I hit the road and immediately started thinking deeply about this journey. Became obsessed with the kilometers per day I had to cover. Did some recalculations like Google Maps does when you take a wrong turn. I’ll need to get far fast so I don’t start behind. Helmeted, with only moto noise, I fixated on my little internal world and started regurgitating the same old thoughts, and it just went round and round. An endless loop of angst and second-guessing. Something had to be done.
I rode by a little town whose name was spelled out in rocks on a hillside. Santa María del Río. Say it. Say it again. Repeat, out loud. Sure beats Johnson City.
I arrived in Matehuala, and it was to be nothing more than a transit stop. I had to hunt down some stimulation. My travel excitement took over and kicked my inner world out. The hotel did its part.
Las Palmas Midway Inn is a late-50s motor hotel that has resisted modernization. You park your vehicle in the carport next to your room. It has the amenities the new long-distance auto traveler wanted: a restaurant, bar, swimming pool, gardens, and even miniature golf. And yes, a Bible and Yellow Pages in the drawer alongside the bed. I relished absorbing this old-time vibe. How damned fine to spend the night in a living artifact along an old stretch of the Pan-American Highway. A dear thanks to my friends Steve and Jorge who vociferously recommended this stop.
As the day neared sunset, it was time to take a look at this town. Not spectacular, except for the mighty fine Cathedral. Monstrous, but curiously low budget inside. I always ask myself how they decide the size, design, and cost of these buildings. I’ll do some research as this is an ongoing question as I travel.
Motoing out of Centro, I glanced to the right and saw a flash of what looked like a boxing ring. I quickly parked the bike and walked back, where a young guy sitting on a bench warmly greeted me and invited me in. Turns out he was the owner. The place was a barbershop during the day and a small boxing gym at night. He encouraged me to take photos. Now I was having real fun. No thoughts of kilometers.
Since my diet for the day had been a small bag of chips and a bottle of water, I was hungry. I apologized to my new friend, Irvin Zamora, and said I needed to find dinner. He ran to the back of the shop and returned, brandishing a large sack of pastries and breads (pan) and an oversized sports drink.
Writing notes over a meal of Cabrito al pastor and Montelobos, I reflected on other highlights of the ride. The pastoral settings of grazing goats, horses, and burros at the edge of this busy freeway. The roadside stands of cactus for sale, mostly sold on the honor system. The endless vulkas (tire repair shops), most of them small lean-tos, some mobile repair trucks advertising 24-hour service
A promising start, with 365 km logged. I’ll be doing this for the next twenty-two days. The kilometers can just work themselves out
Tomorrow: The dramatic ride to Linares
More Photos
Note: Irvin Zamora, Matehuala barber and boxing-gym owner, who chased me down for a selfie after welcoming a wandering gringo with a camera into his gym: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1KTvXVbqVg/