Left Creel today and headed west. My whole reason for seeing Creel on this trip was to mark it off my list and concentrate my next trips down the east coast and back up the west coast. Instead Creel has turned out to be a place that I will return to explore and visit.
My plan was to make it to San Nicolas for the night. On the map it looked like it would be large enough find a place to crash for the night, then I would continue down 12 to Ciudad Obregon, then up the coast to Santa Clara, right outside of Guaymas to see my friend.
The road from San Jaunito to Cajurichic is a beautifully groomed road that meanders through the mountain. I was between 6,000 feet and 9,000 feet for most of the ride and the temps were 75 – 85 degrees. From there I stopped in Basaeachic for lunch. I was enjoying the ride so much I blew off a visit to the falls.
Burritos were served from a small food trailer and the cook was as cheerful and happy as anyone I met down here so far. Her young son was working with her in the kitchen and when a customer sat down in front of him, the boy pulled out a book and started writing and sharing his notes with the man and they talked back and forth.
As I rose to leave, the boy handed me his piece of paper where he had translated from the book. It read: You must ride like the carrera. I figured carrera must be something cool, so I gave him a big smile and laughed and said thank you. I found out later carrera meant race or run. He would have been very disappointed to know if I rode any slower, I would have to put an orange triangle on the back of my bike and live in a house with no electricity.
I rode the rough and undulating MX-16, dodging cars, pot holes and wrecks. Two bad ones. One was a big truck that went off a cliff and another head on that collected a third car. No serious injuries. There were parts and pieces of old mishaps along the way.
The temperature eased up over a 100 and stayed there until a couple hours after dark.
As I approached my destination of San Nicolas right after dark, I was stopped right out of town at a Army check point. It was the usual check my papers, then look thru my stuff, then ask me a bunch of questions about the motorcycle. An enterprising young man had set up a temporary store with snacks and beverages at the checkpoint. After a big debate amongst the 8 or 10 guys there on how much my bike must have cost, I indicated that I was going into the town for a room to spend the night. Bad news – no rooms. The Army has them all. Their recommendation is Hermosillo.
I took a left on to Highway 12 in hopes of following my original route, but the road was solid black asphalt with no lines and in the pitch black it was like riding into a black hole. So I turned around, rode back through the check point and headed toward Hermosillo.
I tip toed through what must have been a thousand curves, avoiding the debris and animals, except for one – that was one huge rabbit! On this road I saw a bobcat, some turkeys, tons of rabbits, donkeys, horses and dogs. And rocks – lots of rocks.
Well after dark I fell in behind a car that seemed to be having trouble holding the road at 30 mph, so I stayed back and it wasn’t long before we caught another weaving car doing about 25 mph. I followed them for a few miles when we reached Tecoripa and both of the cars pulled off into an outdoor bar that had a pretty good crowd. The town was maybe a half mile from end to end and there are two motels (yea!) next to a bare bones truck stop. Then the outdoor bar, a few businesses, a tiny town square and at the end of the road, my supper.
The grill was right outside a tiny store front that I am guessing had living quarters inside. I grabbed a drink from the store and ordered off the grill. All of the guys there were dressed in working clothes and had the weary looks of a day in the hellacious heat on their faces, except for one nicely dressed gentleman seated at the front. He invited me to sit with him and, even without understanding the language, I could tell he was the big man on the block. Everybody came by and shook his hand and shot the breeze with him. He was a big man with big smile and enjoyed bantering with the folks. He could have been the mayor for all I know.
I think Lou Reed probably had the same experience in a different place at a different time: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature..._B_2XWMs#t=188
I eased back to the motels, looking to lay low here. This is obviously a working man’s town, a truck stop on the hill, and even though everyone is nice enough, mixing a hard days work with the heat and the alcohol from the outdoor bar across the street can be trouble in any language.
I rode through both motels and neither of them has on office. After my 3rd
trip through the worst looking of the two an old man jogs over from the truck stop and waves me down to tell me the office is in the truck stop. Even at 10 o’clock at night there were new semi trucks pulling in and spraying down their radiators to bring the temps down in their trucks. It is hot.
I park and wander in a tiny, cluttered office and the obvious owner is there. A short, stocky gruff looking guy hand me a key and tells me 300 pesos (about $25 US). I know he could see the look on my face that I wanted to rent the room, not buy it, but I was too tired and clearly not in a bargaining position, so I took it. It wasn’t the Ritz, but I wasn’t getting run over either. Once I checked out the digs I was amazed and thankful that the AC worked. Even sleeping on top of the covers, I slept hard, right next to my trusty steed.