Puerto Escondido was just plain hot, no two ways about it.
We hit the beach early, finding a spot to watch the fishing boats and a few tourists in the water of the bay, followed by some swimming and trying to avoid the chunks of jagged lava rock on the seabed as we were tossed about by the waves.
We'd decided a better place to stay was in order, despite the intimate friendship developed with our little ant friends the night before, packing the bikes for a short ride further down the beach to Zicatela.
It was hot as heck, but our hosts, a Brit girl and her Brazilian boyfriend, introduced us to the rooftop terrace of our house for the evening, its cool beach breeze and thundering booms of the Pacific surf a block away providing the perfect feel and backdrop for a siesta in the hammocks.
It was fun watching the huge explosions of foaming white water from massive waves hitting the shore, visible high above the rooftops across the street. The spectacle drew us out in the late afternoon heat for a walk on the beach and for spells of watching the surfers near the point break.
The afternoon ebbed away into sunset, the waves a mesmerizing and endless wonder, hypnotic in their effect. The sweltering heat of the evening drew us up to the rooftop, and an unusually breeze-free night of tossing and turning in the heat.
The next day brought early morning beach-combing, with a breakfast of crepes from a local vendor walking the sands, and then a ride back to the original beach we'd first experienced, where the waves of the bay were a bit easier to tolerate for swimming.
The little streets were alive with scooters and surfboards, the funniest combo being a girl who carried her long board crossways in the foot bed of her scooter. Couldn't help but wonder what it would look like if she tagged a car bumper on the narrow streets.
That afternoon I managed to locate what was likely the only XXL T-shirt in existence in Mexico, at one of the gringo merch shops in the tourist section of town. Forget spare parts for the bike, I had to bring extra clothes in Yeti size, cuz the likelihood of finding a stitch of clothes in my size in Central or South America would be harder than locating a final drive bearing for a GS.
Our next destination was the state of Chiapas, with cooler temperatures, and the magical town of San Cristobal de Las Casas. Unfortunately it lay 9 hours away, not including gas stops, topes, traffic and a twisty road, which translated into an 11 or 12 hour day in the heat.
We said goodbye to our hosts after juggling the bikes out the tight entry gate and front step of the garden, getting on the road early, but going was slow and too soon the heat was in full bloom. Away from the open beach and sheltered by vegetation, the breeze was non-existent and in full gear it wasn't long before we were feeling it.
We took the coastal road south through Mazunte, home of the Sea Turtle Refuge and a cool area with amazing beaches and stylish little homes. A run through the little uber-Euro-hippie surf town of Zipolite was interesting, a much cheaper and edgier version of Mazunte. By the time we hit Puerto Angel, we needed a rest from the heat.
Puerto Angel
At an overlook with a bit of shade, we took a break, Kim unfortunately knocking her phone off the ledge and down a very steep stone embankment. I was amazed she was able to cat-crawl down and back up, but the phone screen was toast.
Back on the bikes and on the road, the temps were 100º with high humidity. Progress was slow. Kim's heat tolerance is much less than mine, and I knew she was getting drained. We set Salinas Cruz as our goal for the evening, arriving late in the day to try and find a place for the night. Salinas was an industrial town, home of a major refinery for Pemex and very congested. The heat had won the day and after finding a host for the night, we got substantially lost in the maze of streets. Between the GPS, Google and texting the host, we were finally told to ask people where "The Hawaiian" was, as apparently it was well known by everyone in town. Our host was to be waiting for us there.
After working our way out of a dense neighborhood with steep streets and finding a main avenue, Kim asked a guy on the street and sure enough, he pointed and indicated turns with hand motions. We reversed and sure enough, found "The Hawaiian", which turned out to be a strip club. Interesting.
Our host was there and waved us to follow, eventually winding up through alleyways we would NEVER have found. Our host was from Iberia, having married his wife who was from Salinas Cruz.
Despite the heat and their little dog who liked to bite the crap out of us, we enjoyed our limited communication. I asked if he had ever been to the U.S., to which he responded with a resounding "NO", as an influential instructor in his life who was adamantly communist had convinced him it was the garden of evil and greed. About that time, my stomach began serious rumblings, as did Kim's, and the realization we were being inhabited once again by little bacterial bastards was a dread thought.
I began feeling really bad, and the heat wasn't helping. I downed the last of my Pepto Bismol tablets and tried to lay down but couldn't due to the nausea. I tried in another spot and eventually made it to the hammock on the porch, where I finally passed out from sheer exhaustion a couple hours later. Kim fared a bit better, downing the last of our Treda tablets and finally sleeping in the heat, wrapped in water soaked towels.
The next morning was dismal due to our stomachs and we figured it must have been the crepes we'd eaten from the beach vendor. The suffering heat during the night had made the experience that much worse and it was good to get out of Salinas Cruz and moving towards the highlands where we hoped to find cooler temperatures. An hour in, while still in lower elevations, we came upon what we assumed to be a major wreck ahead on the highway. There were stopped semis with trailers, taxis and other vehicles, as well as people milling around.
I kept thinking this must be a really bad wreck, working my way up through the parked vehicles and around debris on the road. At any moment I expected to see a horrendous scene. Kim said she was staying behind until I found out what was happening and whether we could get through. At about that same moment, I saw a large stack of stones in the roadway, which seemed a bit random and odd.
As I approached and began to swing around them, an older, rough looking dude came out from under a semi trailer carrying a big ass machete and began waving at me to stop. In the confusion of the whole situation, it took me a moment to gather that it was a road block, from what I assume were local farmers or workers.
As I rolled to a stop and the fierce looking guy walked over, waving his arms, I saw about 15 indigenous men, heavily darkened from the sun, standing or sitting in the shade, each with machetes. I wasn't sure exactly what he wanted, but to my surprise he walked up and waved at me to go on through. I didn't argue, but took off between big trucks and told Kim to hurry up and come on over our headsets. As she responded, I rolled past other random stacks of brush and rubble into a second group of machete carrying men. I hoped they realized I'd been let through by the main man, but didn't bother to stop and find out.
Somewhere behind me, it was a relief to hear Kim's voice as she rolled through without being stopped. It was a bit surreal, as on the opposite side there was a stream of people with suitcases and luggage passing me. I realized the road block was stopping the busses coming south and the passengers were unloading and walking the 1/3 mile or more through the roadblock with their belongings to catch taxis and rides for the trip on to Salinas Cruz. I knew that road blocks were not uncommon in the state of Chiapas, and mistakenly guessed we'd already crossed over the border into the state.
By the time I fired up the helmet cam we were pretty much past the road block…
As I waited for Kim to catch up, the conversation proved interesting as we rode into mountainous terrain. The temperature dropped precipitously, and we couldn't be happier! About that time, we hit the real border for Chiapas and I was left wondering what the previous road block had been about. No matter, the cool air and eventual light rain showers were a blessed relief for a while in the mountains after the brutal heat of the coast.
Mexico Traffic Moments - can you count the potential accidents in about 20 seconds?
The cool was not to last, as we dropped back into the valley for the big city of Tuxtla Gutierrez, a sweltering, stop and go traffic nightmare. With the temperature reading 106º, we struggled in traffic for an hour or more. By the time we finally broke out and into the mountains again for San Cristobal, we were spent.
Rolling into San Cristobal, I heard Kim weakly say she needed to stop. Luckily, there was an OXXO convenience store where we could pull in. She barely made it off the bike and into the air-conditioned store, where she collapsed on the cold tile floor, laying amongst the comings and goings like a dead person for a long time. Surprisingly they store clerks said nothing and she was able to get her core temperature back down. The heat, combined with our intestinal issues had hammered us hard, but her worse than I…
After about 30 minutes she was able to get back up, having almost blacked out on the bike as we pulled in. Two ice cold Arizona Iced Teas and a bag of peanut M&M's brought us both back to life, somewhat.
I found a hotel on my map app and we made our way through the town towards it, past the square, and along streets lined with native Indian women in traditional dress carrying wares for sale.
Miraculously, the hotel had a room, and though it was way over our budget I didn’t care or quibble. The heat and stomach issues had wiped us out. I helped Kim upstairs, then got both bikes off the street and into the parking garage. When I got back to the room, she was already in deep sleep. It was around 6:30 pm, I was totally wiped out, kicking off my jacket and boots and sitting down on the bed in my sweat soaked riding pants and shirt. The next thing I knew, it was 9:30 the next morning and I was still in my riding gear.
The 7 hours of ride time in heat on the coast, followed with an hour of 106º temperatures, direct sun and engine heat in stop-n-go traffic, combined with a batch of stomach bugs had really kicked our butts.