Guatemala and a spot of rain

I'm in Guatemala today. As far as I can tell I'm on the outskirts of a town called Huehuetenango, but after the events of yesterday it's been pretty difficult to find out for certain :)

I'd left Tuxtla Guitierrez heading for Palenque two days ago, I'd been told Palenque was a four hour ride by the hotel staff but looking at my map, I could tell the road was going to be interesting, it certainly didn't look like a main road anyway. Tuxtla was in a low valley, and leaving town I could see dark clouds over the mountains to west and east. I assumed I was in for another soaking, but as the road wound into the east mountains I realised I was just riding in low lying cloud. A light misting on my visor was about the worst I got. As the road climbed higher I started to pass through villages of indian people, and I noticed that there seemed to be few men around, shabbily dressed, whilst the women wore beautiful shawls of deep blue and green. They seemed to be doing all the work, too. Clouds drifted across the road and clung to the surrounding rainforest, giving the place a magical quality and occasionally revealing beautiful views of the valley below. The trees dripped moisture.

I came upon a village on the edge of a mountain lake and stopped to take a picture. There were two ladies across the road from the bike, and as I wandered to get a good angle for a photo of the village I could see them watching me carefully. After taking a couple of shots I thought I'd ask them if I could take their picture, which turned out to be a big mistake. They flatly refused and looked very uncomfortable, so I held up my hands and not knowing what to say put the camera away quickly. I should have known better - I've read that native indians in South America believe that the camera steals your soul (a view which is reinforced if you've ever watched reality TV). I guess that is the case in southern Mexico and Central America too. I left town feeling like an intruder for the first time.

It quickly became apparent that the lady that told me I could get to Palenque in four hours had mistaken me for Valentino Rossi. The road twisted and turned and every few kilometers would pass through a small village with the usual "topes" which force you to a crawl over them. It took close to seven hours to reach Palenque, and I realised I'd have to stay in the town near the Mayan ruins overnight, so I found an hotel and got into some shorts for a nice cool walk around the ruins. That was when the hotel staff told me they were shut for the night (at 4pm).

Frustrated as my Mexican insurance was due to expire on Saturday, I was faced with going to the ruins and then trying to get to the border with Guatemala all on the Friday.

I got up at 7am expecting a long day, and was at las ruinas just after opening time at 8. The area is a national park, which costs 20 pesos to enter, but then you have to pay 48 pesos to get into the ruins. They have quite an industry built up around them and the area where I parked my bike was swarming with market stalls, and people trying to sell guide services to tourists. I'd planned on taking the expensive bits of equipment with me, but most of my bags had to stay on the bike so I took a bit of a risk and negotiated a rate for "Seguros" with a local lad in the car park.

I'd wanted to see some Mayan ruins ever since a dive trip to Mexico a couple of years ago, when I wanted to go to Chichen Itza but was voted down as it would use up a diving day. The ruins in Acumal area are pretty remote and jungle covered, but although Palenque is surrounded by dense jungle it has been well tended and has good paths.

I liberally covered myself in mosquito repellant and one of the staff told me there were no mosquitos, "solo serpientes". I told him I didn't have any snake repellant but I think the joke (such as it was) was lost in translation ;)

The ruins were cool, but unfortunately I wasn't. Being a low elevation, Palenque is incredibly humid and in my bike boots and trousers I was gushing sweat. I went through my two litres of water in an hour and then realised I'd have to leave shortly or risk dehydration. As I headed back to the bike, my impressions of the place were mixed. I thought it was amazing that anyone could ever live, let alone thrive, in this place. However I thought Palenque was pretty touristy compared to some smaller places in the Yucatan, and I figured it was easy to get carried away with how ancient it was, considering London had been around nearly 400 years by the time building began here.

The jungle itself was at least as fascinating as the ruins. Small furry creatures with long tails and colourful birds scampered and called in the trees, some broad leaves were as big as my crash helmet.

Leaving Palenque I found that the journey back down the same winding road I'd taken the day before was a lot quicker, and by lunchtime I was back on the main road and heading for the border with Guatemala. As I approached I could see a line of mountains ahead which I assumed was Guatemala, totally covered in thick, black cloud. A stop for fuel and a long diversion for roadworks meant it was close to 5pm when I got to Mexican immigration and got my exit stamp, and an exit stamp for the bike. Then I rode to Ciudad Cuauhtemoc, a few buildings which mark the frontier. When I arrived at the border I simply couldn't believe my eyes, it was so packed with people. I honestly lost the road, and when I realised where it was can only describe the last kilometer or so as like driving through a crowded market. There was barely enough space to get a car between the lines of stalls, and that space was filled with people, which made for a bizarre experience as I had to ride at the people to get them to move aside. Then I weaved the bike up towards the border through the chaos.

Entering Guatemala the bike had to be fumigated (12 quetzals) which meant dealing with one of the dodgy looking currency traders that more or less descend on you the second you turn off the ignition. I had a few pesos left which I converted and was able to pay the fumigator. Then I went to immigration and got my passport stamped, then I had to go to customs to get the bike imported. That cost 40 quetzals, and far from being the painful experience I'd expected I had a good laugh with the customs officers. One of them kept referring to his colleague as "Shrek", which I thought was a bit harsh, but funny :)

It was all downhill after that though. I put my watch back an hour for Guatemalan time, and headed out into the rain which had been falling steadily for the last hour. After threading the bike through an equally packed street on the Guatemalan side of the border, I decided I'd head for the nearest town. Customs had told me there was a town about an hour away, but I'd forgotten to get my Guatemala map out and was riding into the worstening weather with no real idea where I was going. The only sign was for Guatemala City, which meant I was on the right road, but other than that there were no speed limit signs, no town signs... and no signs warning of topes in the road. The topes are all much taller than in Mexico, and every time the bike bumped over one it would ground out with a nasty metallic bang.

The weather deteriorated into the worst storm I've ever seen, or at least been out in. Guatemala looked like it might be beautiful, soaring mountains either side of the valley I was headed down, but it was 6.30pm and pitch dark, the only time I caught a glimpse of the surrounding land was when lightning lit the entire sky. It was an incredible display, the more so because the water on the road was steaming, but I was taking a real pounding from the rain, and couldn't really see the road too well so I'd slowed to a crawl. I started to worry that if I didn't get off the road soon I would be in real trouble. Then I crested a rise and all I could see was huge blobs of rain coming at me horizontally out of the black. It was one of the lowest points of the trip, and had me questioning my sanity. I kept asking myself what I was doing, why the hell I was on a bike in Guatemala and not on a beach somewhere pleasantly warm with a cold drink.

Finally, mercifully, I started to see signs that I was approaching a town, some of the buildings I was passing even had lights on. At the first hotel sign I saw I pulled in. The guy on the door was tooled up which was a real shock. It's not every day you get greeted with a shotgun. However there had been armed guards at petrol stations and banks in southern Mexico, and at the border too. I guess they don't mess around here.

I got a room and as I was finding some cash the power went out. I had to be handed a towel so my hands and arms didn't soak the paper I wrote my name on. Then I was shown to my room by candlelight, which was a first! But the room was nice and the candle which I was given gave off a pleasant light. After I'd changed into some warm, dry clothes the power came on long enough for me to get a small meal, which I had to finish by candlelight as the power went off again. Whilst I was eating a small section of the restaurant's roof collapsed under the weight of water, I could hear the resulting splash but couldn't see it in the dark. It was a slightly surreal evening, but not unpleasant after the day I'd had :)

Today it's stopped raining, but I'm taking a day to let my soaked clothes dry out. I'd better get my map out and figure out where I am too :)

Have a great weekend.

Frase.

A day on the road in Mexico

Having arrived in Oaxaca yesterday and made plans for today's riding, the first thing I do in the morning is change them. Instead of heading north today towards the Gulf of Mexico, I will head south towards the Guatemala border, passing near to the Pacific coastline.

I procrastinate until almost 11am before getting on the road, despite having a small breakfast of a granola bar and cup of coffee. I know deep down that it's foolish as I have quite a way to go if I want to reach today's goal, a town called Tuxtla Guitierrez, which will leave me a short ride to visit the Mayan ruins at Palenque tomorrow. Additionally the closer to midday it gets, the hotter I will be.

I set off through the press of the downtown Oaxaca traffic, riding extremely defensively as is the norm in towns here. Horns sound all around - part of the reason is because the cabs here toot at any pedestrian, hoping for a fare - and lane order is something that happens in other countries. A guy pulls up at the lights next to me and asks where I'm from, probably the Spanish phrase I'm most familiar with by now.

Following the signposts for the 190 I start to leave town and as the speed builds, the cooling airflow is appreciated and makes me realise I was much hotter than I knew. The road starts to climb into the mountains, leaving the Oaxaca valley behind. My map tells me I have maybe 200km of mountain roads, which I know I won't really get any more than 70Km/h out of. So I'm in for a long ride through the mountains. A signpost to the next town confirms 207Km.

As I start to sweep through the passes I really begin to enjoy myself. The road is of a decent quality in most places, for a change, and as long as the normal rules are applied - no gassing it until you can see what's in the road around the bend - progress can be made swiftly. The land around here has changed slightly from yesterday's riding, there are less cactus mixed in with the trees. But the earth is still red and there are myriad butterflies, orange, yellow, large black and yellow ones. It is hard to avoid getting a few in the visor, despite weaving my head back and forth. As I take a tight right bend around a sheer cliff, a huge dark shape hovers directly over me like some angel of death. It's a sort of large vulture, riding a thermal up from the valley below. Maybe this is why, over the next few dozen kilometers, there is biblical graffiti scribbled into the cliff faces at the side of the road. One passage that keeps repeating is Job 33:14, and in spite of myself I wonder what it means, and what inspired someone to daub it here.

After a while the weather closes in and I get a light showering, but it's not even enough to make me close the vents in my jacket. It's cooler up here, but still too warm to be wrapped up. The road starts to drop again and soon it's possible to see a swollen brown river down in the valley with sheer cliffs and rainforest covered mountains making for a dramatic view. I pass through a couple of tiny villages, the population more or less all indian, and everyone stares, but I'm used to being stared at now. Occasionally I wave, occasionally I get a wave back.

Most days there is some sort of road stupidity, sometimes scary, but when it happens today's is much worse than normal. I round a blind left hand downhill bend doing no more than 50mph and find a VW beetle in my lane, in the process of overtaking a lorry climbing the hill. On a bike I have time to brake, swerve down the outside and angrily wave the idiot that he should be on his side of the road. If I'd been in a car, I would have ended up as a bonnet ornament. Afterwards I start to think about risk versus reward, which I do quite often, and I wonder just how anyone can do the maths and decide that their life is worth a few extra miles per hour.

By the time I'm through the mountains and the road flattens out, I'm hungry and it's getting close to 2pm. I start to look for a restaurant in one of the frequent small towns I am passing through, I'm still not brave enough to try what in New York they would call "street meat", tacos fried at the road side. The surrounding land is similar to the mountains but as it is now flat there is little shelter from the sun and it's baking hot, so when I see a restaurant that has a small stand of trees outside, it looks like a good place to stop.

I pull the bike under the trees and find a table where I can keep an eye on it. Air conditioning is provided by having no glass in the windows and a thatched roof. I'm the only person there except the proprietor and her kids. There is no menu, just to make it a little harder on the gringo, and the lady rattles off a list of food which results in a blank look from me. She wanders off and two minutes later there is a whistle for my attention from the kitchen, she has a plate with a huge steak, three juicy prawns and a large fish on it. She says they are the options and I pick the steak, she asks how I want it and of the options I select a la Mexicana. I sit down wondering what I just ordered.

When it turns up it's a delicious chopped steak in a spicy veg sauce, with tortillas and a side of refried beans. With a large Gatorade it costs 55 pesos, about $5 or less than £3 and will keep me going all day. Outside a guy drives past in a wagon with huge wooden wheels, pulled by two oxen. The driver wears a white cowboy hat like other farmers and goatherds, contrasting starkly with his dark skin. An orange and grey woodpecker alights on the tree next to my bike, where a dog is curled up trying to sleep in the heat. This place is in some sort of time warp.

I try to tell the lady the meal was muy, muy bien and get back on the road, frustrated that I haven't learned more Spanish.

The road swings south towards the Pacific and I see my first palm trees. I also see a black sky north and east, and before long the sky in front of me darkens too. The road is amazingly good for a non toll road though, dead straight across the coastal plain and well paved. There is a lot of traffic as there are a few big towns on the coast, and I start to get the usual "not quite an overtake" where cars go to overtake, but then pull in where I am, forcing me to chop the throttle and avoid them. The road is one lane, but wide enough for two cars abreast and looking ahead there are often three cars side by side as everyone tries to overtake everyone else. There is a delicate, floral perfume in the air, like hand cream. Must be the yellow wild flowers at the roadside. That is until I pass through a small town, which like all the others has a festering pile of garbage on the outskirts.

Suddenly the road turns into roadworks and from 100 plus km/h I'm bouncing through mud and potholes in first gear. This happens a couple of times, whilst in the distance I can see great forks of lightning. I'm about to get wet.

I start to zip up vents on my jacket and then the rain comes down, so hard that I can feel it through my sleeves and it stings my exposed neck. It's still not too bad on the road though as it is straight and visibility is ok. I see a town that is marked on my map and realise with a start that I am a long way from Tuxtla still, and it is mid afternoon already. Not good. By 5pm the road is winding into the mountains again, there is no one else on it, and it's been raining heavily for two solid hours. I take the twisty roads very carefully, there are occasional potholes and diesel spills make rainbow coloured patches here and there. There is so much water on the road! It's draining down slopes and pouring over edges.

Crossing the mountains the sky is brighter but there is no let up. I see a sign for Tuxtla that tells me I have 137km to go and I know that means even in the dry I would have been riding in the dark, let alone in these wet conditions. I start to ride through large areas of standing water in the valley, it must have been raining like this here all day at least. It gets worse as I go on, and after ploughing through a long flooded stretch, the bike creating a wake that soaks into my boots, I pass a couple of stopped cars and wonder if I will have to turn back. There is nothing on the road behind me for mile after mile...

In the thickening gloom I start to get flashed often by passing cars. I'm not sure whether it is because I didn't convert my drive-on-the-left headlights, or whether the load on the rear of the bike is lifting the headlights and dazzling people, but plainly I'm pissing them off. Darkness falls and I start shouting at people when they flash me "I know, I know, you %$@!". I'm getting tired obviously, and just want to be off the road.

The last few kilometers take nearly an hour as there are roadworks and everyone is stuck behind a lorry. When I get into the centre of Tuxtla, there are more large, deep puddles. I find an hotel at the second attempt and am really relieved to get off the road. My summer gloves are twice their normal weight, completely sodden, and my fingers are wrinkled like I've been in the bath too long. My trousers and boots are totally saturated, and all my cash in my hidden travel wallet, about US$400, has to be dried on the room's air conditioner. Even my good jacket has let water, and my iPod is soaked but functional, fortunately my passport is the only dry item. I grab a sandwich from a local shop and munch that whilst reflecting on my day.

So that is life on the road in Mexico. The days are not all so extreme but they do tend to be a real mix of highs and lows. Meantime I'm taking a day off to dry out before I head to Palenque tomorrow.

That's all folks.

Frase.

Mad dogs and a very surprised Englishman

After leaving Guadalajara I'd spent a couple of days in Morelia with a slightly upset stomach, probably more to do with my mostly peanut diet in the last few days rather than any local delicacy.

Morelia had suffered a grenade attack the Monday before I arrived and seven people had been killed, the result of some organised criminal gang trying to demonstrate how much power they have, sadly. It seems unthinkable that anyone could disrupt the Independence celebrations which mean so much to these people. I guess that is why the criminals did it. I wasn't sure what to expect but aside from a massive military and police presence, life went on as normal.

Heading south from there I'd decided to try to reach Taxco, a small mountain town that used to be the heart of the silver mining industry in Mexico, now wholly dedicated to tourism. On my daily stop for petrol, now a routine, I'd managed to find just about the only pump attendant in Mexico that spoke a few words of English, and between us we had a good chat in mangled Spanish and English about my trip. I'd passed the 10,000 mile mark since Vancouver that morning, and spent about a minute trying to get 16,000 kilometers into Spanish, which made us both laugh.

I'd seriously underestimated the time it would take to reach Taxco, as the roads were basically winding mountain roads that would frequently go through small towns. Each of these towns would have dogs roaming the roads, and donkeys tied up to trees and left to feed on the grass there. I amused myself for at least half an hour with the idea of "leaving your ass at the side of the road", a sure sign I am losing the plot :) However the dogs were totally bonkers, and I got chased clean out of town on two separate occasions. Either they don't like the bike or I'm starting to smell like a cat.

Sadly one of the results of their wandering in the road is a lot of dog road fatalities. At one point a dog almost ran under my front wheel while I was trying to avoid him so I can see how it happens. But closer to Taxco I saw a dog lying in the road and was starting to feel sorry for him when the taxi in front of me sounded his horn and the dog got up, and trotted off looking most disgruntled :)

I reached Taxco in the dark, breaking a rule I'd set myself before I'd even left home. The first thing I noticed were the Volkswagens. I'm certain that there would be less at a VW convention. Basically every single taxi was a Beetle and every bus/minibus was a VW camper. And there were many. I found an hotel and it looked like it would have had a decent view, if I'd arrived in daylight. Room 101 - kind of binary, I liked it.

After virtually no sleep because of the noise - Taxco is like a miniature New York City - I got up and took a look out from my balcony, and sure enough I could see way down into the valley below. What looked like a hummingbird was visiting a fruit tree just outside.



I left Taxco with absolutely no idea where I was headed, for the first time on the trip, so I doubled back on myself slightly before turning back south. This took me through some reasonable roads not far south of Mexico City, packed with locals on Fireblades, GSXRs and other cool sportsbikes. I'd pass a bunch and they would flash their lights, sound their horns, or wave. But the best thing happened at a fuel station in a town called Cuautla.

I'd pulled in to get a fuel station coffee and had been sipping for about a minute when the first person came over for a chat. Both he and the second person spoke good English, although the second guy flatly refused to believe I'd done 16,000 kilometers from Alaska on my own. This went on for some time, people would come over whilst I tried to finish my coffee. Eventually, a young lady came over with her camera and asked if she could take my picture which was embarrassing but somehow secretly delighting. After she'd taken a shot of me and the bike, I asked if she would like to pose with the bike, which seemed to make her day. Then the rest of the family came over and we had little daughter on the bike, crying her eyes out despite my best efforts to get her to smile for the camera. I was trying to get her to say "queso", much to her Dad's amusement. Whether he got the joke or he just thought I was nuts, I'll never know. For the second time on the trip I was annoyed that I hadn't brought a pocket camera, but I wasn't going to unpack mine in front of everyone so all the pictures ended up on her camera.

I rode away grinning from ear to ear, and headed south towards Oaxaca. Occasionally people would wave from cars, or ask me if I was from Canada (as I have a Canadian sticker on the bike, I guess). What a friendly town. Somewhere over the course of the last couple of days I had at last found balance in Mexico. The driving and roads were still horrific, the humidity barely tolerable, and my Spanish hadn't improved, but you accept all that and then whatever happens on top of it is the real experience.

I got as far as Huajuapan, on the road to Oaxaca. I wouldn't have written about what happened next, only I can imagine it giving certain people a good chuckle. I found a hotel on the very outskirts of the town, which I thought would be good for a bit of peace and quiet. It was the sort of "auto hotel" that has a little garage and the room is over the garage. Anyway, there were a few girls and whilst I was asking for a room I couldn't help noticing they seemed to be smirking. I figured it was my bad Spanish. They asked if I wanted to see the room and I agreed, basically stuck my nose in and it looked and smelled clean so I said I'd take it.

It was actually a good while later when I started to notice little things - there was a mirror on most walls, and the ceiling, for instance. The ceiling mirror had a light switch and red neon lights. What I'd assumed was a handy open cupboard area had steps up to it, and a central pole. It also had a little light switch. There was a nude painting on the wall, over the door so I hadn't noticed at first.

It was obviously some sort of dodgy hotel/strip joint, and when the penny dropped those of you who know me well will know how embarrassed I was. Others will just have to imagine ;) I started to think it was a good job I hadn't ordered room service.

After a couple of uneasy hours I managed to sleep ok, although I was woken at dawn by cockrels crowing and donkeys braying. Heading south to Oaxaca, the roads wound up into the mountains and at times would run across a ridge line with beautiful views on both sides. Small trees had replaced the scrub and cactus of the last couple of days and the soil was an intense, dark red. The winding road would have made for a great ride on a sportsbike, if it wasn't for not knowing if there is a dog, donkey, rockfall or (at one point) collapse in the road around the bend.

That's all for now, meantime have a peaceful day.

Fraser.

Guadalajara

Guadalajara - beautiful colonial gem, sprawling urban chaos, total traffic nightmare.

I'd had quite enough of the west coast, varying as it did between massive resorts and tiny beaches in the middle of nowhere. After stopping in a couple of places, San Carlos Bay and Mazatlan, I was left feeling like I'd been to Tenerife (Spanish, but take a walk around and you could be in a suburb of Manchester if it wasn't for the climate). Oddly I didn't encounter that many Americans, which the resorts are obviously aimed at, just a lot of affluent Mexicans making a lot of noise. My hotel in Mazatlan was simply the noisiest place I've ever stayed, there were pools either side of my room and each had massively overdone music, like a nightclub, only this was Mexican music which, being fair, isn't my taste.

Just before Mazatlan I'd crossed the Tropic of Cancer, the second big latitude line of the trip so far. I sat for a while and thought back to the Arctic Circle crossing, a couple of hundred years ago it seems. How different life was then.

Heading inland somewhat I tried to reach Guadalajara in one hit, which may have been possible on the toll roads but a late start combined with atrocious roads meant I got as far as Tepic. I got stopped at a military checkpoint for the first time but after asking where I was from, and where I was going they waved me on. The road started to climb into the mountains and heavy cloud which had been threatening all day let go in spectacular fashion. Suddenly it was all I could do to see the roads properly, and at one point I missed a pothole and the bike careered into it. I had to stop to check the front rim was ok. I started to pass small mudslides and the road was awash with both rain and diesel. I might be slow on the uptake but I figured it was time to get off the road, so I found the nearest hotel and got a room.

Goodness it was grubby. Every surface was sticky, the bathroom window was rusted open and the whole place needed a broom running around it. The hotel was made up for by the restaurant on the street outside. No windows, everything cooked in front of you on a griddle, and the food was awesome. After some meat dish I can't name and a handful of quesadillas, I went back to The Room. I'd noticed out of the rusted window that there was rather oddly a chicken coup out the back. "Gosh" I thought, "I hope there isn't a cockerel in there". I started to itch when I got into bed so immediately resorted to sleeping in my sleeping bag liner, under my mosquito net.

Crack of dawn - woken from light sleep by cockerel/rooster out back crowing like it's on steroids. Now I know why there was no alarm clock.
6.00am - woken again by loud people shouting and starting cars.

So it was that I headed off to Guadalajara an hour before my alarm was due to go off. The roads from Tepic to Guadalajara were the first breathtaking scenery I'd seen since entering Mexico. This place is green - since crossing into the tropics everything is covered in rainforest, mountains and valleys alike. You can smell flowers in the air most of the time on the roads, and butterflies swarm around them.

Arriving in Guadalajara, I then spent a massively frustrating and very scary several hours riding around town looking for an hotel near the centre, which is where all the decent architecture is. The driving was absolutely abysmal, the worst I've encountered, single incidents excluded. Here are some observations:

1) There is a law that states that Mexicans MUST overtake whatever is in front of them. This includes on blind bends and hills, and no overtaking zones. If possible, share the lane with the person in front of you, especially if the sucker is on a bike. I've not managed to find this law in the highway code, so maybe it is unwritten.
2) For such friendly people, Mexicans are seriously aggressive and dangerous behind the wheel of a car. I think I aged about 20 years riding through Guadalajara. One guy managed to ram into one of the panniers on the bike, despite it being quite certainly in my lane, almost knocking me off in the process.
3) Mexicans are the fastest drivers on the planet. If it wasn't for points 1 and 2, the formula one grid would be dominated by them.
4) Spookily, Mexicans don't wait for green lights. They seem to instinctively know when the light will change and pre empt it by a few seconds. This is really disturbing if you are in the middle lane and the inside and outside lane suddenly clear off while you are still in neutral.

Of course the volume of traffic doesn't help. If I was forced to do that every day I'd quickly become a nutter too.

Anyway I managed to find an hotel and set off for a wander round the centre of town. It's quite superb, and at the same time slightly mad. If you see the architecture you could almost be in Spain, but then the blaring of a thousand horns and masses and masses of traffic bring you back to Guadalajara. The Mexicans started the war for independence on 16th September 1810 so that date is celebrated every year, and all the principal buildings were draped in green, white and red. Cool.

I'm not certain where I'm headed from here, aside from south. After today I have to avoid Mexico City at all costs!

Frase.

Reality check

After a long, hot ordeal to get from Santa Ana to Ciudad Obregon (maybe 280 miles but it felt like a 500 mile day) on the Mexican equivalent of a freeway, I decided that I'd had enough of all that and would get on to some smaller roads today. This turned out to be both a good and a bad idea.

It started off well enough, the major freeway type roads in Mexico are anything BUT freeways, the tolls are extortionate. So heading out on a free road that had only the same number of large potholes as the toll road had me smiling at the saved cash. The road was still dead straight and could be ridden at 60mph, as long as you a) watch constantly for potholes and b) spot the "topes", sleeping policemen/speed humps that are sometimes signposted, sometimes not, and often almost invisible. I'm sure I'll take out the rear shock on one.

I was heading for Los Mochis but after an initial signpost saying "Los Mochis - libre" there were no more. Determined not to go back to the toll road I pressed on, following roads that were generally headed south, and looking for towns that I passed through on my road map. The tactic worked well until I got to the small town of Huatabampo. There I encountered some road cones and a guy trying to direct traffic through one lane. The other lane was disappearing rapidly as flood water was washing it away.

I pulled over - essentially to take a picture - and realised that all the surrounding fields were underwater. A flatbed truck pulled up and the driver got out and started talking to me, superfast.

"No entiendo, no hablo Espanol" I explained.
"From?" he asked.
"Inglaterra. Ingles"
"You TV? Writer?"
"No"
"What you do?"
"Errrr, fix computers", I said, realising I didn't have the faintest how I could possibly get network engineer into Spanish. "Internet" I offered, and motioned a computer keypad.
"National Geographic?"

After another go I managed to convince him I wasn't a journalist. I'm not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. He asked me what I was doing in this particular, flooded, corner of Mexico then. "Viaje" I said. I'm just a tourist mate.

After pointing out that the flood had buckled the railway lines, he said to me "dangereuse here". I asked why and he tried to explain, I think the upshot was he was worried I had got into town but wouldn't be able to get out again because the water was rising. I thought that seemed a bit extreme but thanked him and we shook hands.

It was only as I rode on into town that the extent of the flooding and damage became apparent. Power substations, fuel stations, whole streets were underwater and many surrounding fields too. All the traffic was being funnelled along one decent street. At one point I took a wrong turn, the bike was up to it's axles in brown water, there was a strong smell of excrement and I wondered just how people could cope with it all. The flooding must have emptied a sewer or something. A guy came over and tried to explain this road was closed. I thanked him and he clapped me on the shoulder like an old friend.

As I pulled through the water back the way I came the bike smacked down into a submerged pothole and I started to worry about having dented the rear rim. Sweat was streaming into my eyes, dripping off my nose, and I started to fret about what would happen if I keeled over here in the intense heat.

Getting out of town the speed picked up and the temperature became bearable again. I passed devastation - the sort I've seen on TV before - homes full of mud and branches after the water had receded. I thought about the old guy who was probably a local, worrying about me getting stuck here, and I wondered if his home was wrecked too. It occurred to me that my own problems, which were few, were kind of inconsequential.

It's not rained since the day before I left Tucson. But I guess it's raining somewhere.

The flooding seemed localised as it was just the one town and surrounding area. Picking up the main road I passed into Sinaloa, the next state down from Sonora. The landscape changed on cue from brush and scrubby trees into fields, but still there were thousands of butterflies. I passed my third or fourth military checkpoint, the soldiers were all under shelter and no one bothered me, I just got waved through again. I guess it's too hot for standing around in the sun. Instead of ploughing on to Los Mochis, I detoured down to El Fuerte, a town founded in 1564. It was by this time 4pm, taking the back roads had added miles and hours to my journey. I found a hotel and realised I'd again lost an hour, although checking on the Internet Sonora and Sinaloa are on the same time, which means my watch has been wrong since I left the US. I have to stop doing that :)

I'm going to press on south tomorrow, probably on toll roads to speed things up a bit. Until then, hope all is well where you are.

Frase.

Rivers of sand

Hola,

I'm in Santa Ana, in the Sonora region of Mexico.

My trip down from the Painted Desert was mostly unremarkable, at least until I got into the desert north of the Santa Catalina mountains. There, the heat was almost unbearable cocooned inside my goretex bike gear. The normally cooling air flowing over the bike's screen was hot too, and the overall effect was like sitting in a sauna and switching on a fan heater full blast. Cactii were everywhere, some small with rounded "leaves", others as tall and shapely as trees. Some had red flowers on.

Every river that the road crossed was sand. I'd gone perhaps 70 or 80 miles and not seen water in a single river. I was worried that I wasn't carrying enough water in case of breakdown.

I reached Tucson in southern Arizona and spent a few days there waiting for parts that I'd ordered in Utah. When they turned up the bike had it's 7500 mile service (at 9400 miles) and finally got the gearshift lever that I'd broken when I came off in Alaska. Riding away the bike felt almost like new.

I realised that the almost 7000 miles I'd ridden with the broken shift lever was probably more mileage than I'd done on fully functional bikes in my riding career (aside from a 2000 mile jaunt around Europe last year, all my riding had been quick blasts on sportsbikes). So not surprising that I'd adapted to the broken lever. The right wing mirror holder that originally broke on my test run to Weymouth was also replaced. Since the bike blew over in Banff the right mirror had been in my luggage.

The morning of the third and final day in Tucson was spent stocking up with last minute "essentials" that I figured would be hard to come by in Mexico and Central America, beef jerky, chocolate covered cranberries, Reeses crispy crunchy in addition to less important stuff like US dollars :) I also bought a big book that should last until I get back to English speaking countries.

Leaving Tucson I headed for the border at Nogales on the interstate, stopping just before the crossing to fill up the bike and fuel can with cheap petrol. An American chap warned me about certain areas of southern Mexico and by the time he'd finished I was starting to think about riding back to Alaska. Somewhere between worrying about which way I was going and trying to concentrate on several things at once, including not getting knocked off the bike by passing crazy drivers, I managed to miss wherever it was I was supposed to get my exit stamp from the US. That's going to cause me problems on my next visit to the States, no doubt. One minute there were signs for the border and the next, everything was in Spanish and I was in Mexico. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if I could spot where I left my comfort zone.

The first thing after the border was a toll booth for the road, then there was a customs point which was simply a matter of ride up, get a green light, ride off. After 20km or so there was an immigration post where I could pull off the road and get a tourist card and import docs for my bike, along with insurance. The stop was by no means compulsory, so I guess the police must enforce immigration... anyway after an hour or so standing around in the heat and humidity I was on my way.

Mexico is an immediate, stark contrast to the States. Clapped out cars and people cooking at the side of the road, people standing in the road selling things (including baskets containing what looks suspiciously like controlled substances) wherever sleeping policemen slow the traffic. I'd assumed that close to the border most folks would speak English, but aside from the lady in the insurance shop it was all Spanish.

After another toll booth I finally reached Santa Ana, and as it was getting on in the afternoon I decided to call a halt. I found a hotel that a guy in Tucson had recommended and fumbled my way through getting a single no smoking room for the night in my best Spanish. There was a restaurant attached and it had menus in Spanish and English, but ordering was still a slight challenge. At one point I think I asked for milk for my coffee, at least the waitress was confused and had to refer to another guy. I got the milk and we all had a good laugh at something. Presumably me :)

Heading south tomorrow, I've no idea how far though. The daily mileages have been falling steadily as it's got warmer.

Frase.

Art in nature

I'm riding across the Painted Desert, vast plains in Arizona. The thunderstorms that have been rolling around all day account for most of the sky, thick dark clouds, but it is not raining. Behind me the sun is setting, partially obscured by fiery lined cloud. The western horizon glows orange and red, and beams of sunlight pick out spots on the plains. But the east - red sunlight still falls on the unbroken line of distant mountains that I can only assume is Chuska, in New Mexico. Above them, grey curtains of rain have been turned to scarlet. The clouds about are dramatic grey and yellow, and somehow I know that this is the most beautiful sunset I'll ever see. The effect overwhelms me almost to tears.

Two days previously I'd left Moab in the intense heat of late morning, after seeing my first ever hummingbird buzzing about, and headed directly south. I wanted to get into Arizona via Monument Valley, but prior to that I wanted to see the Valley of the Gods too. I took the side road off to Valley of the Gods, and being a bit better prepared for the heat I was taking frequent sips of water. I'd got into the habit of buying more water whenever I stopped.

I had heard of a natural phenomenon called the Moki Dugway before, I'd even seen it on TV, but as it's not marked on my road map you can imagine my surprise when I arrived at it. The first clue that I was approaching it was a sign warning of 10% gradient and many "switchbacks" (u turns) on a gravel road ahead. Hmmm, I thought. I wonder where the Moki Dugway is in Utah? That is a gravel road that drops straight down a cliff face...

I must admit that my first reaction on seeing the Moki Dugway was to gasp aloud. One moment you are riding along straight flat roads through scrubby forest, the next, you see a few warning signs advising to slow to 15mph, and then the road vanishes over a cliff. It's like falling off the edge of the world, only prettier.

The road winds down 1100 feet over about 3 miles, from the top of the Cedar Mesa into the desert. From the top you can see miles of the glorious red surrounding desert, and the Valley of the Gods. Once I'd slowly (I hate gravel) got to the bottom, the road wound away into nothing. I stopped and got off, removed my earplugs and could hear absolutely nothing, except the occasional breath of wind.

I stopped very briefly to photograph the "Mexican Hat rock" that gives the town of Mexican Hat it's name, and then headed towards Monument Valley. I was in Navajo lands, and more or less everywhere that it was feasible to stop had a Navajo stall selling native gifts. Approaching Monument Valley is probably the best view you get, like nature's own Manhattan Skyline, with the road running arrow-straight across the desert.


Once I'd reached Monument Valley I was completely appalled at the state it was in, flattened beer cans, plastic bags and worryingly smashed beer bottles lay everywhere. Wildfire anyone? I don't know whether the rubbish is a result of the Navajo owning the land, or because it's not a state park, but something needs to happen to clear up the mess. It's a disgrace, and wasn't the best way to end my love affair with Utah as I passed into Arizona.

It was getting late and I suddenly realised there was nothing much about for many miles on the road, so I pressed on and stopped for the night in Kayenta. The only remarkable thing that happened there was my discovery of Navajo fry bread. Delicious :)


Monday morning I was trying to kickstart myself with the reminder that I was off to see the Grand Canyon, one of the highlights of my trip, but again I was extremely tired and felt my mind drifting whilst I was riding. It was an effort to stay awake, let alone focussed. Maybe that was the reason I found the Grand Canyon a bit... disappointing. It was definitely awe inspiring, immense, but having seen the canyon there isn't much else to do. Ultimately I was underwhelmed by the whole experience. Grand Canyon is less impressive than most of the other National Parks that I've visited. Perhaps I'm all 'rocked out'. I think hiking or rafting the canyon would be a much better experience, or flying over it. Maybe next time.

I met some Brazilian Harley riders at lunch, who were on their way to Milwaukee for a big Harley bash. Only two of them spoke English, and had to translate for the others. Strangely, they seemed to think that I was the mad one. Maybe because I am travelling alone. As I was eating I noticed the barometer on my watch nosediving, and sure enough when I got outside a storm was blowing in from the south that looked like the world ending one at the end of "Terminator".

I put the Grand Canyon to my back wheel and rode south towards the storm, finding the veils of rain and occasional distant lightning flashes far more entertaining than the canyon had been. I was just starting to realise I was very exposed out in the flat land with nothing taller than a stunted bush for miles, when the landscape changed and suddenly, unexpectedly, I was in a pine forest. After nothing much but desert for a week, and under the first clouds I had seen for several days, it was almost like I'd ridden back to Canada.

At Flagstaff I decided that even though it was getting late, I would press on to see Meteor Crater, or more correctly the Barringer crater. At over three quarters of a mile wide and nearly six hundred feet deep, it is the best example of an impact crater on Earth, and I'd wanted to see it since seeing a picture of it in an encyclopedia as a kid. The ride out to get there across the plains was somehow fitting, like riding on the moon. I was a bit surprised at the $15 entry fee, more than most National Parks, but aside from the crater there is a cool museum so it was an hour's entertainment.

By the time I left it was sunset, and back out on the road, the Painted Desert awaited.

More soon, hopefully when I'm less tired :)

Frase.

Zion to Arches, via Capitol Reef

Leaving Zion was tough. I'd only stayed two days, but Zion was magnificent, the motel the best I've stayed in and I'd got on really well with the couple that ran it. They dropped what they were doing on Friday morning to come over and say goodbye, and I left feeling like I was leaving a little piece of me behind, in a way.

Having had a day completely off the bike, I should have been feeling fresh and ready for a ride, but instead I was tired and not really interested. The feeling wasn't helped by a long sit in roadworks in the heat either. I turned off highway 89 finally, which I'd followed more or less all the way from Idaho, and took the road towards Bryce Canyon. I didn't turn down to Bryce but I did pass through Red Canyon, which is similar with lots of hoodoos and chimneys.

From there, the road twists and turns across the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, a landscape of mesas, buttes and mountains in grey and red/brown rock. In the early afternoon, the heat was intense. There was absolutely no shelter, no trees, and very few towns and sitting in my heavy bike gear I started to appreciate what a jacket potato feels like. The view was outstanding, but it occurred to me as I passed under a set of red cliffs that they were just nicely coloured shade at this point. Even the thirty seconds of cool was a welcome relief. I passed a guy on a Harley going in the other direction, with nothing on his head and a t-shirt on, he was bright red. It seemed almost suicidal in that heat.

Finally, late in the afternoon the road started to drop into the Dixie National Forest, a wind came up, and there were trees again. The road still twisted and I started to enjoy the ride, until at Torrey I realised I wasn't going to make Arches National Park that day, so I stopped in a posh RV park to camp. The guy who ran the place asked if I'd ridden up highway 12, and it turns out that I'd unintentionally come across one of the best biking roads in the States. Shame I was a bit too cooked to pay attention :)

The following morning I broke camp, had a decent cup of coffee and then rode across Capitol Reef National Park, which was unique in being the first park I didn't have to pay to get into. Essentially it was more red/brown sandstone mesas. The road then crossed the San Rafael desert, on my left was a long reef, mesas and mountains, and on my right, for mile after mile, nothing but flat sand and scrub as far as I could see.

I finally made Moab at lunchtime and ate some lunch before heading into Arches National Park. I rode out to Delicate Arch, which is probably the most photographed arch in the world, and jumped off the bike to take a picture. Unfortunately I'd not realised it was quite a hike to get a decent view, uphill in the baking heat in all my bike gear. By the time I got back to the bike I was afraid to get too near anyone in case the smell killed them. I needed some shade and more water, but instead of heading for the visitor centre I went to take more pictures. Walking back to the bike it dawned on me I had no hat, so I put my jacket over my head finally and that helped. I didn't care if people thought I was Batman.

Having drained the last of my water, I made for the visitor centre. I was being careful as I knew I was feeling a bit wonky in the heat, but no care can prepare you for the terminally stupid. I was riding along at about 40mph when I noticed that some clown was parked in the road on the other side to take pictures, blocking his lane. Just as I was about to pass him, the car that had been stopped behind him pulled onto my side of the road to overtake him.

Now in the movies your life is meant to flash before you, but all I saw as I performed the best emergency stop I've ever done was that the licence plate was from Nevada. The lady driving continued to pull around the stopped car and gave me a look as if to say "what's the matter with you?" as I sat stationary, trying to collect myself and trying not to empty my bladder. At least the guy in the parked car had the common sense to look sheepish.

By the time I reached the visitor centre at the start of the park I had calmed down, but was absolutely bathed in sweat. When I found a place to stay in Moab for the day (getting off the road seemed like a good survival tactic) I noticed that dye off my clothes had run. Walking in the desert in bike gear - don't try that at home.

Arches was remarkable, but I've come to the conclusion that the lady I met yesterday lunchtime that told me Arches beats Zion is off her nut. No way.

Fraser.

A walk in the park

I had to work out how to visit both Zion and Arches National Park and still be able to head south to Arizona through Monument Valley, as they are all in separate corners of Utah. I decided on a several hundred mile zigzag, first stop Zion, then Arches via Bryce Canyon before heading south.

Getting out of Salt Lake City proved difficult due to a combination of crap signposting and my own failure to believe what my compass was telling me. At Aurora I stopped to take a picture of the Pahvant Range, the prettiest mountains I'd seen. Layers of red and white sandstone make them appear for all the world like raspberry ripple ice cream.

I passed Bryce Canyon and found myself getting annoyed at the state of the roads, they looked like someone had driven a brigade of tanks over them. Then I hit roadworks and realised that some genius had done that to the road deliberately, so it could be resurfaced. Whoever came up with that idea doesn't ride a bike. Turning off the main highway though it was all forgotten as I entered Zion National Park.

Zion is the "middle" of the grand staircase, ancient sandstone layering that begins in Grand Canyon and ends at Bryce. The sandstone of Zion, bright red and creamy white, has been eroded into peaks and canyons that are truly mind boggling. Peaks with chequerboard effects, peaks that look like some giant plasterer has applied a loose coat, waves of layered sandstone that you would swear couldn't have occurred naturally. I was opened mouthed and shaking my head in disbelief. After checking into a motel just outside the park, I immediately rode back the way I came to take some pictures as the sun sank.

I made arrangements to stay a second night so that I could do some hiking in the park the next day. Dinner was "Navajo taco", a hunk of fried bread covered in chilli, cheese, onion and pepper which was delicious.

I've wanted to see a slot canyon most of my adult life, so it was pretty easy to choose a hike the next day. The Zion Narrows is a slot cut into the sandstone by the Virgin River, and it's possible to hike the entire canyon if you have a couple of days, and the relevant equipment. I decided to hike in for a few hours and then turn round, so I visited a store in the small town of Springdale and managed to rent some canyoneering boots and a walking pole.

Access to the park is by propane powered shuttle bus, and the bus ran me to the trailhead. The trail was like something out of a dream - cactus, large yellow and black butterflies, bright red dragonflies, leopard lizards. After an easy mile the path stopped and I had to walk up the river. Most of the going was easy to start with, and dozens of other tourists were sloshing their way upstream. The canyon narrows as it goes up, the tougher sandstone meaning that the river has cut down, rather than across. I fought my way across a few sections of top-of-the-thighs deep water and after that it seemed to be serious walkers only.



I was determined to reach a place called "Wall Street", a 20 feet wide by 1500 feet deep vertical cleft about 3 hours upstream, but I was also on a time limit as I had to return the rented gear. By the time I reached a fork I knew I was doing ok, about two hours in and not far from my goal according to my map. By this point I was on my own which is usually a bad sign, but then Wall Street began and it was worth the hike. The slot was so dim at the bottom that bats flitted over the water catching insects. At the top, the red rock glowed in the late afternoon sun. Magic.

A short time later I turned round and headed back, which I'd assumed would be faster (downstream, not stopping to take so many photos) but it actually took longer because I took just as many photos and I bumped into a deer and her fawns, almost literally. They were on the path and I had to get into the river and go around them so they weren't disturbed. I guess they must have got in the same way I did, or by parachute.

Fatigue was setting in and the jarring my legs were taking wasn't helping, stumbling over slick wet rocks. Added to that my feet started to hurt again where I bruised them coming off the bike. So I was pretty relieved to start seeing more and more people, a sign I was coming back to the beginning.

I managed to get the rental gear back 15 minutes before the shop closed, then had some dinner and decided that my poor aches and pains warranted a dip in the hotel hot tub. The tub is outdoors, so I sat in it under the perfect night sky, listening to the music of the Cicadas and thinking about my day.

It's tough, this adventure motorcycling business.

Tomorrow I head up to Arches, but I can't help thinking about a quote by a guy from the US Geological Survey:

"If you are old, go to Zion by all means, but if you are young, stay away until you grow older... It is not well to dull one's capacity for enjoyment by seeing the finest first."

Frase.

Desert storm

When I arrived in Salt Lake City, Utah, after a trip from Idaho that was uneventful but dominated by the lovely Logan Canyon, the sky was a beautiful blue and as it was quite early in the afternoon, I was looking forward to wandering around the downtown area and getting some pictures.

The weather had other ideas. By the time I emerged from the shower in t-shirt and shorts, the sky had gone the sort of colour usually reserved for End-Of-The-World Hollywood blockbusters. I got as far as hotel reception before it started to rain. I was back to my room when the hail started, and then some of the highest winds that I've experienced so far. Then the power went off.

Bored, I decided I would go to the pool which I'd seen marked on the hotel map. It was an outdoor pool (people were still swimming in the hail. Nutters). So I sat and read for a bit, until it got too dim. When the power came on it was time for dinner, so I headed out and by the time I got back the power was out in the other half of the hotel (and the restaurant where I'd eaten!). As I was passing a lady asked me about the power problems, then others in the hotel block joined in - they were all in the same travelling church group - and I volunteered to go to reception as it was raining. After reporting the problems I returned with torches for them, only to find out they'd assumed I was a hotel employee. It must have been the clean shave...

I turned on my TV and they were interrupting the broadcast regularly to warn of flash floods. Apparently the rain was falling at one inch per hour. The guttering had all overflowed and there was a noise like a waterfall outside.

Added to the weather it was Sunday and the following day was Labor Day, meaning the Suzuki Dealership I was in town for would be closed. I needed a backup plan, and looking at the map I thought I had found one. One road led off into the Great Salt Lake Desert. I figured that I could go and see the salt flats, and get away from the rain at the same time, then come back the following day for the parts I needed.

First thing in the morning came and went. I procrastinated until kicking out time at 11am and finally sloshed out to the bike, packed and headed out into the rain. The first few minutes were ok, until I got onto the road out west - an Interstate - and the speed picked up. I realised immediately that dressing for desert climate (bike jacket, thin t-shirt, summer gloves) was a mistake as I was pummeled by the rain. As the road headed out past the Great Salt Lake, visibility dropped to a few hundred metres. A wall of almost black appeared in front of me, and it was quite intimidating if I'm honest.

Heading into the storm, I could feel that my waterproofs were already overwhelmed and my arms and bottom half were starting to soak. Trucks don't slow down for inclement weather - why should they, they have windshield wipers and heaters - so every so often I'd get into a truck "spray zone" as one overtook. This is fun, I thought. I could have stayed at home, painted the bathroom black and paid someone to pressure wash me in the shower. It would have been cheaper.

Then, amazingly, I could see brilliant sunshine on a mountainside emerging from the gloom ahead of me. After a few more minutes, I shot out from under the storm and into the desert. There were a few fluffy white clouds, and lots of flat bits. I'd never seen weather or anything else quite like it.

Between two mountain ranges there is sixty or so miles of flat sand and salt, crossed by the Interstate, which is straight enough to make Romans cry into their wine. And there is wind. Despite the heat I was still cold because I was sitting in a puddle and being sand blasted.

In the shadow of the far mountains lies the Bonneville Salt Flats, the famous "Utah measured mile" where land speed records are set, and broken. I trundled off the Freeway on a side road, until the black stuff ran out onto the salt. My dreams of following in the path of Sir Malcolm Campbell were thwarted by a dude - why is there always a dude?? - standing directing traffic. Not that there was any.

"Are you here to observe the record attempt??"
"Nah I'm just a tourist"

He seemed put out. Apparently the following day there was an attempt at the motorcycle speed record, he must have assumed I'd gone all that way to see it. Anyway, the salt was off limits to "civilians" as he put it.

After a wrong turn and an 80 mile round trip on the Interstate, I stopped for the evening in a place called Wendover. Wendover is really a town of two halves, Wendover, Utah is a small desert town with a few hotels and businesses. West Wendover, a short stroll over the Nevada border, is a garish monstrosity of hotel casinos complete with fake plastic grass, and about as close to Las Vegas as I'll ever get. I found a hotel on the Utah side with a pleasant view over some clapped out cars on bricks. When the sun set, the desert sky out past the town was painted with a strange pink and orange haze, though there were no clouds. I thought what an incredibly long way from the Arctic tundra it was.

I started out fairly early next day as I knew I had a couple of hours across the desert to get back to Salt Lake City and try to get my tyres and parts before closing time.

Crossing the straight-as-a-dye Interstate had been an adventure on the way out, on the way back it was boring. Even the wind had packed up and gone home. I tried to entertain myself by watching a bridge emerge from the heat shimmer down the road, then timing how long it took to pass underneath it. Six minutes at sixty miles per hour, and the appliance of science (albeit Frase slapdash science) meant that visibility was limited to six miles by the heat haze. Gosh how that journey flew past.

What an incredible environment though. Mountains that appear to float on the desert due to the mirage, the smell of the sea, strange sunset colour effects. It's about as far removed from the Kent countryside as it's possible to be.

Heading back into Salt Lake City, I found the Suzuki dealer and the good news was they could sort my tyres for me. The bad news was that they didn't have the spare parts I needed either. The broken-but-ok-for-5000-miles-so-far gearshift would have to stay broken, at least a while longer. For the second time a very helpful dealership meant that I at least had part numbers that I could phone ahead for, so I went to grab a coffee and plan my route through Arizona while the tyres got changed.

Leaving the dealership I was almost immediately glad of the new tyres' grip as I watched a car approach my side road, indicator going and slowing for the turn, only to come straight on as I pulled out. She even had the cheek to sound her horn at me, after I'd managed to avoid her at the last second. My rather loud verbal response turned a few heads, I expect they haven't heard those words before.

That's all for now, hopefully will be able to update soon.

Frase.