I had only just glanced in the rear-view mirror and was quietly relieved at the lack of traffic; nobody in sight as far back as I could see. And then just like that, a Porsche went by me like I was standing still...
Today’s plan was to get on the road early and avoid the metropolitan (what an antiseptic word) Monterrey traffic. And at 7:30, on a Sunday morning, there wasn’t much. The Urbanos slept in. That gave me the chance to crane my neck and check out the sights along the way. Even on these high-speed, multi-lane, mostly elevated freeways, they had a small sliver where I could pull off and take photos. The road would shake whenever a truck went by. Taking roadside pictures is the most dangerous act on this trip
Monterrey’s founders found a handsome valley framed by peaks, looking out over several notable peaks in the middle of the Sierra Madre Oriental and just couldn’t help themselves. So they built industry, lots of industry. And those industries required lots of people. 5,000,000 people. The result is a bowl full of air pollution
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Having just trashed Monterrey, I’ll admit it has a notable skyline. Two towers are the tallest in all of Mexico and Central America. One group of buildings sits right up against the mountains. Locals call it Sanpetrolandia, but the area is officially San Pedro.
Past the urban center, the mountains commanded attention. The ride toward Saltillo was unexpectedly pleasant. Along that route, I was reminded of that overused and overstretched phrase, “like I was standing still,” but it was accurate in this instance. I’d put it at roughly 250 km/h. I’ve been around all types of racing, so I kind of know this kind of thing. I didn’t say I was fast, but I know fast.
After a few notably slower Porsche drivers passed me, the road took me west towards the state of Coahuila, leaving the big mountains behind. Long ridges to the south replaced them, and north of the highway was starting to look very deserty. Quite a pleasant journey, eventually turning south for the final leg into Parras, right after a string of freeway restaurants.
Parras is a spring-fed oasis at the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert. It’s a perfect environment for vineyards, orchards, and other agriculture. It has a history of drawing tourists, and this Sunday afternoon was no exception. Lively in a good way, with happy people (maybe it’s the wine tasting?), great restaurants, and chatty street vendors.
I spent the afternoon in my office, writing and editing, biding time until nightfall.
It was time to go, and I grabbed the camera, seeking some epical shots. Instead, I got a vacant town. The tourists leave Sunday afternoon, followed shortly by the street vendors who have no one to sell to. Same as the restaurants. Everyone is home or going home. Except me, so I went stroll-hunting. It’s a small town, but with parts yet unexplored; maybe there was a moment to capture, a Parras-only image; I was grasping.
I heard noise down the street. I spotted a small church in the general direction. I sensed excitement. I followed my ears and found a sizable outdoor stage beside a church, a top-notch sound system, and a congregation of folding chairs, all filled. It was a good ol’ Sunday night girls’ musical event, and I jumped into the fun. I shot willy- nilly (exaggeration; he avoided harm). I shot quick, I shot low (don’t want to piss off the moms), and had a righteous, enjoyable time. A big camera is a virtual press pass, but I try to use it very respectfully
The show concluded; the vendors’ corndogs and cake were gone, and the performers were now getting cooing praise and hugs from their family. Another Parrense Sunday night for them, but for me, special, and you know what, probably special for them, as they live their lives for these special moments. Somebody smart said that 99% of life is forgettable; we only remember what’s special. I fight that.
Oh yeah, can’t forget the woman and her cuddly rabbit date. Yes, she brought a rabbit to the event. She was a beautiful woman with a conejo for a date
Being the spiritual type, I had to experience the local one. In addition to this being a wine area, this is Sotol country. For those new to it, Sotol is a distilled spirit made from Dasylirion (desert spoon in English), not agave. The two are related but separate plants. Some say it tastes like the desert. Mary says it’s the rotgut firewater that her Mexican mother drank decades ago.
I found the Sotol Los Cuates tienda in town, a noticeably humble liquor store. Two old men sat on stools (you can’t stand all day waiting for customers), and a dozen boxes of their product sat nearby. Let’s get to it: Thirty cases of inventory. One expression - why more varieties if what you have is good? One-liter bottle, a mellow 40% ABV, lightly aged. Respectable and agreeable. At the conclusion of the curated tasting in my room, I concur. I transferred it to a water bottle and stashed it in my mobile liquor side case/cabinet to be taken home. I still have plenty of capacity for later library selections. 150 pesos ($8.56 USD). I wish I had room for a case
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The day ended with one of Pepe’s locally famous hot dogs. Oscar Meyer dog, bun, bacon, salsa, pickled jalapeños, catsup and mustard, always eaten standing up.
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Parras, Coahuila average annual rainfall: 343 mm to 417 mm (13 to 16 inches)
Altitude: 1,500 meters (5,000 feet)
Total distance: 974 kilometers
Tomorrow: Changing a bad attitude