The next morning we packed the bikes in the lobby, trying for several minutes to figure out how to turn the scoots around to ride out the front door. Several policeman sat in the lobby, possibly on break, but fascinated to watch us and but trying to appear aloof and uninterested. After much figuring and eyeballing, the only solution was to get on the bikes and walk them backwards out the narrow entry the same way we’d come in.
Outside we double checked our gear and turned the headsets on before riding through the pedestrian walkway and diving into the flow of traffic.
Our quest for the day was to reach Mazatlan, riding “El Espinosa Del Diablo”, or The Devil’s Backbone in English, on the way. I knew little about it other than hearing it was an incredibly twisty road that was not to be missed.
We took the tollway from Durango towards Mazatlan, exiting for the little town of El Salto to connect with the Devil's Backbone. El Salto sat high in forested mountains. It seemed incongruous to see wooden houses and forests after passing through so much of the dry desert areas, with only homes made of mud brick and plaster. As far as landscape it seemed as if we were in Northern Arizona or Southern Colorado.
The road climbed in elevation and soon we were glimpsing views of valleys far below. The road was in great condition and became very twisty. It was a beautiful day and the hours passed as we wove our way high in the mountains at eight or 9000 feet.
Had we stayed on the tollway, which is an impressive road in itself, we would have been in Mazatlan in 2 1/2 hours. After riding about two hours on the Backbone, I laughed when my GPS said it was still two hours and fifteen minutes to Mazatlan.
We stopped at a few overlooks, the last being a view of a valley to either side, the overlook being on a narrow land bridge between two mountains. Kim had commented on what a great bicycling road it would be, as there was very little traffic and the road was amazing.
It so happened that a young man on a bicycle was parked at the overlook. He looked Hispanic and we were both surprised when he answered in very clear English, with no accent, that he was from Norway and was making his way South for central America.
After a few hours on the road we were quite hungry and ready for a break. I'd always told Kim that if she stuck with me, it would be like joining the "Finer Things In Life Club" and we would dine in the finest places. Today was no exception…
Our lunch break was interrupted by an incredibly skinny dog who looked as if he were starving to death. The poor guy had an infected toe as well, swollen to the size of a lemon. Kim went to a lot of trouble preparing a little snack for him, but he would have nothing to do with it. I've never seen a starving dog who was such a picky eater, but then again maybe that's why he was starving.
From there we slowly wove our way down in elevation until we finally reconnected with the tollway. There were amazing bridges and several tunnels that we passed through, the tollway itself quite a beautiful ride.
As the sun dropped lower in the sky, beginning to blind us as we moved westward, Mazatlan eventually appeared. We had found out from someone along the way that Carnaval was happening this same weekend. Indeed the town was packed as we rode through to find the beachfront, the road along the beach absolutely packed with parked cars and chairs.
It was fun to see the Pacific for the first time in Mexico. We had to search extensively but finally found two gaps between cars and were able to park the bikes. It was a bit warm but we walked and looked at the waterfront before shedding our boots and walking in the surf. Something cold seemed in order so we watched the sun set with a couple of cervezas.
Thankfully Kim had set up with a couch surfer in Mazatlan before we had left Durango, otherwise we would never have found a hotel. However, the couch surfer had not responded to our texts and we had no address. As night set in with no response we began to wonder what to do, either continue waiting or make a vain attempt to find a hotel. As it got dark on the beach we decided to find the main Plaza. After wandering around a bit on the traffic bloated streets we eventually made the Plaza in the dark but could not find a spot for the bikes. Kim saw something as we rode past but we were in heavy traffic and it took a while to get back to the plaza. Indeed we scored parking places for the bikes and sat in the plaza until almost 10 PM. Kim continued to send texts that went unanswered.
After such a long day of riding we were both shot and decided to go for a hotel, heading through town for the outskirts in hopes there might be a vacancy. Towards the edge of town the only hotels we found were the auto-hotels, the ones designed for discrete sexual encounters. By 10 o'clock we'd decided that even one of those would do.
We pulled in and tried to figure out what to do. There was only one entrance and a car was stopped at the self-pay credit card station, with it’s flashers going. As we sat, I saw a woman disappearing into what I thought was an office and got off the bike to go inquire about a room. As I made my way in, it was not an office, but rather a large laundry room full of young women, half of whom were wearing Carnaval type masks, folding sheets and linens. They all stared at me as if I were a freak, and I stared back the same way.
After a pause, they continued working and one older lady walked past me, heading out of the room. I tried to inquire about a room but she simply pointed to the credit card machine and said "200 pesos”. For some reason the car was still parked there and I really had no interest in swiping my credit card in a “ho" motel in Mexico, so I told Kim we would seek something else. The idea wasn't met with pleasure since we were both absolutely exhausted and hungry. The thought of wandering the streets of Mazatlan in the dark just was not appealing.
A couple of blocks away we pulled into a large parking lot to attempt a Google search of the nearby area, when Kim got a response from our couch-surfing host. She had apparently been at work untilt 10 o'clock, having not told us this ahead of time. Amazingly, her address was somewhat near, so we followed the GPS to her neighborhood. There was a taco stand on the corner and we simply couldn't pass it, doing a U-turn and pulling the bikes in to the stares of the locals eating there.
It felt a little odd eating at the table with so many people staring at us, but the tacos were absolutely fantastic, and even if they weren't, we were so hungry they seemed to be. After washing it all down with a couple of Cokes we rode the few blocks away to find the house. It's always interesting going to a total stranger's house to stay, but the family was very inviting and our host, Elizabeth, was very happy we could come. She told us we were her first couch surfing guests, as people had requested staying with her before, but no one had ever shown up.
We slept well that night and Elizabeth's mother had prepared breakfast for us in the morning. Elizabeth spoke broken English but was excited that we had come. The entire family gathered and her parents wanted to know much about us and our situation. When they found that our destination was San Blas, her father indicated through Elizabeth that they had a long time family friend in a little town called La Concha, who had lived in Los Angeles for several years and spoke some English.
While they were discussing this I googled the town and saw that it was on the free road on our way south. I piped up and told Elizabeth we would ride through La Concha. When she shared this with her father he got very excited and immediately got on the cell phone. After his phone conversation, Elizabeth said their friend, named José, would wait for us at the town square. Kim looked at me a little surprised but she's always up for most anything.
We said our goodbyes and took lots of photos for each other before heading out, her father insisting that the BMW logo be visible in the shots.
We decided another beachfront ride was in order and headed back that direction, to find that the parade was already assembling early in the morning. At a brief stop in front of an Oxxo, an American in the parking lot struck up conversation about our trip and life in Mazatlan. He was informative and had lived in the area for many years. He was building a large house on 20 acres in El Salto, a very cheap place to live, where he would stay in the summer since it was much cooler, then would come back to his condo in Mazatlan for the cooler months.
After working our way around blocked streets and past floats pulled by tractors, we got on the main road south for Nayarit. We've found that most of the free roads have police checkpoints on them, typically located under bridges where it's shady, and though they have stopped and searched people in front of us and behind us we’ve always just been waved through. The free road towards La Concha was no different this day either.
Eventually we needed gas and a break, swinging through the little town of Esquinapa, where we found the square - busy as heck as usual - and sat in the shade to cool off. In short order children came around and Kim asked if they’d like to sit on the bike for a “foto”. I could see the watchful eye of a mother across the street at a taco stand, then suddenly the kids ran back over to her and disappeared. We figured that was the end of that, but in a few moments the kids emerged again, having changed into nicer shirts and followed by their father. We indicated taking a picture and he smiled, helping the kids onto each of our bikes.
They climbed down, excited at the experience and we geared up in the heat for the road again, circling the square and finding the main road again, sweltering in the heat of stop and go traffic in the little towns.
Our travels went unmolested, finally reaching the town of La Concha, being waved through another checkpoint before finding the turnoff that seemed to head for a distant church tower. Our host had told us that José would be waiting on the square for us, since the townsfolk would be suspicious of two motorcyclists showing up.
We found the small plaza and circled the block before parking under the shade of a tree. No one was in sight, save for a boy and girl on a bicycle who rode over and stared at us.
A few minutes passed, until I saw an older man coming across the plaza to us. It was José and he welcomed us, asking if we needed anything before waving us towards his house which sat right on the square. It’s always a bit strange meeting someone you don’t know, but he spoke broken English, having lived in East LA for a few years.
He asked us in, telling us we could stay as long as we liked with him, showing us his home and bedroom for us to stay in.
We explained that we just stopped to say hello as we had to make San Blas. He still wanted us to stay and after talking a while, asked if we were hungry. Indeed we were and he said he knew a great place on the highway. I offered to let him ride with me and he was pleased as punch.
His 90 year old mother lived just down the street and he wanted to introduce us, so we stopped in. As we walked in, she had been asleep on the couch and was in a state of shock to suddenly have two Americans standing in her little living room. She straightened herself up some as Kim and I sat staring and smiling. José returned from the kitchen with a large glass of water for each of us. I could see the terror in Kim’s eyes as both our thoughts were the same - was it tap water? Would this be our first bout of Montezuma's revenge? If we refused to drink it would we offend our host? I had seen a portion of a blue bottle on the kitchen floor out of the corner of my eye when we walked in, so I prayed it was truly filtered water and took a drink. Kim stared at me for a bit - maybe waiting to see if I died - then gingerly took a few sips.
It was finally time for lunch, and as we stood up I tried to see into the kitchen inconspicuously to see if it was a blue jug of filtered water. The die was cast so it really didn’t matter and Jose climbed onto the back of my bike, pointing where to turn as our bikes purred through the dusty town.
On the highway he insisted I ride through the checkpoint and stop there. Indeed all the officers and officials knew him and began laughing and shouting. They all got a big kick out of seeing him on my bike, but none more than him. I imagine that was the news for a couple of days, José on the back of a big expensive bike with a big expensive gringo.
The little cocina was a couple blocks away and a true Mexican food experience. Some small chickens and a little girl were running around the floor, as well as a dog or two, but the food smelled great. He told us what to get and in short order it came out fresh and hot, all the while the girls who worked there trying to watch us without being obvious. The food was delicious, and as we sat another man came in, sitting down and reading the newspaper. José informed me he was the priest of the church there.
As Kim explored outside, José pulled a well worn and ragged picture from his wallet, telling me it was the only picture he had of his deceased wife, whom he missed very much. I asked if I could borrow it for a moment and took it outside, laying it down on a red tablecloth sporting an image of the Virgin Mary and several burning candles. I shot a copy of the picture and then gave it back to him, telling him I would send him a retouched digital copy through Elizabeth's family in Mazatlan.
Though it felt good to relax and José’s offer of a place to stay was tempting, we had a host waiting in San Blas for us and we needed to move on. We rode José home and said our goodbyes, he insisting we call him and come see him again.
I punched in San Blas on the GPS and hit “fastest” route and we were off. Again we were waved through a checkpoint and after what seemed forever, made the road for the coast, a narrow and busy route. We arrived as the sun was low, staying on the main drag which led down to the beach, passing a park that featured the remains of a crashed airliner - guessing it had been recovered after the crash by the naval base there.
It was hot and we were tired, peeling off the bikes at a little restaurant on the beautiful beach. A cold margarita sounded wonderful and we ordered, only to find they they had nothing but Micheladas. Okay, that works we thought, only to be served the most disgusting brown drink we’ve ever had. Kim couldn’t take a sip, and I managed maybe three. Honestly, it could have been dishwater (or worse) with beer and chill powder.
Bummed, Kim pulled her phone to find the address for the night, only to realize it was online and we had no cell service. Asking about wifi got a laugh, and by this time it was dark. San Blas is NOT a happenin’ place and it took a lot of exploring to find a cafe with wifi. By this time we were a couple of hours late for our host, but finally got the address and followed the GPS to a dark neighborhood where we sat for a few moments unsure of the house. Luckily our host Pat heard the bikes and came out to wave us into the yard. It felt great to get off the bikes and into Pat’s beautiful home. She had traveled extensively, settling in San Blas with her partner Doug, who was retired from the U.N., having traveled all over the world in his job. Pat was awesome, opening her home and sharing her adventures with us. Sleep came easily that night.