Photos by Janet Stewart, Daniel Lenik, and George Pitlik
Almost always when a friend learns that we are planning an extended driving and or bicycle trip to interior Mexico we hear comments that imply we are not too bright or do not listen to the media or CNN’s Lou Dobbs.
“Don’t you listen to the news? They are killing Americans down there.”
“Banditos [Does that mean small bandits?] with machine guns will jump out of the jungle and kidnap you.”
“Pickpockets are everywhere.”
“You will get Montezuma’s Revenge.” “You will be mugged.”
“The police will harass you.”
And of course the one comment unquestionably true, “You can’t drink the water.”
During the last five years, my wife, Janet Stewart, and I have ridden our bicycles nearly 2000 miles in Mexico and have driven either a rental car or our personal vehicle over 2800 miles in the country.
On one trip we rented a car and drove from Merida in the Yucatán peninsula into Belize. Recently we drove from Alpine (crossing the border at Del Rio, Texas) to Quiroga in the state of Michoacan and then returning to the United States by pretty much the same roads. That’s about 2,200 miles. Janet and I know enough Spanish to get by as travelers but are not fluent.
Our bicycling is limited to a good part of the Yucatán peninsula and the state of Michoacan. We have ridden our bikes on smooth four lane divided highways, brick, cobblestone, dirt, through jungles, up to an altitude of 8,500 feet, and over 10,000 “topes.” (Those are humps in the road designed to slow traffic – and they work. In Jamaica they are called “sleeping policemen.”)
In our group, there are between six to ten bike riders. We usually spread out while riding in rural areas and stay close navigating through cities and towns. We use a small company called Bike Mexico. The guides are Canadians who live in Mexico. They are very competent and fun to be around.
Here are some snippets from our Mexico experiences during the last five years:
Recently we were in the state of Michoacan for the Day of the Dead festival. This is a big deal in Mexico. Every cemetery is decorated with flowers, and families gather to eat and honor their ancestors. Our guides told us that if someone offers us anything as we walk to the cemetery, it would be rude to not accept it. Within the first five minutes our hands were filled with food and hot chocolate. (Of course we had to consume everything before we continued our journey. Delicious!)
During the Day of the Dead, there are usually food vendors set up on the road leading into the cemeteries – and while riding, we never miss an opportunity to eat. We buy food from the vendor with the brightest smile. At one very remote cemetery we ordered chicken and rice and our smiling cook handed us paper plates with our food. There was a short curb on the road so we sat down amidst the crowd. In less than a minute another lady appeared with a low small table. Fine dining for certain! Another person showed up with napkins and salt and pepper. The generosity of the locals is very satisfying.
“Shouldn’t we lock our bikes?” I asked when stopping for lunch on the first day I rode in Yucatá. I reasoned that we were in a village where some of the huts appeared that they had been there for centuries and the people looked quite poor and might be tempted to borrow a bike or two. All of our belongings were on the bikes as well. Well, It seems that there is no word in the Mayan language for “steal.” They will look at the bikes with curiosity and a child may touch one, but ten unlocked expensive bicycles are safe leaning against a wall outside a two-table restaurant. I have yet to lock a bike during the day, though at night the bikes share the hotel room with us.
It had to happen when there is an 18-year-old male on a ride. A wreck. The kid passed the lead guide and careened out of control down a mountain, His estimated speed as he hit the curve was over 40 mph. He went straight through the curve narrowly missing a car headed up hill. He hit a two-foot high concrete pole knocking it over as it crushed one of the lower tubes on his bike frame. He personally took flight and to everyone’s amazement he suffered nothing more than scratches, abrasions and bruise. The car he almost hit stopped immediately and was the first to help.
We had the bikes pieces scooped up and in one pile when a man in a small truck stopped to see if he could help. Yes! The damaged bike was loaded in the back of the truck, and our damaged “victim” got a 20-mile ride to the hotel.
That evening, the father of the eighteen year old took the bike to the local bike shop where a mechanic used a tree stump and brute force to straighten the frame, replace a cable and generally make the bike usable. A Mexican mechanic can fix anything. Cost was 50 pesos and with an exchange rate of almost 13 pesos to the dollar, I’ll let you do the math and be amazed.
Frequently, when we are stopped for a rest break, people will stop and ask if we are okay or need anything. This happens to us in the Big Bend as well especially when we are “recovering” on the wall at the top of Big Hill south of Alpine.
Mexicans who pass us often give a “thumbs up” or cheer us on. I understand what most of them yell, and it is positive. Lots of smiles as well.
We met a local fellow the second day of one ride who gave us his phone number to use to call for a “rescue” if needed anyplace and anytime.
On our last ride in the state of Michoacan we stopped to rest where a dirt road met the main highway. There were avocado groves all around us. A battered red VW bug approached us, leaving a dusty cloud in its tracks. The passenger window slowly rolled down, and a hand appeared with three beautiful avocadoes along with kind words of encouragement. Guacamole with our evening tequila! Ah, Mexico!
Drivers of cars, trucks, buses and motorcycles are 99.9% courteous and patient. Never have I heard incessant honking (Get out of my way Gringo!). Often a light tap of the horn lets us know that we are about to be passed. We have ridden in many America states and rarely treated as courteously. (The exception is the Big Bend, where traffic is sparse and the drivers are kind.)
A few years ago our group was passing through a small village in the state of Quintana Roo on the Yucatan peninsula. We were centuries away from the all-inclusive resorts of Cancún and the Caribbean Coast. It was after lunchtime and we had not had ours. No open restaurants or stores to be found. Even the local mangy mutts sensed our hunger and scurried away as we approached. After about ten minutes of wandering around, our guide found a woman who would cook for us in her house. Eight hungry cyclists headed to her kitchen. The menu was extensive if you wanted chicken, beans and tortillas. Chairs and folding tables were borrowed from neighbors. The excited squawking from the chicken coop assured us that our poultry was very fresh. Try doing this in Waco.
Perhaps one of the most mind-boggling events in Mexico happened inside the city limits of Cancún. We only rode through Cancún once. That was enough. The group was stopped at a divided four-lane highway with incessant traffic. Crossing seemed impossible until a Federal officer on patrol drove by, turned around and stopped traffic in all four lanes until our group was safely across. None of the drivers who were inconvenienced seemed to be upset.
There was a similar incident in the one million-population city of Merida. We were entering the heavily-trafficked city from the rural area north of the city and each kilometer brought heavier traffic as we headed to our hotel in the center of the city. A motorcycle cop saw us, flipped on his flashing light and rode behind the last rider all the way to our hotel and then smiled his approval.
Pickpockets do exist all over the planet. A few years ago one of our riders was on a local bus, and the elderly gentleman who sat next to her skillfully lifted her money. She admitted she was careless and it never should have happened. Gotta be careful with your valuables.
Montezuma’s revenge (also known as diarrhea) can be a problem. I have had a few mild cases but nothing that lasted long. It is wise to avoid unwashed fruits and vegetables. We always drink bottled water (available everywhere) and keep our mouths tightly shut when showering. Purified water is used for teeth brushing as well. A Mexican might be astonished to learn that in the United States we use drinking water to flush toilets. That is extravagant when you think about it.
We have seen lots of men with machine guns, but they are always in uniforms and are at highway checkpoints and walking around some of the cities. The soldiers look very young and are crisply dressed. They are always courteous and professional to us. They are there for our protection and have no reason to believe otherwise.
Is Mexico really as dangerous as we hear? I suppose it depends. My totally unscientific research indicates Mexico is not unsafe. However, a prudent person would not go bar hopping at midnight in a border town asking where he can buy narcotics. (Would you do that in Odessa?) But so far, we have not had any problems in Mexico.
I hope this article does not bring us bad luck. In January of 2009 we are headed back to the Yucatán for another two-week bicycle ride and a trip to the beach. Let’s hope in the February Gazette you do not read a letter written by a bandito asking for donations to pay the ransom for dos Gringos, George Pitlik and Janet Stewart.
George Pitlik lives in Alpine and can be seen riding various unusual bike. Janet Stewart struggles daily to keep him calm. Daniel Lenik lives in Pennsylvania and can take great photographs while riding a bike in heavy traffic.
Souvenier shopping is limited when traveling by bicycle, but Janet still appreciates the craftmanship of these fine copper pots.
Generation gap?
Some roads have been around for a very long time.
Who needs an Xbox when you have a bin full of beans?
Sustainable mode of transportation, indeed.
When there’s only one TV in town, watching telenovelas is a community event.
A different sort of traffic jam.
