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Old 05-14-2014, 01:18 PM   #151
Blader54
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Took me a while to track this thread down again but glad I did! We must be about due for another update, eh?
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Old 06-06-2014, 02:48 PM   #152
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Use the subscribe button blader ;)

Due and overdue! I keep meaning to post more but I'm making money for the next part of the journey, trust me it's been an epic ride and I am excited to share.
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Old 06-06-2014, 04:45 PM   #153
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Wow Epic Way to live...subscribed
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Old 06-07-2014, 07:19 AM   #154
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El Ex, nice to hear from you. Totally get the need to generate $$ to continue. Your report, though, is fantastic, and I hope that you are able to continue it. I look forward to seeing what heights you reached!!
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Old 06-09-2014, 02:19 PM   #155
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Stop motion living

I’m staying at Entre Amigos, a beautiful name for a lonely place on the edge of town. Peanuts, squash, lemons and grapefruits all grow abundantly in the orchard where my hammock is strung up. My only company here is Tomas the groundskeeper with his sheepish smile and old work jeans labelled Dolce & Gabbana. It’s peaceful, and I’m told to help myself to anything that grows there.

At the Mezquital taco shack I meet the lovely Karen, Vanessa, and Maria when they steal my seat as I set up for a photo.

Sweet sweet tacos

They take me for a tour, a bit self conscious, but they’re sweet girls and leave me completely at ease in this tiny town. Urique is impressive more than anything for its location. But it’s a damn impressive location. Even moreso considering that upon its construction no roads existed – materials for everything had to be carried and donkey’d from the nearest town 200 km away, then hauled down the treacherous slopes. Any building of significant size here is a monument to human tenacity.

Colonialism isn't over

All the inhabitants seem to be sitting on steps or plastic chairs, taking the air and commenting to any passersby (or hooting at the girls for catching the gringo).



They teach me a bit about local wordplay and we meander until dark. Despite my Spanish fluency I'm stumbling on double entendres and local slang. Goodnight to the ladies and off to my hammock, cosily hung amidst the grapefruit trees and cacti in the massive garden that is the Entre Amigos hostel. When Tomas asked me how long I'd be staying I told him I didn't know. I sink back with a smile into my nest, and think, a while.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I am surprised to learn there is a tourism office in this nugget of a town, so I stop by. In charge is the stunning Cecilia who takes me out for coffee in a house/restaurant wild with local greenery. She tells me about Urique and the natives, we exchange souls over conversation and a haze settles over me. Her story is about following your own path with confidence and determination no matter how unusual, leaving Oregon and love for Mexico and to have a child on her own. Inspiring.

Spot the Tecate

I take Lost for a spin on the route she suggests to nearby Naranjo – definitely not a ride I should have undertaken on flip-flops. The dance ends in a nap for Lost when a truck comes around the corner and eliminates the road as an option. Fortunately some thoughtful civil engineer thought to squeeze a telephone pole into the narrow ditch, so that helps slow me down considerably.

I head back to the hostel to straighten the guards and bars, thankful for my intact toes. Strolling through town the I am greeted by the friendly and talkative DudeBro, whose memorable quote is “Dude – if you don’t get laid in every town you go to, I don’t know what you’re doing in Mexico”.
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Old 06-12-2014, 10:44 PM   #156
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Great update! You, sir, like Wesley and a few others, have a knack for meeting and getting to know new people wherever you go and that adds a whole dimension to your report. Good to hear you weren't hurt in that off. I had visions of Rocky and Paula's mishap for a second (they were unhurt but the bike was wrecked). Thanks for the update! That quote at the end was f'ing hilarious! pun intended.
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Old 06-13-2014, 12:49 PM   #157
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You ain't seen nothin yet

Ha, that little off? I got a permanent grease stain from the pole on the mudguard, and some more character marks on my baby. What's coming next, however...
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Old 06-23-2014, 08:40 AM   #158
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Old 06-23-2014, 09:30 AM   #159
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Arachnids and other nemeses

Urique mornings.
“You’re an inspiringly tenacious little bastard, Mr. Fuzzynuts,” I grumble halfheartedly as my well endowed feline foe zips past me when I open the kitchen door, leaving behind him a mess of crumbs where I’d left my bread, again. Breakfast comes fresh from the trees. The membrane between sections is what makes grapefruit bitter, so I slow it down some and free the succulent flesh to mix with avocado and cilantro. Delicious, the taste of a day deliberately prepared.

I am supposed to get Tomas to build a fire to heat the water tank, but even before the sunlight sears the canyon floor the impending heat is enough for cold water to suffice. Getting dressed after showering is an adventure, shaking a scorpion out of my shirt and scaring a tarantula from under my pants. I spot two more small scorpions in the crevices between the mortared stones that make up the shower walls and decide to shake out my boxers again – just in case.

Ready to ride the canyon again. Sheer cliffs sheer joy, near drops, and a man chasing his runaway cow punctuate the ascent. Cecilia recommended a hike here called Curvas de Maria. Eventually the path leads to the edge of the cliffs and winds down a dramatic ridge. I can’t help but compare with the Grand Canyon, the panorama so vast perspective slips past easy grasp; I just breathe and take it in.

Tequila Halo





Verdant canyons fold away into the horizon; it could swallow its American counterpart but I can barely understand that from my smallness. Scattered everywhere, the crystalline rocks they call geodas weigh down my magpie pockets. I’m not sure if this is where I was supposed to end up but I’m glad to be here.



Tequila comes from... asparagus?

The trail meets the dirt road again well down the cliffside – and presents me with a challenge.



Yesterday Cecilia told me about the Raramuri people and their renowned ability to run up the canyons. Their traditional races became an international event with the help of a gringo they called Caballo Blanco, an 80 Km ultramarathon rising over 500 meters. Ultramarathoners from around the globe come to compete, but save for a few outliers, almost nobody beats the Raramuri at this race – and they’re running in sandals made from old tires and leather thongs. She got a smile recounting when Nike tried to sponsor them but they didn’t like their shoes and ended up tossing them to finish barefoot. Inspired and determined I put my pride as a runner on the line as I start an easy jog, wondering just how far down I’ve climbed. An embarrassingly short distance later I accept I am hopelessly outclassed by this challenge and choke down canyon dust as a couple of trucks pass me by on the way up, oblivious to the sweaty gringo with his thumb out.

I race down – the trek took longer than I’d hoped and I have plans for drinks with Cecilia. Adrenaline floods my system as I go for a record time, familiar enough with the curves now to not panic when I feel the rear sliding. I make it down ten minutes faster, time to spare! Of course my clock is an hour behind so I’m late anyway. She is unimpressed. What kind of Latina is she!?

Retiring for the evening, I’m kept good company by Thoreau – Walden is just the book for me at this new pace. Some thoughts to share:

“We slave the better part of our lives to rest the remainder that we’re ready to slave again. Pass on lessons rather than the useless frivolities of the “upper class”. Work to travel, and you will still see less and be behind the vagabond who just goes.”

There is a middle ground, here. Yes, there is an element of adventure to having to immediately confront lack of food or shelter. But at the same time, if all our energies are spent acquiring these necessities how will we find the time to stop and savour the experience of the places we go? His penchant for minimalism aside, I think what he refers to is the necessary interaction with communities that comes from entering them as a vagabond – immediately you integrate yourself because you need to learn about the people, safe shelter, easy fuel for warmth and belly. Enter with all these arrangements taken care of, and once you have eaten your fill you will have no necessity to talk to strangers, no unavoidable questions to ask locals, and having a bed at your disposal may simply let inertia take you to sleep when in reality you had energy for far more interactions and adventures than you will ever know if you never need to use it. Easily available comfort means fewer opportunities for the blissful rest of the truly exhausted, the overwhelming satisfaction of eating after going hungry rather than just because it’s that time again Pavlov.

On pop culture he nails it – entertainment (reading, in his time), has been reduced from a sharing of the mind to a kind of masturbation without the mess. It’s more profitable to satisfy than to teach. No novel or clever thought necessary so long as you hit all the right notes. This is why Hollywood always churns out the same crap - hero, love story, bad guys, easy on the eyes. Avatar is an excellent example of this. A huge hit - millions of people empathized with the poor “fictional” aliens being exploited by resource hungry advanced races, fantasized about a world they could save, and stroked their moral vanity in the mirror. Meanwhile, Barrick Gold buys legal immunity for causing rapes and murders in Papua New Guinea and TVI Pacific displaces indigenous people with private military forces. And the crowd demands catharsis, not change.

I read and reflect on contradictions and human nature as the sun sets beyond the canyon walls, not looking for answers, just trying to understand.

Moments of stilness

El Explorador screwed with this post 07-30-2014 at 03:06 PM
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Old 06-23-2014, 12:03 PM   #160
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Food for the soul in this one! Most excellent. Thanks for the update.
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Old 08-12-2014, 03:40 AM   #161
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Small towns are the beating heart of humanity, exposed

I am quickly adopted by Cecilia’s sister Adriana and her friends, Oso, Junior, and their wives Adilene and Adilene. They tell me about the local tradition of “stealing” girls – when a man wants to declare his intentions he takes the girl away, either to another village or to somewhere hidden up in the barranco, until enough time has passed that he can return and declare her his. Since parents are often opposed, if the duration is too short or they find out where the couple are hiding out, they can go and the culturally obedient daughter typically returns to the family. We get a good laugh out of Junior’s account of stealing Adilene to go hide out in the cliffs, her inexplicably trekking along in heels.

My new friends and I explore the canyons and enjoy excellent socializing across the road from Luz, the agreeable storeowner who at any hour will respond to the cry “Luz! Una seiz!” with a six pack. The local girls teach me how they dance and play pingpong in my boxers, and the local guys teach me to respect the alcohol content of Tecate and how to make a delicious michelada– sort of a Mexican bloody mary. Everyone wants to know who I’m going to “steal”, and times slows down for a siesta as the days are packed with hiking and grilling and drinks. Every morning I ride to the canyon summit, whooping back down again, a good mood guaranteed til I close my eyes dreaming of the next morning's ride.



While investigating options for continuing through the canyon, I meet Alonso who introduces me to two of the canyon’s most powerful substances. First, he offers to introduce me to lechugilla, local agave moonshine. I expect a shot, he hands me a whole glassful, and to demonstrate its potency spills some on the ground and lights it. Despite the kick, it’s actually incredibly smooth and has a light flavour and clean finish. When he offers me a pint-sized chilli pepper, I eat the tiny berry in one bite. My first mistake. The second was grabbing the nearest glass at hand and reflexively chugging it.

When everyone stops laughing, my face still feels flushed red and I am bright eyed; fortunately I don’t have far to take the motorcycle to the other end of town.

Tomas’ nephew Tony takes me out to the next town over to try and get a ride lined up to take me over the rain-swollen river. No luck, he gets in a hummer with some Cicarioswho are passing by and heads up the cliffs to ask around for me while I sit and chill with his younger cousin. The lanky Rogelio sidles up to us with a manic laugh that bursts out and cuts off abruptly at random intervals, making awkward conversation. I offer him one of the dobladas I’d bought from a passing lady but he hefts a bag of corn flour and says that’s his food, poor people food. He goes quiet as another man strides up forcefully, surprisingly blue eyes set hard and fists clenched. Rogelio drops the flour and picks up a rock, while blue-eyes screams out at him “Why did you hit her!?” over and over as they circle, him relentlessly pursuing and the other dancing out of reach keeping his attacker at bay swinging the rock. Tomas’ nephew explains Rogelio got drunk and punched blue eyes’ wife. The scene becomes surreal when blue eyes heads off to go get his “steel”; Rogelio returns to his bag of flour, rips it open and pours it on the ground in an X, yelling to the skies, “Today there will be blood!”
He is almost flattened as a white pickup truck barrels down on him, family members finally emerge to diffuse the situation and by the time Tony gets back nothing remains of the madness but an X on the ground.



I also manage to lose my laptop among all this. Too comfortable, I suppose – in my evening walks I have come to meet most of the locals who sit out on The Street for lack of anything urgent, as if anything is urgent here. I hone the art of sitting around and passing the time with them, enjoying conversations and absorbing the atmosphere of silent conviviality. However, it was still stupid of me to go climbing the cliffs with the gang while my laptop lay unsecured in the unlocked kitchen, on the one day the caretaker was in a different town no less. At least the idiots didn’t recognize my USB drive – all photos are saved, though blog entries up to present date were not backed up. A generous donation for lessons on overconfidence, I hope not to need them again. The police chief is less than helpful, and considering that the gun toting cicarios roll through in hummers and trucks undisturbed, I have a feeling his interpretation of lawful might be a bit more exclusive than mine; his request for the password and unprompted description of the laptop sink any hopes of recuperating it.

The tranquility at my hostel ends with the arrival of new guests, but they’re mostly cute international girls studying at Guadalajara university and one über chill German guy who offers Schmlz & Schn as Germany's answer to Four Tet. Keep trying, Germany. Convival backpacker life is shared and I take the opportunity to guide them around “my” Urique. We enjoy the spicy shrimp agua chile at Mama Tita’s and in the morning they make crêpes, to my delight. We trek to Guapalayna where a local lady empties her larder to feed us and the local drunks offer us a ride, leering at the girls. I end up negotiating driving us to Urique in their truck; the road tilting crazily, everyone in the truck silently praying we don’t teeter over into the river. We make it and the poor guys circle town, hoping for another chance. We grab some beers and retreat to the hostel where a good night is had and I am given good reason to believe I’d not regret going to Guadalajara.







I’m warned by Alonso that the local Cicarios gang is asking about me, insinuating I might be affiliated with their rivals la Linea. A story another friend I’ve made here told me comes to mind. Like many locals, he worked picking marijuana. One day the rival gang appeared and started shooting the workers. He and his friend were caught and tied to a tree, but managed wriggle free and make a break for it. He made it out and didn’t look back, but never heard from his friend again. The gangs are serious business here, and I’ve figured out how to continue the road along the canyon; it might finally be time to leave. One last time I sit with my new friends and enjoy tecate until too-late, but despite their entreaties and promises of parties and grills, the time has arrived once again.

Blearily the next day I load the bike into the back of a pickup truck to cross the river. I tell Alonso to just leave me on the other side but he insists on taking me up a few hundred meters, the truck slipping and sliding on the loose rockslide they consider a road here.

Unloading the bike I survey the path. I thought I had ridden some gnarly roads before, but the rainy season has removed all the dirt from between the rocks and created a formidable obstacle course.

I turn the ignition and smile.

Today is going to be a most tubular day.
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Old 08-12-2014, 10:16 AM   #162
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video woes

Anybody on here good with premiere? Trying to get the video of the ride done but warp stabilizer is giving me some weird artifacts.
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Old 08-13-2014, 08:17 AM   #163
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Another amazing story and photos, El X! Keeping my fingers crossed you make it out of gang territory safely! Seriously. Another American riding through gangland was killed a few months ago. The killers may have mistaken his blogging activity as undercover DEA action. That may be why your laptop was taken and why the cops wanted the password....so whoever has it could go through it and see if you're a threat to the gangs. I hope that by the time you read this you are well clear of gangland.
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Old 08-13-2014, 08:28 AM   #164
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My thoughts exactly Blader... I will consider this to be my "horse head in the blankets".
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Old 08-13-2014, 10:15 AM   #165
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Thank you for continuing with your excellent writing and photography.
I'm looking forward to being able to buy your book one day.
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