Wednesday, November 19, 2003
Of the dead and the dead tired...
When road tripping thousdands upon thousands of miles there comes a realization that sometimes you need to ‘punch it’ and really cover some ground or you run the risk of missing things on your original itinerary. Over the next couple of posts I am going to speed along nicely in an effort to catch the readers up with our latest stories.
PUNCH IT MIRTLE!
By the time I reached Creel, there were a lot of unattended to problems with my bike that I didn’t have the time, resources or motivation to fix while tearing across the states. My bags were all but taped onto the bike as I dropped her every chance I got. The windscreen was rattling and moving around so loosely that at speeds in excess of 90 you could feel it channeling the wind, steering you wherever it wanted despite my efforts. Tires…let’s not go into them. Most importantly, I was tired of being in the saddle.
So as everybody at the rally took to trail riding and all day excursions into the Mexi-scape, I lay under my bike cranking the oil plug and re-jerry rigging my previous jerry-rigs. Once everything was in order I paid a visit to the cemetery to see the festivities of Dia Del Muertos. All day square-jawed Indians in cowboy hats and their traditionally dressed wives in multicolored shawls strolled past carrying large, sequence and nylon ribboned funeral markers.
I walked the outskirts of the cemetery feeling a little bit awkward. On this day the people believe that the dead are temporarily granted passage back into the world of the living. So, it only makes sense to spend the day with the departed. What I saw from the fences called me closer. People were grilling meats on pits over the graves and speaking to the stones as if the dead were…well, alive again. Sipping beers, telling jokes and catching up on the latest news…Belly-laughing and nudging the graves like old friends reunited. It was not a solemn occasion; it was more a welcome home. I might consider dying in Mexico, not a bad break really…just not on this trip.
Back from the dirt trails the riders look tired, hungry and thirsty, real thirsty. We take some dinner and get to telling lies about life on two wheels. “No shit, I went right through the dear…cut em in half and kept riding. No problem.”
Still a bit road weary I called it a night at 4am. Andy had long since been asleep and he seemed eager to catch the dawn lights as we head into the Canyon on our first day of travel together. Eager is how I would describe his riding through the improbably curvy roads leading us into the canyon and back around each expansive valley. He had ridden the roads numerous times over the course of the weekend so he knew the trajectory of the turns very well. I however, totally weighed down, riding a much heavier machine and new to Mexican roads was scared. Scared and sooo excited. This is why you ride. The fear that flirts with excitement thrusts you forward even faster as you swing your shoulder in for a 70 degree turn 3000 feet above a valley floor. Wheels spinning on the crushed glass of some unlucky souls’ windshield, guardrails wouldn’t stop anything from flying over the sides of these cliffs so I don’t lament there absence.
My metal bags are throwing up sparks as I lean the bike into another hairy turn. Bag dragging is a clear indicator that either you need new shocks or are riding some of the best roads in the world, or in my case, both.
Once Andy got onto unfamiliar road, the pace loosened up quite a bit, perhaps too much for my taste, but what do I know about Mexican roads…time will tell I am a quick learner.
Our first day or travel was a good one. We covered some 400 miles of wet noodle tarmac. Beat, we find a cheap hotel and bed in for the night. Just as I close my computer and start to ready my pillows for a heavy head I hear it. ANDY SNORES…and bad.
I guess that wasn’t one of the criteria I covered when searching for a travel partner online, but I immediately knew this could be trouble.
You see, I am a good sleeper, but when sounds of erratic or intermittent tone and tempo invade my REM I go a little haywire. The mind starts to anticipate the slurping and cou-cough-cccck. About 5 minutes of this and I was awake as every. I wadded up some toilet paper and suck it in my ears…cou-slir…coggggrrgdg! So I threw my riding helmet as an added level of protection…
Peacefully I stare up at the ceiling of the hotel threw an abstract layer of bug guts on my visor. Snug as a bug I rest, with plans to speak to Andy about his secret in the morning.
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 9:51 AM
PUNCH IT MIRTLE!
By the time I reached Creel, there were a lot of unattended to problems with my bike that I didn’t have the time, resources or motivation to fix while tearing across the states. My bags were all but taped onto the bike as I dropped her every chance I got. The windscreen was rattling and moving around so loosely that at speeds in excess of 90 you could feel it channeling the wind, steering you wherever it wanted despite my efforts. Tires…let’s not go into them. Most importantly, I was tired of being in the saddle.
So as everybody at the rally took to trail riding and all day excursions into the Mexi-scape, I lay under my bike cranking the oil plug and re-jerry rigging my previous jerry-rigs. Once everything was in order I paid a visit to the cemetery to see the festivities of Dia Del Muertos. All day square-jawed Indians in cowboy hats and their traditionally dressed wives in multicolored shawls strolled past carrying large, sequence and nylon ribboned funeral markers.
I walked the outskirts of the cemetery feeling a little bit awkward. On this day the people believe that the dead are temporarily granted passage back into the world of the living. So, it only makes sense to spend the day with the departed. What I saw from the fences called me closer. People were grilling meats on pits over the graves and speaking to the stones as if the dead were…well, alive again. Sipping beers, telling jokes and catching up on the latest news…Belly-laughing and nudging the graves like old friends reunited. It was not a solemn occasion; it was more a welcome home. I might consider dying in Mexico, not a bad break really…just not on this trip.
Back from the dirt trails the riders look tired, hungry and thirsty, real thirsty. We take some dinner and get to telling lies about life on two wheels. “No shit, I went right through the dear…cut em in half and kept riding. No problem.”
Still a bit road weary I called it a night at 4am. Andy had long since been asleep and he seemed eager to catch the dawn lights as we head into the Canyon on our first day of travel together. Eager is how I would describe his riding through the improbably curvy roads leading us into the canyon and back around each expansive valley. He had ridden the roads numerous times over the course of the weekend so he knew the trajectory of the turns very well. I however, totally weighed down, riding a much heavier machine and new to Mexican roads was scared. Scared and sooo excited. This is why you ride. The fear that flirts with excitement thrusts you forward even faster as you swing your shoulder in for a 70 degree turn 3000 feet above a valley floor. Wheels spinning on the crushed glass of some unlucky souls’ windshield, guardrails wouldn’t stop anything from flying over the sides of these cliffs so I don’t lament there absence.
My metal bags are throwing up sparks as I lean the bike into another hairy turn. Bag dragging is a clear indicator that either you need new shocks or are riding some of the best roads in the world, or in my case, both.
Once Andy got onto unfamiliar road, the pace loosened up quite a bit, perhaps too much for my taste, but what do I know about Mexican roads…time will tell I am a quick learner.
Our first day or travel was a good one. We covered some 400 miles of wet noodle tarmac. Beat, we find a cheap hotel and bed in for the night. Just as I close my computer and start to ready my pillows for a heavy head I hear it. ANDY SNORES…and bad.
I guess that wasn’t one of the criteria I covered when searching for a travel partner online, but I immediately knew this could be trouble.
You see, I am a good sleeper, but when sounds of erratic or intermittent tone and tempo invade my REM I go a little haywire. The mind starts to anticipate the slurping and cou-cough-cccck. About 5 minutes of this and I was awake as every. I wadded up some toilet paper and suck it in my ears…cou-slir…coggggrrgdg! So I threw my riding helmet as an added level of protection…
Peacefully I stare up at the ceiling of the hotel threw an abstract layer of bug guts on my visor. Snug as a bug I rest, with plans to speak to Andy about his secret in the morning.
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 9:51 AM
