So I delayed my ferry ride to Topolobampo because the people at the Taco stand, Super Tacos de Baja California de Sur, convinced me to stay one more night so I could attend their party. Here´s a photo of the nice people at the taco stand, they are like a family there.

The party turned out to be 4 guys sitting around drinking beer in their apartment without furniture. But it was nice to get to know the locals nonetheless.
The ferry left the next day at 9pm, so I had the whole day. I decided to make a day trip to the famous Cabo San Lucas. It was a three hour ride from La Paz, beautiful, open, cactus strewn desert. Cabo is full of gringos, but wow! what a beach. The big rock island in the distance is called "Playa de Amor," you have to take a boat there and I guess it´s a very romantic, secluded place. But I can´t testify to that, because I didn´t take the boat. But here are some photos for you to look at.

The ferry ride from La Paz to Topolobampo was not your average boat ride. It was a nonstop party, the whole 5 hours. Unfortunately, I didn´t think to take my camera because it was at night and I assumed there would be no opportunities for good photos. WRONG! First of all the boat was huge and modern. Giant semi-tractor trailers back into the boat, the boat probably held about 20 large trucks, 50 cars and my motorcyle. I got to park the bike right next to the exit.

I took my Lonely Planet, journal, banana and water up 3 flights of stairs to find a very chic restaurant (dinner was included), bar, store and a quiet salon for movie watching. This was no boring ferry ride. They had entertainment; a guy who sets up a loud speaker system and walks around the bar area with a microphone singing along to mexico´s current hits. That great song I kept hearing on the radio (Marco Antonio Solis´ "Antes Que Me Vayas") is the one he started out with. There was a real festive mood, guys drinking beers, kids running around and playing the arcades. On the observation decks men watch the goings-on down below as the semis get backed into place, perfectly next to each other so as not to waste an inch of space. It´s like watching the baggage handlers, air controllers and airport employees from a bay window at an airport. There was a lot of commotion, tying down trucks with heavy chains, passenger-car alarms being set off from the rumblings of the giant trucks and the shreek whistling and fervert hand waving of the orange jumpsuit-clad men who assist the truckers as they back into place. Some on the boat are obviously regulars; I saw a young couple with blankets and pillows who had claimed a nice, private spot beneath the grand staircase for sleeping. Mexicans are a fun people, everyone had a smile on their face, enjoying the music without making a big deal over the singer (no one was even watching him, as if it were totally normal to have a guy singing his heart out on a ferry). There was another microphone being passed around for the passengers to make requests and the two bartenders occasionaly did a synchronized dance that they had obvously been practicing. After about an hour of the professional singing, the real fun started- Kar-e-oke! This is when I regretted leaving my camera below the hull. There was a large book of songs to choose from, spanish, english and even portugues ones. By this point, I had made my way to the bar and was befriending the truckers and young men that made the bar their permanent seats for the duration of the trip. Three Tecates later (with generous amounts of "limon" and "sal" - a nice addition to beer I must admit) and the whole bar wanted me to sing. I purused the book and decided Michael Jackson´s "Thriller" was a fun one to do. By the end of the song I had really gotten into it, reaching all the high pitched notes just like Michael, and even finished with a little moon-walk. The audience went crazy, they wanted more. "Hotel California" seemed to be the crowd´s choice for my next little diddy (I think because the english in this song is easily understood by most Mexicans).

"On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
This could be Heaven or this could be Hell
Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year
You can find it here "

The passengers would sing along to the chorus with me and by the end of the song, they wanted one more. So I sang it again. I was the star of the show, I really wish I had brought my camera. They requested I sing something in spanish, so I did the only song that I sort of knew the lyrics too, Elvis Crespo´s "Suavement".

"Suavemente, besame
que quiero sentir tus labios
besandome otra vez.
(Suave)Besame , besame
(Suave)Besame otra vez
(Suave)Que quiero sentir tus labios
(Suave)Besandome otra vez
(Suave)Besame, besame
(Suave)Besame un poquito
(Suave)Besa , besa , besa,
(Suave)Besame otro ratito
(Pequeña , hechate pa'ca)
Cuando tu me besas
me siento en el aire
por eso cuando te veo
comienzo a besarte.
Y si te despegas yo me despierto
de ese rico sueño que me dan tus besos."

At this point, I didn´t want the ride to end. I started to wish I had taken the 19 hour ferry ride to Mazatlan instead of the 5 hour ride to Topolobampo. In all it cost $120 for me and my moto to cross the calm waters of the Sea of Cortez, but it was well worth it!

I was tired (I had managed to escape the debauchery of the bar and found a bench on which to take a cat nap). When I got off the ferry in Topo it was 3am, cold! and very foggy. Leaving the city to find somewhere to stay (there were no hotels in Topo), it immediatley got very foggy and provided for dangerous riding. Trucks were flying by me and I tried to keep up so I could follow their taillights, but I couldn´t maintain their speed. Finally, one of the truckers must have noticed I was struggling to survive on the road, and he thankfully slowed down enough for me to follow. As we passed some lights on the left side of the road, he switched on his left indicator but didn´t turn (usually in mexico this means it´s ok to pass, but in these conditions I knew he wasn´t suggesting I pass him, so I took the signal as a sign to stop and seek out the lights on the side of the road). What a friendly soul, an angel sent to guide me, because it turned out to be a motel, El Topo Viejo. I turned into the lot and a garage door opened and beckoned me to enter. Turns out this was a "motel de amor", where each room has a private garage and there´s hardcore porn on the TV! It smelled of disinfectant, the sheets were probably stained (I purposely didn´t make a close inspection and slept with my clothes on), but it was cheap and I was thankful to be out of the dark, cold fog.
On my way out the next morning a young man, who had stayed in the room next to mine with his beautiful girlfriend, showed me his flat tire and asked for help getting a pump from the store. I just wanted to hit the road, but something inside me told me to help this kid. Karma, maybe (more like probably) down the road I´m going to need the same type of help, so I agreed. He got on the back of my moto and we scooted into town. I took him to a Wal-Mart-type place and he bought a fix-a-flat cannister. We retuned to El Topo Viejo only to find a mobile "llanta" repair truck outside his garage putting on the finishing touches to his repaired tire. All for nothing maybe, but still I got a photo, an email address
and added him to my growing list of amigos.

The ride from Topo to Mazatlan was long, hot, dirty and sort of depressing. I had just left the warmth and comfort of the destination that is Baja and now I was experiencing a truer Mexico. Lots of poverty, trash was everywhere along the road, heavy air pollution from the dirty factories that sprawl into and out of Cuilacán. Cuilacán is an urban, workers town. It was just seemed to be scorching everywhere, no refuge from the heat, no rivers, no lakes, few trees and lots of heavy, dirty traffic. I noticed a change in people´s recpetion of me. Baja was so friendly compared to the disinterested looks from people here. Very few smiles. The people here seem down and out, not much opportunity. There are lots of big farms around Cuilacán. Monsanto, USagri and AgriPro factories and billboards
permeate the area. The billboards sell the farmers on their super seeds; seeds that stop sefl sufficient farming and make them dependent on buying new seeds eevry season.

Los Mochis and Guasava are dusty, drive through towns, lots of school children in brightly colored uniforms that contrast sharply with their dusty environment. The love motels are outside of every town. They seem so shiney and clean from the road.

Mazatlan is huge. When I arrived I rode around trying to find a locals eating spot to stop, eat and research the Lonely Planet for my next move. I went to the Zona Hoteleria and couldn´t seem to find any locals. Just sunburnt gringos, huge, ugly resorts and cheap, tacky gift stores. Finally I came across Mazatlan Viejo with its cobblestone streets and tree lined squares. There was a very European feel here, older people gathered for coffee and dominoes. There are lots of art galleries, cafes, chic restaurants; it has a definite cosmopolitan feel to it.

There are many choices for food in Mazatlan. Everything from hot dog stands (Mexico makes a great hot dog; they´re usually wrapped in bacon and come with tomatoes, onions, salsa, ketchup, mayo)

to gourmet vegetarian. Here´s a photo of my dinner one night (cactus with guacamole sauce and tortilla soup).

I walked into an art gallery one night because the colorful paintings caught my eye. Turns out the artist himself was there, it was his studio as well. Blas Nayer is somewhat famous in these parts. He spent a good hour talking with me, explaining his craft and telling me about his life (he once did a trip just like mine). I bought some really unique gifts for my family. And who knows, maybe in 50 years he´ll be a Diego Rivera-type and we´ll have originals!

I stayed two nights in the Hotel Central. Not one of the architectural gems of Old Mazatlan, but affordable and comfortable (they were pumping the AC!). Here´s a photo of my moto in front of it, on calle Dominguez.

I accomplished some necessary tasks in the big city too. I found a mechanic´s shop who sold the correct weight oil for my moto and then used his sidewalk and some of his tools to do my 54,000 mile service (glorified oil/filter change that the dealer charges $250 for). I changed it like a pro, didn´t get a drop of oil on the ground. The shop also had a spot for washing autos, so I decided it was time to remove the 4,000 dead bugs from the moto. Here she is getting the detailed service, including high pressure air dry for $2.

On my way out of Mazatlan I stopped by a Fed-Ex to mail the gifts home because I had no room to carry them. Turns out it was a bad idea to buy presents because it practically cost more to send them than buy them. Oh well.
On my way out of town, the clean bike felt great with its oil changed and a full tank of Premium gas. I have noticed that it runs way smoother on 92 octane than 87. It´ll run on 87, and at some points along the trip, that´ll have to do because I´ve been to some stations where that´s all they have. Pemex is Mexico´s nationalized gas station; it´s the only place to buy gas along the road (except in rural areas, sometimes there´s black market gas in people´s houses or pick-ups along the road). The prices are not marked on big signs visable from the street, like in the US. The price has been the same everywhere I go. 8.250 pesos/litre for Premium (92) and 6.710 pesos/litre for Magna (87). About $3 a gallon for 92, so about the same as the states, maybe a tad higher. Another quirky difference in Mexico´s gas station is that they´re usually "maned" by pretty, young girls, not slobby, sweaty men as in the states. And it´s never self service. Which has been a problem; I now assist them in putting the hose deep into the moto´s tank because twice now gas has shot out and all over my beautiful tank, permantly marking the black paint with scratches. Here´s a photo from yesterday I was approaching Peurto Escondido. The sun was about to set and I still had an hour to go. I asked the girl if I could make it before dark. She looked at her watch, looked at my bike and said "si, se puede." She was right-on, I pulled into the not-so-escondido town just as it was getting dark.

Next stop, after Mazatlan was Puerto Vallarta. I stopped for lunch in the old town of Tepíc. Not much to see here, basically a busy, industrial town. However, there was one thing that kept catching my eye. Until now, I really hadn´t seen any clouds my whole time in Mexico. Outside of Tepíc I kept seeing a thick white cloud above this one mountain top. It wasn´t until later, when I was reading my guide that I realized I had been seeing an active volcano.

I was disappointed in Vallarta, as the locals call it. I didn´t bother to take any photos until I began riding out of town past all the big mansions. P. Vallarta is like being in Fort Lauderdale during spring break. It´s obnoxious; loud American music shouts from every bar and restaurant, you can´t walk two feet down the malecón without some aggressive sales guy saying "hey my friend!" and then trying to sell you on his restaurant or party boat ride, Burger King, McDonalds, KFC, Subway. The town even came complete with jerk, drunk Americans getting in fights (ah home sweet home), I hope tough-guy Chach bag has a fun time in Mexican prison! I stayed one night at the cheapest place I could find (and it was still the most I´ve paid in Mexico) and got the hell out-of dodge the next morning. Here´s a shot from the very twisty highway 200 as it headed out of town. Very fun until you get stuck behind a truck for 10 KM.

On my way out that morning at 7am, I didn´t even bother to have breakfast, the owner of Hotel Hortencia, a nice man with a bulbous nose gave me some suggestions as to where to stop along the way. I´m glad he did because these were some of the coolest places I´ve been to yet: Playa Perulá and Barra de Navidad.

Playa Perulá is a quite beach, which unless someone told you to go to, you´d fly right past the exit on the highway. There´s a little town street about 2 km off the highway, really primitive houses, no running water, dirt roads. But there´s about 5 or 6 palapa restaurants on the beach that cater to Canadians, of all people. I´ve been seeing Canadian flags and license plates on RVs everywhere in these parts. And locals seem surprised when they find out I´m not a Canuck.
Here´s a photo from the empty Mariscos La Serenita with an unbelievable view of the tiny bay with gentle, Pacific waves. Placido and Soccoro were very friendly; Placido worked the tables and Soccoro cooked the delicous fish. I chose 4 tostadas de ceviche and a Pacifico - for breakfast! I sat there about 2 hours and chatted with them, listening to cumbia and romantica on their CD player. I wrote down the names of the groups as we played the CD: Alegre de la Sierra, Jose Manuel Zamacona, La Victoria, Graciela Beltran, Innovacion and of course my favorite now Marco Antonio Solis.

The highway out of town was a beautiful ride; lots of twisties, some through cool, lush tropical jungle and others in the warmth of the sun. I was in the jungle now. The countryside was getting much more pleasant, still poor but it was a "feliz" poor. It was on this ride that I came across my first home-made toll booth. It was a hilarious sight and of course my camera´s batteries were dead (an ongoing problem for me now). The operation goes something like this; as you pull into one of these tiny towns (maybe 300 feet long), an older woman sitting under an umbrella, pulls on a rope tied to a pole on the other side of the street. It forces you to stop, unless you want to be decapitated. Then little kids come running out with buckets for you to put money in for their cause. In the first case it was for "servios de iglesia." This happened twice along my route out of Vallarta. More funny than annoying.

I passed another GS today, but he was headed in the opposite direction. We both acknowledged eachother with excited fist pumping. I think we both were thinking the same thing; this road is awesome and so are our bikes! The twisty jungle road reached the top of the mountain ridge and became a nice, wide straight away where I unknowingly reached 100mph. At one point I came racing up onto a truck, only to realize it was Policia Municipal. I flipped open the helmet, gave them a big smile and a thumbs-up. They smiled back, made some mock motorcycle leaning movements and encouraged me to pass. They even did a "wheelie" movement, apparently encouraging me to do a wheelie! I gave them some tough revs of the motor and smoothly passed them, aware that the driver of the truck might not have so amicable as the young officers in the back.