On the road again, this time with a detour on the cards. We had planned to continue down the center of the country till we reached Zacatecas, then fan out to explore the cities and countryside north of Mexico City. However, our lack of Spanish was becoming a hindrance and there’s not much point in learning how to ask for the banos if you’re going to have to stand cross-legged while they draw you a map. Fran signed us up for a small school in Mazatlan, a tourist spot, but the only one we could find this far north. So, it was decided. We shall go west, we shall go on to the end. We will brave the turistas. We shall fight on the beaches and in the streets. And we shall never surrender until we can say with growing confidence and strength, “Waiter, the bill please”.
It took two days of driving to get to Torreon. There was supposedly no fuel after Jimenez so once again we filled the gas cans. We would also be driving through La Zona del Silencio which sounded a bit ominous. According to legend, electromagnetic transmissions can’t be received in this area so radios, phones and compasses do not work. The main highway ran north to south, with little in the way of scenery. I however found it quite beautiful and extremely peaceful. While we did pass a sign telling us we were entering “La Zona”, I never saw one to announce we’d come out of it. It was probably a myth, just like the one about there being no gas. Ah well, better safe than stranded.
Click to enlarge photos
Coming into Torreon, we exited too soon and ended up on the same stretch of one lane road construction three times. Fran called it an ‘impromptu scenic tour’ but I know better. Lunch hour had stretched close to afternoon tea by the time we found the hotel, with the aid of two nice gentlemen on their way to Mazatlan. It really doesn’t help when Google Maps puts you driving right down the middle of a Saturday afternoon pedestrian zone.
Afterwards we were glad that we were staying in the center of town. On every block a different orchestra played while three doors down, flamenco dancers threatened to cave-in their makeshift stages. Families were taking the evening air and little kids ran amid a sea of legs. By the time we reached the plaza the music had reached a crescendo and it looked like the entire 60+ population had come out to audition for “Come Dancing”. The music seemed to follow us everywhere that weekend and by Sunday every street café, park bench and plaza was full.
Arriving in Durango on the Monday was a major shock. The hectic urban sprawl was more America than Mexico and our hotel was actually in a mall. A mall!!! We hadn’t set eyes on one of those since Texas. It was Fran’s birthday and oh Lord, the only place to eat within walking distance was a TGIF. So we took a raincheck and called it a night. Tomorrow’s another day Scarlett.
West to the Ocean
We knew something was wrong as we approached the toll road that would bring us to Mazatlan. We saw few other cars, the toll booths appeared closed and there were men milling around, directing traffic. They weren’t however in any type of uniform. We got pulled to the inside of a row of orange cones and they asked Fran for money. On hearing he wouldn’t get a receipt he basically said ‘no thanks’ and drove on. Beyond the booths was a police checkpoint, our first since entering the country. I was actually quite relieved to see it, just in case the guys on the other side decided to come after us with their pitchforks. Since we couldn’t understand anything the police said we handed over every piece of paper we had. ‘Turned out all they wanted was the driver’s license. Duuhhh, who let us past the county line?
Everybody had warned us about this route to the sea. A bridge was out so the toll road had to be exited for a very long and winding detour. It would be a long day. As predicted, we go off just south of El Salto and a while later got stopped again, this time by the army. They wanted to see the passports. What a lovely grin our guy in green camouflage gave when we saw Ireland as the birthplace. Sometimes I wonder what on earth I’m worrying about all the time.
The Sky to the Sea
The detour on the old road lasted two hours but the ride over the mountains was spectacular. Every twist and turn brought greener, more tropical foliage and the air got hotter the more we descended. Every now and again I got a nudge on the shoulder, encouraging me to ‘lean in’ on the right-hand curves. (I keep forgetting to do that when I check my brain out at the beginning of each trip.) Now and then we’d pass a Gordita stand, a few lone houses or a patch of cornfield etched out of the side of a mountain. Otherwise, there were few signs of civilization. We found ourselves suddenly on the other side of the Tropic of Cancer which caused some excitement. We’d crossed both Tropics in the early 2000s, little knowing there’d be a chance to do them again. I wondered how much water will be under the bridge by the time we reach Capricorn, and will I be sick of the road by then? Or maybe it’ll be sick of me.
It was just before the cornfield the front brake gave out. We came around a bend and next thing I knew we were on the other side of the road. The fluid had overheated. Luckily the rears still worked and we were able to steer safely into a patch of dirt. I immediately visualized us trapped there on that corner for hours, even days, but about 20 minutes later the fluid had sufficiently cooled for us to continue. Suitably chastened, Fran dropped a gear for the rest of the descent and alternated between the front and back brakes. It was slow going but better than no going at all.
Though smarting a bit from being called, and charged as, a car at the toll booth, we finally rolled into Mazatlan in three easy pieces, just like we always do. For the first time since August, we got to drink a cold one on the beach while watching the sun set. After dipping our toes in Lake Michigan, the Atlantic Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico and now the Pacific again, we had come full circle.
It was a bit like coming home.