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June 1, 2013

Postcards from Nowhere: Peoria to Panama - Day 13: Champotón to Pisté, Mexico

Above: A local gathers wood on a scooter along Mexico 180D near Merida, Mexico.

Update: I am alive and well and resting quietly in the Mexican State of Yucatan, on the Yucutan Peninsula in the town of Pisté, Mexico.

Saturday June 1, 2013

Motorcycle Odometer (at start of day): 3,108
Motorcycle Odometer (at end of day): 3,339
Miles driven today: 231 miles

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The truth is that I have nothing to go home to. I have nothing. The road is all I have. It's my only friend. The one thing I can count on when nothing else seems to be worth counting.

OK. Racing across the Mexican state of Campeche, on the Yucatan peninsula at 120 mph. Passed a state police going well north of 100 mph. No problem.

Every night, in my dreams, I'm racing down the Yucatan at 110 mph, and suddenly, I see a speed bump. Somehow I'd missed it It's unpainted. There was no sign. Or I missed the signs. And I hit the speed bump going 120 and I wake up with the sheets soaking wet.

Always in the heat of the day, it's like driving in a hair dryer. I need to break up the ride into two rides. A morning ride and an afternoon ride when It's cooler and I'm less tired.

The cell phone GPS i have taped in my dash turns upside down every so often. I don't know why. But the display goes upside down. So, if it says turn right, you turn left. All of this at 120 mph, of course.

It's very difficult driving at 120 mph because, everything happens very quickly. Road conditions change. Coming up behind cars is extremely difficult, because its hard to judge how fast they're going. If' they're going the speed limit, it's like they're parked. I like to open my visor when I come into a construction zone or a military checkpoint going 120. It's helps bring you back into reality.

At one of the military checkpoints, a guy with an AR-15 waves me over. He's with the state police (Policia Estatos Especial). But he just likes my bike and wants to know where it's from. I tell him in Spanish that it's two weeks old, and I'm driving from Chicago to Panama.

I always have the worst time with the pronunciation....If I say "Pan uh maw", they have no clue what I'm talking about. I have to say "Pan eh ma". You kinda have to sing it a little to get them to understand. But they all know where Panama is. They just can't tell what I'm saying.

Always, these late afternoon thunderstorms blow up. If I had any sense, I'd get up in the morning and ride early. I guess that's what I'm going to have to start doing, as I can't ride in the pouring rain. It's not safe, for one reason. I can't see. I'm soaking wet. I mean, I guess that, in theory, I could wear rain gear, but I'm not clear how much fun that would be.

Every town you roll into has speed bumps. And at these speed bumps, are the local street vendors. Selling everything conceivable. Mangos, pineapples, watermelons, coconut juice, coconut meat, and other things I can't even recognize.

Every overpass shades either vendors, a state police inspection point, or the soldiers. The overpasses offer shade from the brutal Yucutan sun, or cover from the afternoon thunderstorms that roll in like clockwork every afternoon.

And I'm just racing across the peninsula as fast as I can go.

Precaucion Doble Remolque

"Doble Remolque" is what these 18 wheelers with double trailers are called. They're so dangerous. They have doubled-up gasoline tankers driving down these tiny roads and they really have nearly zero control over that second trailer. It just sort of wanders all over the place, so when you're passing them, you've really got to be paying attention.

The most dangerous roads are those that have a one lane going each direction, no divided median, and a recognizable, painted shoulder. This is what, in the United States, you'd call a 2-lane black topped road. Now, the shoulder is ostensibly, for people walking, riding bicycles, or mopeds/scooters. That's generally what you'll see on the shoulder.

The lane that you're driving in, although it is ostensibly your lane, is actually a shared lane between you and oncoming traffic. If someone is coming at you, and wants to pass, they will pass. And they will come into your lane to do it. So say two double-trailer 18 wheeler gasoline tankers are coming at you. One will move onto their shoulder. The other one will split your lane with you. And expect you

OBEDEZCA LAS SENALES

The problem with the signs is that they're all in Spanish. And I have no clue what they mean. I really don't. So, the one sign I understand says "Obey The Signs", but I can't obey them if I can't understand them. So, I just look at the signs and sort of nod, as though I fully intend to abide by them, when of course I truly have no clue.

The street signs are also very confusing. Like, if you're on Mexico 180, the road will fork, and go three different ways, to three different towns, and they're all labeled as Mexico 180. So, this is just maddening. It's not something you would ever see in the United States.

It starts to rain, so I stop and now I'm sitting in a little quasi-legal bus depot, sheltered from the rains. I'm not sure what goes on here really. Like some sort of ride share I guess?

You would think that the clouds would run out of water down here, but they seem not to. Only they rain and rain and rain some more. Fish are swimming in the streets. The vendors all seek refuge from the storm.

After I've been sitting there for about a half hour or so, the rain lets up, so I start off again. Just hell-bent for leather, as fast as I can go, trying to get to Chichen Itza tonight. But, after I've gone another 10-15 miles, it starts raining again.

At 3:00 pm, I've gone about 150 miles, and the thunderstorms start to close in again. I'm been building them all day. Creating them in my mind. Painting the sky with dark grey storms all day. Now, they're finally here. It's not my imagination any more. It starts raining, hard enough to drown ducks. I'm driving down the road, and it's raining so hard I can't see. Can't see through my visor. Can't see if there are cars in front of me or not. This is dangerous. I'm not this stupid. But what to do? I glance around the Yucatan peninsula. There are no trees to speak of. The hurricanes take care of that. Only there are little bushes here and there. I've got to find shelter. Have to get out of this thunderstorm, somehow.

It starts raining so hard that I can't see at all. Can't see through my own visor. So, this is dangerous. Too dangerous. Even I'm not this stupid.

Finally, I come across another bus stop with an overhang to protect the passengers from the elements, so I duck in seeking shelter from the storm. No one else is here. I'm sitting here, dripping wet. Glad to be out of the elements, but what now?

My GPS is useless. It said I was at Chicha Itzen 20 miles ago. So, the GPS isn't going to help me find the place. And it's odd to be down here, just sort of feeling my way along blindly. It's hard to know why I'm here really. And if I'm not sure, it's not like I could really explain it to anyone else.

I set up my laptop and start taking notes because, I'm bored.

So, I'm sort of sidetracked, sitting here in a blinding thunderstorm, and another little motocycleta pulls up. He's wearing a brand new bright yellow raincoat. So, at least he's go that going for him. He stops and walks under the overhang with me. Now, in all the news stories, this is where he pulls out a knife and steals my iPhone, my MacBook Air, and my Canon cameras. But instead, this doesn't happen. Instead, I introduce myself. He says his name is "Eddie", and we sit and talk for some time. I talk to him in Spanish, and he talks to me in English.

And, while we're sitting there, a white car pulls up and stops, but no one gets out.

"Problema?" I ask Eddie?

"No. No amigo. No hay problema," he reasures me. He senses my nervousness. My apprehension. But there is no problem here. The car goes away. Now, another motorcycle stops to get out of the rain. I introduce myself now to the new guy. Diego is his name.

Now, mostly, Diego and Eddie are chattering back and forth in Spanish. Most of it I don't get. Parts of it I pick up. But, they're the nicest guys you could meet. We friend each other on Facebook, and sit for some time waiting for the rain to stop. Eventually, the rain does let up significantly. It's still raining, but it's no pouring, and finally, we all agree to leave together as a group. Now, the other two guys drive on the shoulder at something insane like 15 mph. So, basically I take off going ninety to nothing, and leave them behind.

Now, it's still raining, but I'm not stopping again. Not until I get to Chichen Itza. Because I'm not spending the night at a freaking bus shelter. And, there is some logic to the theory that, if it's raining, and you drive faster, you'll get out of the rain sooner. And, if you follow that logic out to its ridiculous, absurd conclusion, you'll figure out what I did which is open it up pretty much full throttle. For a while, I was going 108. Then, 116, then 120. And pretty much that's where I held it in a light rain.

So, I'm blowing across the Yucatan Peninsula in a light rain going 120 mph and, it finally occurs to me...it finally dawns on me, that I don't need Carrie. I can live without her. I'm going to be OK. I don't need anyone. I'm going to be OK being alone. I'm going to be fine with myself. No one with any sense that cared about me would ever allow me to drive 120 mph in the rain across the Yucatan Peninsula on some mad dash through Central America. It isn't sane. It doesn't make sense. No one with any sense would ever have allowed me to do this. If I'd have had to ask permission, and I wouldn't have gotten it. And racing across the Yucatan peninsula in the rain is exactly what makes me happy.

All of this comes to me as I'm racing down the road in a light rain. I'm going to be OK. I don't need her. In fact, I'm better off without her. I'm going to be fine. This realization hits me now like a ton of bricks. This is what I came down here for. This experience. This maddening, insane dash through Central America. This is what I'm all about. This is what makes me happy. I always knew this would be an amazing trip, and I never planned on doing it with anyone else. I always wanted to do it alone because, honestly, I don't believe I know anyone crazy enough to come with me. It's an insane journey. It's a journey through insanity, and beyond.

I'm OK with Carrie leaving now. I'm good with that. I'm happy for her and her new boyfriend. I hope they both find happiness. How could I feel any other way?

The rain begins to let up. Finally, it stops altogether. I'm driving just by following the roadsigns now. Looking for Chichen Itza.

I'm driving between 100 mph and 120 mph, just grinning like the cat that ate the canary. I'm going to be OK. I'm still alive. I can still be happy. And she can go on with whats-his-face. And I can be happy for them. All of this was something I came down here looking for. I was looking for salvation. And I couldn't find it lying in bed. There was nothing there for me but the inside of my skull.

Down here, I'm saved. I'm free. There's no one to be mad at. Nothing to get upset about. Who can control the weather? No one. Who can tell me where to spend the night? No one. Who is giving me a hard time and causing me angst now? No one but myself, up until this point. And now, no one is. Because I've forgiven myself. I've forgiven her. I've forgiven everyone there is to forgive. I let it all go. Now, I can be happy.

All of this comes to me as I'm driving the bike at 120 mph down Mexico 180 on the way to Chichen Itza.

I'm so happy. So glad to be down here. So insanely happy to be able to do this trip. So glad to be alive. And, I mean, it's not like I want to slow down. There's a huge part of me that needs this. This is what massages my soul. The very thing that makes sane people shutter, is what draws me to this adventure. I've already driven a dirt bike from Alaska to Cabo San Lucas. Already driven from Denver to SF three times. Already driven around Lake Michigan. What else was there to do?

This all goes back to a time a few years back when I tried to drive down to El Salvador in a Honda Prelude. I got down to the Mexican border at Chula-juana and chickened out. I was old and tired and didn't feel up to it, and I turned back. I turned tail and ran back to SF. Parked the car at the airport, pulled the plates and threw them in the trash, and flew back to Denver.

But that was then. this is now. Now, I've talked to a lot of people on the road. And I know what happens inside a man's head when he's alone on the road to. The doubt seeps in around the edges, behind the curtains. Doubt grabs you by the chin and pulls your eyes up to face her, eye to eye, and tells you that she loves you. Doubt takes control and raises all sorts of issues. Who are you to be doing this? No one else is doing it. Why are you? You must be insane. You are bored. Lonely. Tired. And very far from home. It's time to go home now, don't you think?

This is what doubt says. And she changes things. She puts you on the road home, long before your adventure is completed. But I know this now. I know this thanks to a friend I met on the road to Alaska. He told me "go where you planned on going. Go to where you told everyone you were going. Don't stop short. Don't shortcut your adventure. Go all the way."

You have to think of yourself as two different people. It's the only way. You have to think, not about the person you are now. Think about your future self. Think about yourself a month from now, when you're back in the elevator at work. When you're walking into the elevator in the morning and you push 14 and you're going to have a long day ahead of you behind a computer. You have to think about that person. You have to be able to look that person in the eye. Because that time is coming. That day is coming. It is out there. Waiting.

So, I'm all in. I'm going to Panama. Or I'm going to die trying. I know a couple of people that found their fathers after they committed suicide. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone. This is not a suicide run. I plan on making it. But I'm not turning back without setting foot in Panama. I'm all in. I'm not afraid of the rain. The smog. The drug runners. The banditos.

I don't know what I'll do once I get there. I don't really have a plan for that yet. But that's OK. We'll deal with that when I get there. I have a few ideas in my head about what to do once I get there.

Pisté, Mexico

A light rain falls in the streets of Pisté, Mexico. The rain washes away the pollution, leaving the air fresh and breathable for a short moment. I find the entrance to the Chicha Itzen pyramids, but they are closed for the day. Come back in the morning.

I drive back to a hotel I passed. "You have internet here? In the rooms? There is hot water?" OK. Fine. I'll take it. $850 pesos? Seems a little high, but I'm in no position to barter. I'm soaked to the bone and it's the only hotel I saw when I drove through town. The room is warm, which feels good to me. I've been driving in the rain for the last 60 miles and, I'm not freezing, but I'm not warm either. The room feels good. Nice hot shower. Today is laundry day, so I wash all my clothes in the shower and hang them up to dry.

Now, I'm driving the bike in a light rain wearing a bathing suit and a shirt. That is all.

There are no laws here. No helmet laws. I ride through the streets of Pisté wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a shirt. No gloves. No shoes. No helmet. All of that is gone now. That was the old Rob. That was Rob back in Los Estados Unidas. But down here, everything is different.

A woman is grilling chickens in the streets. I stop for dinner. She brings me a 1/2 a grilled chicken, a bowl of soup, and a Mirinda naranja (orange) drink. The cost is $50 pesos (about $4.00 USD).

A starving, stray dog walks the streets. A man rides by on a scooter, overburdened with groceries, somehow. Whole families ride by on a single moped.

Now, I'm drinking at the hotel bar. There's no one here. I'm the only customer and a couple of ninos come through running their mouths. Singing way too loud, and they're old enough to know better.

"Silencio ninos!" I shout at them.

Like..."Lord God Jesus shut your freaking mouth. And your tell your dad I'm at the bar if he wants some too."
Some guy comes up with an australian accent and asks how much a coke is. They tell him it's 50 pesos and he balks and walks away. I'm like..."Seriously? Get the fuck out of here.." Like...dude...you flew to Mexico. And you're going to complain that a Coke costs $4.00 USD in a hotel. What the hell? I just have no patience for that. I truly don't. Like..this isn't a grocery store, dude. It's a freaking bar. Get over it. How much did you think it would be? A nickel?

Later, I run into a man that speaks English in the hotel lobby. He's asking me about my cameras, and I tell him I'm sort of wandering around, looking for an adventure. He tells me about this sweet little town on the Caribbean I've never heard of before called Punta Allen, so this is where I'm heading tomorrow.

OBEDEZCA LAS SENALES

I'd like to point out a few of the signs that I see down here, and look them up so that I'll know what they mean when I see them. It's really inexcusable to not understand what the signs say. Like I'd obviously never pass a driving test without being able to read.

http://www.ontheroadin.com/mexican_road_sign_translations_f.htm

CEDA EL PASO AL PEATON Give Way to Pedestrians
CON LLUVIA DISMINUYA SU VELOCIDAD In Rain Reduce Your Speed
CONCEDA CAMBIO DE LUCES Dim Your Lights Approaching Traffic
CURVA PELIGROSO Dangerous Curve
DISMINUYA SU VELOCIDAD Slow Down
ENTRADA Y SALIDA DE CAMIONES Trucks Entering and Exiting
EVITE ACCIDENTES Avoid Accidents
GUARDE SU DISTANCIA Keep Your Distance
MANEJE CON PRECAUCION Drive with Caution
NO MALTRATE LAS SENALES Don't Disregard the Signs
NO REBASE CON RAYA CONTINUA No Passing on a Continuous Line
NO TIRE BASURA Don't Throw Trash
OBEDEZCA LAS SENALES Obey the Signs
PRECUACION CRUCE DE PEATONES Caution Pedestrian Crossing
REDUCTOR DE VELOCIDAD Speed Bumps
RESPETE LIMITE DE VELOCIDAD Obey the Speed Limit
TOPES Speed Bumps

Ummm....I was told there'd be no math?
--------------------------------------------------
Exchange Rates:
1 U.S. dollar = 12.8 Mexican pesos
1 Mexican peso = 0.08 U.S. dollars
100 Mexican pesos = 8 U.S. dollars

Conversions:
1 US gallon = 3.8 liters
1 liter = 0.26 US gallons

Cost of Premium(Roja) Gasolina: $12.03 pesos/liter
Cost of Premium(Roja) Gasolina: $ 3.61 USD/gallon

So, the gas is about the same price as I've been paying in the U.S., apparently.

Photographs in the Extended Entry

Posted by Rob Kiser on June 1, 2013 at 9:33 PM

Comments

Posted by: sl on June 2, 2013 at 8:48 AM

Posted by: TL on June 2, 2013 at 10:49 AM

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