PAV Blog Day 14_2.03: Puerto Peñasco to Santa Ana

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After a great morning with The Louds, we exchanged some money at the Banco and hit the road for Santa Ana. It was a straight, hot ride through the desert. Fortunately traffic between the cities is fairly minimal. Most of it lies within the cities and consists of locals. The cars on the roads between the cities are mostly semis, and expensive personal vehicles. The day was pretty routine. We stopped for tacos and gas in a small through-town, the highlight of our ride. I found myself more bored on my bike than I've been in the last 2000 miles. I rode standing up most of the way, practiced steering with my left hand on the throttle, sat in every position possible, and I almost forgot, at one point narrowlly missed a cow(not while riding with my left hand on the throttle). Bean and I were at the back of the pack when he pointed quickly to our left. The first three bikes had startled the beast and sent it running wildly through the grassy median. At 65mph and closing fast both of us had to decide whether to gas it or brake. I was a few bike lengths behind Bean who decided to gas it. He cranked the throttle and ducked to the shoulder just as the cow came up onto the road. My only choice at this point was to brake and hope I had enough room. The cow dashed across the highway and down the other side. I passed her yelling some unintelligible string of words that expressed how angry I was at her stupidity.

A few more hours of hot, boring riding and we were finally to Santa Ana, our second stop in Mexico. We stopped in front of a small taco joint to figure out where we were going to stay. The owner of the place knew some English and kept saying, "Deals for Motorcycles". After a few minutes of listening to him and talking amongst ourselves we decided to go up the street to continue talking. As we left he pointed at us and yelled, "Marijuana! They have marijuana! Police police!". I was infuriated that this guy would do something so reckless, something that could cost us time and possibly money. He was upset that we had parked in front of his customerless taco stand for five minutes and not bought anything. We parked a few blocks away and I asked the guys if they knew what made him yell. They said he pointed to the leaf Lawson had painted on the back of box which is called the Qualmark, a symbol for quality in New Zealand. It looked like a fern...

As we sat on the counter tops of an old outdoor kitchen, Milan walked down the street to a gas station to ask about camping and a store. They told him there was only one place in town to camp and strongly suggested we not camp in the desert outside of town, something we're always game for, unless a local suggests otherwise. So we rode about five minutes through town to a small, gated, RV park. As we got off our bikes, a white haired local man with an awkward gait, swung his left forward and followed with a strong right step until he met Milan in the middle. His English was great but a thick Mexican accent brought him right out of an old western. He and Milan haggled in Spanish on a price for the night, and at the lowest the man would go we all nodded at Milan, time to set up camp.

I was in the middle of figuring out how to setup my hammock between a tree and my motorcycle when Milan told me the owner wanted to take me to the store to look for 4stroke engine oil. At first I was hesitant because not only was I disinterested in going to the store at that moment but I also wasn't sure I wanted to be in a car, in Mexico, with an older fellow whose name I didn't yet know. After a second or two of very careful consideration, I figured this could be interesting. So I jumped in the car, which is already running and ready to go. As soon as the door closed he asked me, "como te llama?", in a serious, business-like voice, which reminded me of the way my Grandpa Bob used to talk to me when I needed a talking to. I answered him and replied, "y tu?", to find his name was Edgar, which I thought was a very fitting name. He pulled out of the park and I braced myself for the unknown.

He casually ran the stop sign cutting off cars coming from both directions and we were on our way. We made small talk to the first auto-shop where he parked diagonal in no apparent parking space, blocking both shop bays. After going inside we were redirected to another shop down the street. Getting back in the car I noticed Edgar had to lift his left leg into the car and set his left arm on the steering wheel. Against my normal judgement I asked him how long his leg had been hurt, knowing it looked more like a permanent injury. It's funny how topics of conversation become personal more quickly when both parties know there wont be much time for talk. He told me his story. When he was young he played in a rock band that traveled the states where he met his wife of 30 years. He told me he owned a motorcycle when he was my age and ended up wrecking into a concrete wall without a helmet. The right side of his brain was damaged, hence the problems with the left side of his body. He said it took him 6 months to learn to walk again, a sobering story. After a few more stop sign runs and a block or two down the wrong side of the street we made it back to the RV park intact.

After a dinner of Parmesan encrusted chicken(made by Andrew) and overcooked noodles salad (made by me) cooked on an old rim, we turned in for a much needed night of sleep. Lawson and I successfully hung our hammocks from our bikes to a tree and slept like babies. The next day we would leave for San Carlos and the rest of Mexico.