The day begins when I wake up in my nearly-finished under-construction cabin at Paul's Ranch north of Guasave, Mexico. I get out of bed and feel the hot morning sun. Around me are farm fields. The pool is chilly, the wind is warm, and the animals are calling. Animals??
I walk over to the other side of the parking lot to view what kind of animals are there. On the way there I notice that after I went to bed, Paul's Car and Charly's motorcycle are gone. I'm not even sure who's here on the Ranch. There is a house that's closed up on the property where I thought Paul would be, but the absence of his car has me uncertain.
There's a horse and a mini pony, a pen filled with sheep, a coop full of chickens, chicks, and ducks, a pigpen with 2 massive hogs, a baby piglet tied up to a pole, and 2 dogs that wander around the property.
I walked close to the chickens and ducks until their squawking and quacking got too much, they probably thought I was there to feed them.
The pigs made deep glottal rumbles as I got close. I know enough about pigs to keep my distance. Large animals freak me out. I give them plenty of room.
Same for the horses. I walk close to the pony to see if he'll react and he does by retracting away. Same with the piglet.
The sheep are pretty chill, though. But they're loud. So I leave them alone.
Of course, the dogs are friendly and fight for my attention.
Farm equipment hums along in the countryside around me. The sun gets stronger by the minute. I sent Paul a message telling him I'm awake. We were going to go on a motorcycle ride that day but his BMW GS's battery was dead.
Then the door opens to the house on the property and some folks I don't know come out. They're a family that have been hired to look after the Ranch. I talk with them a little, ask them if I could borrow a towel to shower. Afterward I shower, clean up, gather my things, and Paul is there with his car ready to bring me into town. His son Chapo is with us, and the family on the property also lets their son come with us to breakfast.
Paul brings me into Guasave where we park downtown and run an errand or two. He's in the process of gathering materials for the Ranch to complete the construction. We go to a small-time family-owned furniture store and a Home Depot. I honestly don't mind, it's super valuable to see Paul look at furniture and other materials in stores and discuss payment options and customization. It's also interesting to get a feel of how different things are, and what things cost. He might've been concerned on whether or not I was having a good time as he took me along on his errand runs for the Ranch but honestly, being in such a different world makes everything interesting. In my old life, I missed this feeling of boring things being interesting.
We then park downtown and Paul takes us through a market and down a corridor away from the street. We go deep into one of the city blocks into a hidden market. There are a ton of restaurant vendors there, including one that sells Pancakes. They are of amazing quality and the syrup is made up of smashed squash, just in time for the harvest season. It's honestly a wonderful spin on an old favorite. The patriarch of the restaurant has been running the show there for 40 years without changing a thing on the menu. He understands the old Anthony Bourdain rule regarding restaurants: "If it's not broke, don't 'fix' it."
Afterward we stop by one of his friends' houses where a man is be celebrating his 70th birthday. Paul was stopping by to wish him a happy birthday early because he wouldn't be able to make it to his party that night. There are introductions and more Spanish talk, also a gigantic pig tied up on the property that will feed the party that evening. I rarely get the chance to meet food right before it's slaughtered, so I took a minute to observe the brutish and intelligent creature knowing it wasn't going to live to see the sunset.
We're so disconnected from our meat when we only buy it at markets, aren't we?
From there we go to Paul's home. He has The Ranch and a house property here, and the house is where his BMW is. He had a friend stop by with a portable battery starter and it roars back to life. From there, logistically, we hadn't really spoken about what we were going to do to get back to the ranch. I know how to ride a motorcycle, yes, but I'm not as confident in driving a manual car. Manual cars are hard to find in the states these days. People my age don't buy them or know how to use them like Gen X or those that came before us. In fact, they're even more expensive as used vehicles sometimes because there's a demand for them and a low supply.
I understand the process behind driving a stick it but I would feel terrible if I had stalled his engine a bunch of times in the process of getting used to it. I'm kind of embarrassed Paul didn't think to ask me whether or not I knew how to use it. I feel pretty silly. Paul understands, so he says I can ride the BMW back to the Ranch, he'll take the car, and we'll suit up and head out from there. I should also mention I'm wearing shorts and sandals.
I hop on the bike and I work to get used to the clutch. It's much different than Lechuza's so I accidentally stall it. Big mistake. The motorcycle's battery has BARELY been charged from idling only a few minutes so it needs a jump again and the guy that brought the portable battery starter had already left. Paul understands it's a bike I'm not used to but I can't help but feel responsible and stupid. I don't know how to operate either of these machines efficiently so I'm really putting Paul in a bad spot. Paul says it's okay- his son Chapo, who is only 13, can drive the car to the Ranch and I can be a passenger. Paul will run over to another property where he'd left his helmet and we can rendezvous at the ranch.
Paul's son, who can barely reach the pedals without putting the seat all the way forward, drives me and the other boy home while Paul goes to get his helmet. It was a bit of a white knuckle drive, I give some words of encouragement as he struggles to get used to the clutch control.
After we all arrive safely at the Ranch, Paul, Chapo and I head out on the motorcycles. Paul says he has a vista we can see in the city of Sinaloa de Leyva. We ride to a neighboring town to the north and ride up to the hill overlooking the city. Then we head down to the malecón again, which on a Sunday is still brimming with life. Street vendors are busy, people troll up and down the sidewalks and streets, and a band is preparing to play. Paul requests a few songs and helps himself to a beer, then I listen to some traditional Mexican folk songs right there next to my motorcycle on the side of the street. When they pause, I hop in and even play on the snare a bit, dusting off the cobwebs from some percussion skills from my long-ago drumline years.
We stop again at a street vendor for some food but I have to cut things off after that. The sun was high in the sky and I needed to ride back down to Mazatlán. I still had the keys to Paul's apartment down there, 7-8 hour drive away, but it was getting dark. Again, riding in the dark in Latin America is a no-no for me. I avoid it when I can. I know the ride is going to take a while.
We ride to a nearby gas station to fill up before heading out. A guy walks up to me and puts his hand ON MY THROTTLE and gets WAY to chummy with me. I have my helmet on so I don't think he can tell that I'm not Latino. Normally the eyes, hair, or even arm hair (Blonde) can be a giveaway. They are all covered as the attendant is filling my tank. He asks me if the motorcycle is as big as a 300. A 300 would only be a quarter of the power of my bike, so I say sure. I ask him to please not touch my motorcycle and he stands back OFFENDED. As if we're old friends. People like this are not to be trusted, so give them plenty of room and tread lightly.
Before he could respond, the attendant takes the gas pump out of the tank before it's done filling and some excess gas pours out and onto the tank. He apologizes, I take my focus off the douchebag who is trying to get my attention, and I tell the attendant it's no big deal as he wipes down the tank with a rag. The bystander loses focus and goes over to talk to Paul and his son who are idling on the BMW nearby. As soon as I've paid for my gas I give Paul a nod and he just leaves the d-bag mid-sentence and we take off down the road.
We go our separate ways down the road as I point my tires southward.
Speaking of tires, my tires are old. I'm not kidding. I've had them since SAGA 2 STARTED. I had them changed in Whitehorse, crossed the Dalton Highway twice with them, then rode them all the way here. They desperately need a change soon and I'm pushing it with this side-quest up here in northern Sinaloa.
On the way south the sun sets. Darkness sets in half-way to Mazatlán. There are some brush fires on the side of the road, semis fly past me as I keep my speed to 90km/h (~55mph) , and I go through tollbooth after tollbooth.
I put a gas station on my GPS in a good spot closer to Mazatlán. Unfortunately it's on the other side of the toll-road highway and I have to take an overpass down-stream and head back to get to it.
It's only about 7pm but it is well past nighttime, and the Mexican military is guarding the rest stop. To me it's a little strange to have people with such large firepower standing around, but to the Mexican people it's just another day. Of course I've been around firearms often, but a gas station isn't a place I'd picture it all.
The countryside in all directions is pitch black. There are no streetlamps along the highways, much like the country roads around my home town in Minnesota. Then I realize, there's no way back to head south. My gas station is on the northbound highway, I'm heading south. When I punch in the directions, the GPS tells me I need to go 3-5km in the wrong direction before I can head south by pulling a shitty under an overpass.
When I get there, I find it's a popular spot to turnaround and it's not official / paved. I'm sure hundreds of semis and large vehicles have used this spot the same way I have. The tar from the street ends and comes up to a drop off of around 6" (~15cm). In the dark, with my motorcycle fully loaded, I was terrified. I decided to ramp up to it and prepare for the drop, PRAYING my tires wouldn't pop under the stress. I even looked ahead to make sure I wouldn't land on any sharp rocks pointing upward in the dirt.
I gave it a shot and ran over the 'cliff'. I landed okay, everything was fine, but then I had to climb up the other side. When I did it was good-- I finally made it onto the southbound highway so I could make my way to Mazatlán. I arrived at Paul's place around 10-11PM, right on the edge of how late I want to be riding around in a city. I used Paul's keys to lock up the bike and collapsed.
1 more day's ride to Vallarta, then I'd be at a home base for a while.
-JT
11/22/2022