Asheville to Argentina

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I’m a bit behind with the blog and I have so much to tell. I hope I can do justice to our adventure and everyone we’ve met so far. To take a step back, before we left Texas we spent a few days with the Pleasant Acres RV family. Shannon’s parents have traveled extensively in their RV and in the process made friends with Sam and Nancy Bell, Ma and Pa Pleasant Acres. Our plan had been to spend a few days in their park getting ready for the crossing into Mexico and all places foreign. We had sent new tires and last minute internet purchases in anticipation of our final tune-up. When we arrived, John, the resident greeter and bartender was standing the street like he’d been waiting for us all day. He flagged us in with cold beers in hand. It was down hill from there.

Joining him under his awning with Marie and her dog, we introduced ourselves, cracked beer after beer, and chatted until Sam, Nancy, Jim and Yolanda all stopped in. With the gang in full assembly, the frozen margarita machine got going and the party started rolling. They call it Beer-30 and John has a little wooden plaque in his garden that says “It 5:00 somewhere”.

(Don’t let the paint fool ya – the golf cart isn’t John  Deere – Its a Harley!)

They refer to themselves as Winter Texans – meaning that when it’s cold at home they migrate down into the Rio Grand Valley. There’s park after park for their tribe to gather. In Pleasant Acres, they all live like a little family with Sam and Nancy as the parents. They took us in as one of their own, gave us an RV to stay in and even made grilled mojollios. They said is was the sweet breads of the cow and described it as “glands in the neck. I know it doesn’t sound appetizing, but boy was it tasty.

Thanks to them I was able to change my oil, put the new tires on, put a stronger spring on my rear shock and John even welded a big washer onto the foot of my kickstand so it will quit sinking into the dirt. Now I felt ready for Mexico. Yolanda wasn’t so sure though so she made us pan de polvo, little sugar cookies, to give us strength on our way.

After leaving our new family we crossed into Mexico and spent the night in Monterrey. Despite my phone troubles, we were still able to get in touch with Roberto, a Mexican motorcyclist I met on the internet. He came by our hotel in the morning and took us on the most challenging and beautiful ride of our lives.

The city of Monterrey is the third largest in Mexico and the traffic is unbelievable. We got our off-road tune up by sticking close behind our guide and threading traffic like natives. After Tacos and accordion music at Robertos favorite street stand, we rode into Cumbres de Monterrey National Park. Not fifteen minutes from the old city center this park has nearly bare rock mountains that rise from the ground like knife blades. They’re threaded by dirt tracks with horses, cattle and goats grazing unfenced. There were occasional ranches and when I questioned Roberto he explained that there is a kind of homestead law. If someone sets up a home and the owner allows it for ten years, then the property is theirs.

The deeper we got into the park, the more beautiful the scenery and the worse the roads. We rode for miles through deep, soft gravel wash that would grab the tires and throw them every which way. With 150 lbs of gear on the back, it was all we could do to keep control. Sometimes it was more than we could do, and both Shannon and I took some falls.

About half way through the park we stopped at a little town called Pajonal, population 11. We bought cokes from a little brown man in a white cowboy hat and drank them under his bower of pink flowers. He had a fading photo of Pancho Villa hanging from the center post. In the distance a old man was squatting by a donkey, chopping at a tree branch, slowly turning it into a handle for a mattock. Another caballero, twice as old as the others and stone deaf, came into the garden to show us his binoculars. Roberto is from here, and when even he couldn’t figure what Abuelieto wanted, I didn’t feel so bad.

I had a mango and we all shared it, then we walked around the town. All 5 houses and the school. There were no more kids here to attend classes, so occasionally they let tourists stay in the building. Life here hasn’t changed much in 100 years and I couldn’t imagine how these men grew up and grew old in this place forgotten by Progress – nor could I imagine how it was that they all had on clean, pressed shirts.

From here the road got much better – by that I mean no more deep, loose gravel – until we passed a bulldozer heading in our direction. Behind it the dirt and gravel had been torn up to such an extent that it was just as challenging to ride as was the gravel wash. But our skill with the gear on the bikes was getting better, and as the roads improved my spirits rose and we rode the sunset into Satillo.

I’m writing this from our room in Real de Catorce, the town we visited after Saltillo. To get here you have to come up the mountains on nearly 15 miles of cobbled roads to arrive at a tunnel. A mile long and only one-way, you pull up and a man takes 20 pesos (about $2) and you wait. After a while he says “passa le” and you go. I have no idea how he knows that its OK to pass, but this is what he does. We trust him. Its dark, there is gravel and water on the road. Sometimes its so narrow I wonder if the bike will fit. Then all of sudden out of the dark, there is a chapel in homage to the many miners that gave their lives. Built into the wall of the tunnel its so surprising that there’s no time – or place – to stop. And just as quickly, it gone.

Real de Catorce is small and tranquil. It was a silver mining town at the turn of the century, but in the early 1900’s the price of silver dropped and the population went from 40,000 to just a few thousand. It was “rediscovered” in the 80’s and now has some very nice hotels and restaurants, but you’d never know it from the outside. The building are all made of stacked stone and they look to be crumbling before your eyes. Entering through the street door however there are hidden gardens or beautifully restored interiors that preserve the character of the town.

The streets are cobbled in an X pattern with rocks the size of billiard balls. Those running across the mountain aren’t level but are drivable, those that go up or down are a different story. They’re so steep that they occasionally break into steps. Everywhere are kids, chickens and men in cowboy hats on small horses. It’s impossible no to be awed by the sheer human effort it took to build this place.

Another draw to Real de Catorce is the statue of Poncho, one of the priests that presided over the spiritual well being of Real at the turn of the century. It did something miraculous once and now its housed inside the cathedral at the center of town- behind glass and under garish florescent lights.  The devout enter the church and get on their knees. With lit candle in hand they take a step forward with each prayer until they reach Ponchito. There was a small procession in progress while we were visiting. There were quite a few other holy statues around the church and all seemed to be just shy of life-sized with wigs of human hair. There was something very disturbing about it.

There’s a little festival tonight that we’re looking forward to and then tomorrow we’re heading to Xilitle with its waterfalls and free camping.

Every day I love Mexico more.

*On leaving Real de Catorce via the mile long tunnel, we encountered a whole host of incoming traffic – groups of people huddled in places where the cave opened a bit, men on horseback and whole families on one bicycle riding in the dark. Keep in mind that this tunnel is barley wide enough for a car, but has small buses going in and out. They do things differently here.