Awakened to the sounds of donkeys braying, roosters crowing, muffled voices and rattling pickup trucks on the rough cobblestone streets, I walked out into the early morning light and watched the children walking with mothers to school.
Bleary eyed to say the least, I’d gone to sleep way too late and then was awakened by the TV coming on at full volume right at 3 am.
Unfortunately for Cullen, he and I had shared a room. Poor guy.
A couple of morning songbirds… Rob and Jim
Our plan was to leave at 10 a.m., giving us a little time to do some exploring in the town after breakfast. There was much dawdling, much cafe' de olla and cafe' con leche, much sweet bread and a great breakfast. All at a leisurely pace on Mexico time.
Purists will laugh, but I had pancakes. Yes, pancakes. They sounded good for some reason and I figured I’d see how they were made in Mexico. They were featured highly on the breakfast menu and I wasn’t disappointed. There was no Aunt Jimena syrup, but a blend of honey was perfect. I was to find that pancakes are quite popular in Mexico, so there.
After our meal, we didn’t have much time, but huffed and puffed our way around the village in the thing air of 9,000’ elevation and very steep streets.
A few pics from the wandering:
I was to read later, that at one point this little village had been the richest town in Mexico, made so by the silver mines. In the valley far below a railroad had been set up and this village figured in the political history of Mexico.
“Real De Catorce” means “Royal Fourteen” and there are legends that 14 Conquistadors were killed here by the Huichol Indians, but it’s more likely the name meant the 14 mountains were claimed by the King of Spain for their silver deposits.
Another factoid is that the old movie “Treasure of the Sierra Madre” with Humphrey Bogart had been filmed nearby. Also, “The Mexican” with Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts had been filmed recently in Real.
There was a very large church downtown, Iglesia Real De Catorce, which I found out later was the second church built, as the smaller original was on the edge of town in the cemetery.
The church floor seemed to be made of door-like panels. Never found out if they were.
Let sleeping dogs lie
Making the small chips and slices of rock used in construction
The original church, Capilla de Guadalupe, on the outskirts was closed. It was much older than the larger church downtown
The valley far below, famous for its peyote, was covered with clouds. There is a nearby mountain known as the “Quemado”, a high place overlooking the valley and it has been a holy place for the Huichol Indians, who make a pilgrimage yearly to the mountain. One can hike or ride horses to the spot from the town. Peyote was used as part of the religious practices and would be collected from the valley floor as pilgrims made their way to the mountain.
The old bull fighting arena. There is also an executioner’s wall at the site, where criminals were shot and the wall is covered with bullet holes.
Remains of the night
Most of the dogs resided on the roof of homes
Real De Catorce has a signature construction method, where chips of stone, “rajas”, are hammered into the gaps to lock the stones in place
We had a long ways to go to make the festival yet, so after getting my appetite wetted to return to this fabulous little town, we hit the hotel and began packing up for the road.
We were geared up and ready to go by 10:30, jumping the curb onto the polished cobblestones, winding up and down the tight streets until we reached the Ogarrio tunnel. I fired up the GoPro and got some of the ride through the town and tunnel.
The weather was magnificent, with stinging hot sun and crisp cool air. We wound back down the mountain on the old cobblestone road and turned west for Zacatecas, which compared to the previous day from Laredo would be a short day. We hit the road in force, Cullen dropping quite a ways behind for a while. His KTM had developed a problem with oil coming out the breather tube and coating the engine. It wasn’t serious but he was having to wipe the oil and try to figure a way to stop it.
We traveled at speeds ranging from 80-90 down into the altiplano, my eyes stinging in the crisp air despite having sunglasses and shield down.
We motored on passing miles and miles of cactus, shepherds and sheep, road crews who waved and cheered as we rocketed past, giving a big thumbs up and smiles.
When we stopped for gas, Rob's 650 had developed a disconcerting wobble at high speeds. After a thorough check-over he and Hank believed it to be caused by his large aftermarket windshield, which probably was not designed with those speeds in mind.
Hank's warning before leaving the gas stop was simply, "Stay right against the next bike's rear tire when we hit Zacatecas or you'll get split off by cabs immediately and never find the downtown plaza." Ok, great. My position was the tail of a five bike train and I wasn't relishing the thought of trying to stay with them in insane traffic.
With that thought in mind, we reached the city and immediately the fun began. In a nutshell, it’s the craziest high speed traffic riding I've ever done, trying to stick close through the mess, eventually just clearing my mind and charging past bumpers and blaring horns. Being five bikes back, when a break came in traffic for the first three riders, it was far gone by the time my turn came up. It was very stressful and I certainly didn’t want to get lost since I had no idea where we were going and no ability to speak Spanish.
As we made a very fast exit and came fast down into a traffic circle, I hit both brakes as usual, but felt my rear brake pedal go limp. Nada. Zip. Zilch. My rear brake was non-existent. To say my pucker factor went to "Black Hole" in an instant is an understatement. I was praying the front brakes didn't fail.
The front brake continued to work, but the rear never came back. We had to continue racing through the insanity into the downtown district and I tried to decide what I’d do if the front brake failed. My only rational choices were to lay the bike down, or aim for Jimmy’s side cases on his 1200 to get stopped. I kept praying and tried several more times but the rear pedal had zero pressure.
In the midst of the traffic race, a transit policeman pointed at me and blew his whistle for me to pull over, but I simply nailed the throttle and raced past him. To be frank, I didn't give a damn.
We finally pulled up in front of the main plaza, each of us parking our bikes and getting off with increasing degrees of sweat and red faces. Hank and Rob, both in the front of the pack, said "Hey that wasn't bad at all!". Jimmy calmly said, "You guys weren't riding the tail of the dragon" Truer words were never spoken.
I told Hank about my brakes and after about 15 minutes checked them again. Thankfully the pedal pressure was back and the pads appeared fine. I had likely had my foot lightly on the brake pedal unknowingly and overheated them, boiling the brake fluid. When you’re in the middle of a traffic race like that, and your brakes suddenly aren’t there, you have no idea if a line has burst and thus the terrible fear of complete brake loss. I was still shaken from the event, due in large part to the insanity of the traffic.
Cullen and his KTM - unfortunately he was having to do work on a daily basis
The view from the room really sucked
We’d checked into a nice hotel across from the plaza, then decided to head to the Museum of Masks at Museo Rafael Coronel, an old convent destroyed by an earthquake and then up to the top of “Cerro de La Bufa” which overlooks the city. We grabbed two cabs and immediately our cab turned the opposite direction of Hank's cab. After a few minutes, Rob, who is a linguistics genius and fluent in many languages, asked the driver if he knew the way to the museum. He responded "no" then took us on a wild drive to the cab headquarters, running inside for information we guessed, then tore off into the city again. He finally stopped in the middle of the street, blocking traffic to go talk to another cabbie, then headed off yet again. We eventually reached the museum, but it had closed since we were so late in arriving.
Despite the museum being closed, the ruins were beautiful, having been transformed into gardens. It was a peaceful place and enjoyable.
We grabbed two more taxis and drove to the top of the mountain where a large plaza and statue of Pancho Villa were built, enjoying the views of the city. From the bluff, we took Teleférico de Zacatecas, the oldest cable car in Mexico down to the town and walked back to the hotel.
View from the top
For dinner, we walked to an Argentinian restaurant and had steaks in the evening air of the plaza. From there, we grabbed two more cabs and went to get coffee at the bar of the Quinta Real Hotel.
The Quinta Real was an amazing hotel, literally built on the old bull fighting arena. The hotel bar being the chamber where the bulls were kept.
The Quinta Real - an amazing hotel built from the old bullfighting arena
Zacatecas was a really beautiful city filled with museums and culture.
It had been a long day, filled with a lot of fun and exploration. The next day were to do a long haul to reach Uruapan in Michoacan, the base city for the BMW Rally we were looking forward to enjoying.
I hoped that my brake issue truly was just boiling the fluid, but the next day would prove it for sure.
The Route:
