes definitely were slow going.
Some towns were loaded with these three wheelers, I later discovered were called “tuk-tuks”, and some had none. We decided they would be the perfect car for living in a Mexican town…
After a couple of hours we were tired of the routine and, luckily the road forked up into the mountains. The temperature was a little cooler and the road so curvy you couldn't see the roadway in front. Bus after bus passed us from the other direction, indicating a serious tour destination lay ahead. The mountains were cool, but the terrain was much more dry and desert-like than other ranges we'd ridden through.
Three to four hours of this :D
And unfortunately for Kim, three to four hours of this...
The going was slow and the GPS kept adding time to the route, telling me we should have taken the other fork. Changing preferences from "fastest" to "shortest" made no difference as the Garmin Mexico Map didn't even have this main road in existence.
The heat and twisties finally took its toll and we stopped for some shade in a small village. Fresh squeezed orange juice, the sweetest I've ever had methinks, brought some relief as well as the refreshing smiles of the girl and her mother. I pointed up the road and said "Puerto Escondido?" She answered "Si, tres horas" with a smile and we were on our way. Damn that Garmin!
The tight, twisty curves were a challenge since you never got a chance to relax, especially with the buses cutting across the lane. At one point my heart leapt as I heard Kim shout loudly in my headset, having gone wide in a turn just at the moment a truck came from the other direction, Kim having to run off the road on the opposite side. Thank God she was okay as it could have been very bad. Just a momentary lapse or a sideways glance amidst all the hours of riding tight turns is all it takes. Staying focused for so long and in the heat is not easy.
The heat became more oppressive as we dropped lower in elevation, the terrain becoming more tropical, with palms and other plants appearing in the dry and dusty hills.
We were dehydrated, despite trying to drink water on the road, when we finally spotted the blue ocean ahead. It was a relief after hours on the tiny broken blacktop, constantly watching for surface problems, busses and animals. The heat was stifling.
Puerto Escondido was dry and dusty, a bit worn looking and sleepy, as we made our way for the Pacific, finally finding a street that led towards the water. We pulled up to an overlook cafe before being swarmed by guys wanting to park the gringo's bikes. We circled down to a public beach entrance and then back around to find a spot by the little cafe overlooking the ocean. It was empty and exactly what was needed, little tables in the shade on a high point overlooking the crashing surf, the ocean breeze cool and comforting. We easily spent a couple of hours sitting and staring, ice cold Coronas rehydrating our bodies and relaxing sore muscles. It was heavenly.
Finally time to find a place for the night, the owner overheard our discussions and offered an apartment above the cafe, but it was too expensive. We finally located a cheap hotel and attempted to crash for the night. There was no water pressure in the rooms, but we were assured someone was coming to fix it. We wandered back to the beach at dusk, passing loads of wet tourists boarding busses for the very long ride back to Oaxaca. All I can say is I was damn happy not to be riding for 8 hours in one of those wet, smelly busses.
We walked in the surf of the small bay, watching the fishing boats on the blue-green waters and a few remaining tourists bobbing in the surf. It had been hot and muggy all day, but the cool breeze off the water was refreshing. Well after dark, we made our way back to the hotel room to crash. Indeed the water was back on, but an army of ants had decided to occupy the beds in the room, so I took a Power bar and crumbled it up outside the window in the hopes it would draw them away. I'm not sure if it did, but we both fell asleep and have no idea if the ants crawled over us that night or not.
