Today I crashed my motorcycle, planned a birthday party for rider Tracy and Tye Dye Keith complete with mariachis too; I spoke Spanish on numerous occasions, and am also capable of butchering a hog, conning a ship, building a building, writing a creative story, comforting the dying if that should be needed, taking and following orders, cooperating, analyzing a new problem, pitching pig manure, cooking and now can also almost keep up on the Mexican twisties roads with Yoda Roberto, Joey, Chris and Todd too.
At breakfast today Roberto informed everyone that Tequila is from Jalisco and Mezcal is from Oaxaca. Mezcal used to be the poor man’s tequila but, no more; it’s now been refined to be much better than even the finest tequilas. And so that is but one small piece of Mexican history shared with me at the start of our day and ride to Puerto Escondido.
Maybe I should also share the rest of the story too. Well it seems that way back in 1838 the French blockaded and bombed the port of Veracruz; in an effort to force the Mexican government to pay some back debts.
This repetitious way of doing things is what keeps me able to keep the blog up. Our 0700 departure turned into a 0800 departure on account of everyone wanting coffee and breakfast. When we left the hornets nest of Oaxaca morning commuters was all out in force.
Now Mexico is unique in many ways whereas, if I say road you say how many lanes, paved or not, etcedra. Well, our road out of Oaxaca town had a four lane two way road with little roadlets on either side that were all under some type of construction, dust, dirt, holes, traffic, with just barely enough room to split lanes.
As I attempted to take up the spot in front of me so that I could zip and then zag; the Tsuru taxi behind me (resembles a Nissan) felt it necessary to tighten up the gap, resulting in him pushing the side of my soft Round the World Golden Loop panniers. This resulted in my crash bars going right through the Tsuru taxi’s right rear taillight to my front.
I immediately thought to myself; you pinche puto baboso chingar horrible and terrible taxi driver. But, also being the culturally astute sort of guy that I am I didn’t even flinch.
So, for the sake of expediency; I pulled out a wad of Mexican play money bills from my front zipped up BMW jackets pocket. Out came Monopoly money, a couple of 20’s, one 50 and one 500 pesos.
So, I handed the driver a 500 pesos note. The guy looked at it and nearly wet his pants like he just won the Mexican lotto. (I know, not culturally sensitive language but, I’ll continue working on it.)
We were all within a lane or two of each other, waiting on the lights to change and I was stopped when I was pushed. And now that it’s all said, my Patti back home can slowly inhale, take another breath or two and one very deep breath.
Which reminds me of another story from last night. Senors Lord and Chris needed a little adult beverage, water and a snack or two from the Oxxo; ahead of them was a boy around five who placed a bottle of water on the counter. When told the amount he looked rather disheartened.
So, Lord being the stand up sort of guy that he is; paid for the water and handed it to the boy; no sooner than you can say guacamole with chips; a little girl with braided golden black hair grabs an (egg) candy, toy or kid crack that was served up, at her level.
She places it on the counter and with big mud hen looking eyes, looks at my friend Joey the Lord. This four year old kid in indigenous attire, takes the egg, possibly with an expression similar to my Tsuru taxi driver and commences to leave; another guacamole and chips was uttered; and as if by magic, out pops another near twin looking sister who also grabs some children crack candy from her eye level and commences to do the exact same thing. She had him with those puppy dog, mud hen looking eyes.
We all stare in amazement at what just occurred; is there a line of children outside waiting to meet the generous gringo?
Unfortunately these are the only picture I’m now allowed to show as the others are considered x rated in my America.
The beach just below to where we were all now seated having mojitos, beer and Toco poco mineral water, ceviche, shrimp tostadas; the sand was covered in topless women. We were all sweating from the 90 degrees heat and humidity; someone stopped the Lord from going back to his motorcycle for a pair of binoculars, for closer inspection.
Today was a 193 mile day with endless mountain jungle twisties, my hand blisters have popped and re now beginning to callous. This riding is more than amazing; it is exhausting; and the scenery, well that’s not bad either.