1-2-09 Tulum, Mexico

I awoke around 6:00 and packed my panniers and walked to the little hotel lobby.  I had simply assumed that it had stopped raining as I couldn't hear it in our sleeping box.  It was still a downpour.  We had parked directly in front of the hotel and Luis had picked an unlucky spot directly under a downspout that hadn't been flowing when we parked but now sent a torrent onto his seat.

Luis had to lash down his bags which takes a few minutes so I went out and hopped on the bike in the rain, no sense delaying the inevitable.  I'm well prepared for the weather and truly appreciate my gear.  On a trip to Sturgis several years ago Ruder and I were less than prepared and ended up duct taping trash bags to our legs to keep them dry which kinda worked and looked quite fashionable too.

I stayed dry except for the occasional drop of water which would course down my neck and into my shirt and the few that would form at the top of my slightly-opened visor then drop onto my cheek and slowly make their way down my face.

We decided to wait to grab breakfast on the road, stopping when we were out of the storm which we assumed wouldn't take long.  The rain would slow to a drizzle hen pick up again to unusually large, neck-stinging drops. This went on for about three hours then quit abruptly, the grey skies giving way to scattered clouds and bits of blue poking through. 

Luis rode up alongside me, looked over and nodded.  I couldn't see his face through his dark shield but knew he was smiling.  Any motorcyclist can attest to the nod as it can mean so many different thing depending on the situation.

We grabbed a quick brunch of chicken parts, checked the bikes over then hit the road again.  I caught myself humming 'On the Road Again' by ol' Willie. I love this!

We came upon a tandem semi that had crossed over traffic and launched itself off an embankment and into a stand of mature trees. Digger.  As usual, dozens of cars had stopped on the side of the road, not really sure why.

Further down the road we rode past a pack of 4 clearly non-Mexican bikes today, a Suzuki V-Strom, a KTM 990, and two BMW R1150GS Adventures, just like mine.  It's a very motivating and comforting thing to see other motorcyclists on the road even if they're going in the opposite direction.  We all gave each other some stout fist pumps as we passed, far more enthusiastic than the average biker wave/point back home.

Minutes later we saw a huge plume of black smoke on the horizon, some 10 miles off.  Upon getting closer to the source we realized that the fire was on the shoulder of the road.  It burned to breathe, and we had to slow down as visibility was terrible.  As I rode past the huge flames I saw a group of local gentlemen and scholars who had apparently ignited a pile of hundreds of tires and were admiring their handiwork.

We also passed through several military checkpoints along the way.  These guys are hilariouis.  They're all decked out in full camo gear and black balaclavas with .50 cal machine guns atop hummers and ammo bandoliers strung about their shoulders.  They've got bunkers built out of sandbags with thatched roofs and will stagger piles of sand bags in the road to make you swerve and slow down.  In the road they'll also put semi truck treads as mini speed bumps.

At some stops they've just waved us on, at others we've been questioned.  The questions are always the same.  With a stoic face they ask you where you're coming from, then where you're going.  After each of my answers they pause for an awkardly long time as if mulling it over to see if it's an acceptable one.

Then they ask from where I'm and what I'm doing here.  I tell them I'm from Colorado which I say quickly in heavy Chihuahuan accent and gesture with my thumb over my shoulder as if it was just a few miles back. (A lotof the Mexicans we've come across aren't exactly well versed on geography, not knowing what state is coming up and no idea as far as distances to places.  I'll never forget once at the mine while working on a drill rig I was talking to one of the drill hands about my R n R to Japan.  He showed interest but also seemed to not know what I was talking about.  The next day I brought a world map for him to look at and he was almost speechless.  "So there are two large pieces of land..." he said pointing to the Americas and the Eurasia/Africa masses. "Yeah, that's right" I agrreed.  I then showed him where we were in Mexico which put a smile on his face.)

Earlier on the trip I told the military that I was from the United States and was headed to Argentina which prompted tons of questions.  Won't be doing that again.

We pulled into the town of Tulum at dusk and Luis and I were both busted by the policia for differnt offences.  Luis had taken off his helmet while in town and I was standing up on my bike stretching.  No fines, just told not to do it again.  Neither of these are illegal back home, but I'm not home.

We hit an ATM and asked some girls if they knew of any camping spots and were referred to the beachfront.  We cruised inland a few hundred yards and stopped at the first little campground we came to.  "Chavez Campground" 100 pesos per night, scalding hot brackish water showers and a sand floor kitchen.

It was dark so we donned our headlamps to set up camp.  Luis is more prepared than I for comfortable camping.  My camping gear consists of a down sleeping bag, inflatable pillow, 'skeeter net, a waterproof (and heat resistant!) motorcycle cover, a space blanket bivy and some rope.

Luis has 3 pillows, 2 sleeping bags, an inflatable sleeping pad and a tent with a rain fly.  While on this subject, Luis has a ton of stuff and used to have even more but I made him leave a pile in a hotel room.  Some of the oddities that I've noticed and harassed him for include 5 pairs of shoes, not including his pair of galoshes (seriously), multiple reflective vests, random jackets, two daypacks, a tactical 'hunting or photography vest' as he calls it, a solar panel, two cans of silicone spray (which have choked us out of our hotel room before), gaitors, two pairs of rain pants even though his usual riding pants are waterproof, and a full gas can bouncing from a shock cord.  The list goes on I assure you.

I se up shop inside a little hooch with a sand floor and no doors with a pile of scrap wood in the corner.  Not a bad setup by any means.

I love arriving in places after dark and awaking to see where I am in the day light.  Sometimes it's great, sometimes not so much.  Once in New Zealand we awoke on a shooting range but fared well.  Another time in Japan I was in a small town with no vacancy due to some festival so I found a great place to sleep in a grassy park.  I awoke at 5am to dozens of barking dogs running around and quickly realized that I had thrown my sleeping bag under one of the few trees in what was a dog park. Yes, eww.

This night I fell asleep to the sound of the ocean and awoke the next morning to people talking not far from my head, through the wall of the hooch.  I could hear Luis talking to somebody with the unmistakable French Canadian accent.   I got up and walked around the corner and met Rene, a guy a few years older than I who had arrived at the campground just before we did.

The three of us combined food and whipped up a good 'American breakfast' as I kept referring to it with sauteed onions, peppers, potatoes and scrambled eggs with tortillas.

The next stop was to the beach.

As we rounded the bamboo fence we were greeted with the epitome of a Caribbean beach with white sand, turquoise-blue water and a lone, crooked palm tree.

"Well haw 'bou dat nawww, heh heh heh" Said the Frenchman, gesturing with his elbow at some very under dressed girls in lounge chairs.  "Pretty casual 'ere, eh!"

Sure enough, we'd landed on a 'clothing optional' beach.