Patzcuaro was a great place and one we enjoyed much. The previous evening we'd met our host in the square late, and followed her to her home. Elizabeth's family - mamá, sister and brother had been waiting for us in the kitchen when we arrived and we stayed up late talking with them - each struggling with our respective learned languages. Papá had retired to his room before we'd gotten there, his transistor radio echoing the sound of fútbol in the courtyard evening air. Our room had been in a wooden, mountain-style cabin built over part of the courtyard and to remind her parents of the mountains.
We'd gotten up early that morning, to find breakfast prepared and the family waiting. Father was there, a bit reserved and cautious, but after a while more relaxed to find the gringo's weren't a threat I guess. He warned us of travel in Mexico in certain areas, as always, being told never to travel after dark. We take all warnings we get seriously, and he was glad to hear that we never rode after dark. He also told us not to travel to Paracho, as there had just been violence between locals and the police there. It was on a loop I had planned, and after talking about it for a while he said that though the town had been blockaded, the locals would probably allow us through. Despite the warnings, we had fun trying to communicate with the family and then said our goodbyes, complete with family pics in the front.
The state of Michoacan is known for its forests and mountains, quite beautiful, as well as its abundant and verdant avocado fields. The same terrain has also been home to drug lords and narco activity for years, and the struggle continues, though not as savage as a few years back. Morelia and Patzcuaro were very pretty places and we enjoyed them very much, but there was a background tone of subtle tension not felt in other areas. Our goal was Uruapan, a big city deeper into the state, and one I'd visited briefly in 2012 on my first trip into Mexico. Though the city didn't impress me, the region did and offered some great riding opportunities. With the breakfast imagery still fresh in our heads, we decided to loop around Lago Patzcuaro before swinging further west for Uruapan.
The day was hot, and we made our way around the lake over countless topés and through wafts of burning brush and trash piles, the day turned to noon. We reached the turn for Quiroga, only a few miles away, only to find the road blocked with many Federalés and trucks, the roadside lined with riot gear and men waiting in the heat. I motioned to the officers at the roadblock for Quiroga and with a finger wag was told to reverse direction.
We couldn't help but wonder if the Paracho incident had spread to Quiroga, and disappointed we couldn't have another lunch of carnitas, reversed back for Patzcuaro. As we passed through little town after little town, at the entrance were a couple of kids dressed with a devil's head mask and little bags, slowing the traffic and approaching the vehicles. It was a bit weird and added a strange accent to the day...
Hunger pangs drove us into a town near the lake, only to find it's streets vacant and deserted. It was disconcerting after seeing the riot police a few miles back and we openly wondered what was up. That and the devil-masked kids combined for an odd feeling. I headed for the church tower and we rolled up to a silent and completely deserted public square. We were seriously creeped out, as never once had we entered a town, or especially a square, devoid of people.
As I turned the corner, I saw a man lying face down in the street ahead and held my breath as Kim rounded the corner as well. After a moment, I saw him moving and realized he was a city worker doing something in a manhole. We burst out laughing at ourselves and the timing of his "dead man in the street" routine.
Eventually we found a small abarrotes and grabbed a coke and snacks. The owner knew a couple of words of English and happily served us, pointing to an overlook on a hill nearby. We made our way out of the ghost town and up the mountain road to the top, where we sought some relief from the heat for an hour.
After a few more towns and kids in masks with pouches, our steel trap minds realized that since this was a holy week, the kids probably were representing Judas and his bag of silver...
Eventually we made Patzcuaro again, and stopped along the roadside to look at some incredible woodworking shops. Amazing stuff made there.
The afternoon was waning away and we still had a ways to go, taking the libré road for Santa Clara Del Cobre, famous for it's copper craftsmen, and then the town of Zirahuen on a beautiful lake.
Pollo break
In 2012 I'd attended a BMW Rally event that had come through there and wanted to swing by again. The road from SCDC to Zirahuen was an interesting mix of stone and concrete, and after some searching we eventually found the dirt turn off for the lake.
Entering a rundown resort area, the attendant came over and I pointed to the Rally sticker on my bike. He smiled and waved his arms as if "the place is yours". We peeled out of our sweat soaked gear and laid on the cool grass in the shade, the sound of lapping waves and breeze lulling us to sleep. It took everything in me to get up and on the bike, as we both wanted to just sleep in the shade of that place.
We noted it for the future and clambered aboard the bikes in earnest for Uruapan, as the sun was beginning to sink low. Racing along through the forests and mountain areas in the setting sun, we saw grove after grove of avocado trees on the hillsides. Licking our lips in anticipation of getting some of the green gold, but they didn't seem to be in season. Our host in Patzcuaro had told us the aguacate (avocado) trees bloom and fruit twice a year, but I wasn't sure if it was randomly or certain seasons.
It was sunset as we made downtown Uruapan, only to find the main plaza entirely covered, and I mean entirely, with white tents housing vendors for Semana Santa. It was disappointing and a madhouse, made worse by the fatigue and heat of the long day. Luckily the hotel I'd stayed in before was nearby and we headed for it in hopes of a room.
In front of the hotel were about 25 Federalé trucks, with about an equal number of officers in the black masks standing around with their body armor and M-16's in hand. Turns out the hotel was the base of operations, and probably a hundred or more officers were staying there. As we stood in the lobby, a constant stream of SWAT clad men flowed in and out around us. I told Kim either we were in the safest place we could be, or the most dangerous!
Luckily they had a room and after dragging gear inside, barely able to fit in the elevator with men and rifles, we dumped gear in our room and then rode the bikes down the block to the parking garage. The second floor of the parking garage was entirely filled with the ubiquitous pickups with machine gun mounts and rear racks for the troops. We were directed down into the lower floor, ducking the low entry and riding around to the parking place assigned, a lone Federalé racking a pistol and dry-firing it for the benefit of some young guys in front of as we rolled up to him. Welcome to Uruapan!
Our room was good enough and we hoped the next morning would bring a nice, new day.