Who knew Mexico was more than just all inclusive resorts and a place where companies have their annual kick-off meetings.
I’m not going to lie, it was hard leaving Denver. Much much harder than leaving the first time. I was so scared, nervous, excited to leave the first time. I had been planning for such a long time I was anxious to just get moving. I couldn’t see 4 days ahead of me and had no idea what to expect in-terms of a ‘future’ but had an idea for a plan. This time as I was leaving I saw a new future, a future I never wanted before but felt so familiar this time. I felt at home for the first time in so long and had to search the world to find it. It was a month of limitless potential and excitement, I saw the familiar with a new lens and loved it. A new sense of appreciation and hope, happiness had a new meaning and all the corresponding feelings.
As I packed up that last day in Denver I was sad and truly questioned if I should go. Drawing parallels to the Alchemist, thinking how he returned to a familiar state along his journey but needed to leave again because his journey was not over. My journey was not over yet either. While my intentions of the trip have changed and the plan modified, I was still on my ‘hero’s journey’ and needed to see it through. It was hard leaving but I knew in my heart that I would regret it if I did not attempt the next leg.
I packed up my belongings for the final time, said bye to Amelia, and mounted my bike.
Sitting on the bike with my mind racing attempting to answering a tsunami of questions. I was overwhelmed by what I was about to attempt. The only truth I had was I needed to head south. South until the continent ends.
With no fanfare or send off, putting Sante Fe into google maps, I started the bike and pulled away.
This is a much different adventure than any before. Traveling to Nepal to climb EBC was certainly daunting but provided a soft landing. I knew who was picking me up, I had a place to stay and the following weeks planned. Now I am in an open-ended, free-range drive to Patagonia. A lot more risk and a path much less traveled.
To say I was distracted when I left would be an understatement. My mind was racing with what-ifs coupled with continued questioning of what I was doing. It felt right but didn’t, I knew I had to go but, did I?
Riding along I-25 south through the remainder of Colorado I couldn’t ride fast enough to escape my thoughts. The only thing working harder than my engine was my mind. There was no soft landing ahead and it scared me for the first time in a long time.
The weather was nice when I left and on a Tuesday morning the roads were clear of traffic. It was just me and the road, alone. The feeling shifted when I got my first ‘moto-wave’. In the opposite lane of traffic a fellow rider lowered his left hand and gave me a wave. A very simple and common gesture from fellow riders but made my day. Waving back, I didn’t feel so alone and was energized knowing that “those people” were on my path ahead. I was solo, but not alone.
With the new found energy and excitement growing I twisted the throttle and let out a howl. Something I hadn’t done in a long time and felt great. Soon as my energy grew, so did the winds. I was met with a 40mph gusting cross-wind which threw me around the lanes like a rag doll.
Thankfully the lack of traffic allowed me an opportunity to ride in the center of the two lanes. The wind would hit me, throwing me right, leaning into the wind to counter back to center while dodging cars and tractor trailers. In a car you would feel these gusts pushing you off the road. With my 500lbs of bike and gear I am no match for the wind and fatigue quickly.
Fighting for as long as I can I eventually find a rest area with a McDonalds. I needed some nuggets.
There are a few spots in front near the entrance in view of a window so I could keep an eye on my stuff. As I park, put down the kickstand, and remove my helmet I notice a have grabbed the attention of an exiting patron.
He asks me about my tank, modifications, and where I was heading. He shares he’s done the trip south himself along with many others around the world. Turns out he is an author who’s written four books about his adventures. He is Dr Gregory Frasier who is considered "America's #1 extreme motorcycle adventurer.” I smile to myself, well, this is an interesting turn of events.
He just got back from his home in SE Asia and was meeting with publishers about a new project. He gave me some tips for the ride and provided me his contact information. Instructing me to reach out with any questions and he would help with anything he could.
While departing I comment how small the world is and how the universe can provide surprising experiences. He laughs and said “the world is a small place and 75% of it is covered in water, you run into people exploring it”.
Back on the road, stomach full of nuggets and smiling. It was a strange and seemingly impossible meeting but one that lined up perfectly and encouraged my decision to go. Fighting the wind for the next 5 hours felt a little easier with my new found inspiration.
Arriving in Santa Fe it was getting dark. On the road into town a truck had lost a wheel and while the vehicle was paralyzed the wheel continued rolling along. Once recognizing what had happened I accelerate past the possessed wheel and arrive at my hostel.
The hostel had some interesting folks, first time staying at a hostel in the states and it was perfectly weird. The right mix of Native American and weaving enthusiasts occupied the rooms and provided curious conversation.
Exhausted from the ride I slept well and got up early to get last minute supplies. I needed paper maps for each country, chain wax, and to visit MeowWolf. Sante Fe is weird as hell and full of obscure shops that somehow stay in business. The map shop doubles as a cafe and I spend breakfast selecting which map would be best for each country. After I ride to the moto shop and the shop manager gave me a discount after talking about my trip.
MeowWolf is an interactive art display housed in an abandoned bowling alley. I was told it was awesome and I would need a full day but elected for an abbreviated visit. I wish I had more time. That place is magic. George R.R. Martin provided funding for MeowWolf and it is incredible. I felt like I was at burning man. I know people say that about things, but this had the burn all over it. It was unbelievably creative and unlike anything I have seen off the playa in the ‘default world’. I wished I had more time to explore but I had to get going knowing I can always go back.
My goal for the afternoon’s ride was to reach El Paso, Texas, ~5 hour ride which seemed plenty doable. Rain was moving in and immediately the winds picked up and were faster than the day before. My average speed plummeted as I was exhausted and terrified. I took refuge under an overpass to get a break from the wind. The soft sandy earth and the wind toppled my bike as soon as I slowed and quickly realized I probably wasn’t making it to El Paso. Pulling into a gas station and again taking refuge from the wind I get talking to the craziest looking man I have ever laid eyes on. He said I was a crazy fucker and to get a gun as soon as I crossed the border. I thought about it and realized that if the craziest man I have ever seen calls me a crazy fucker for riding in that wind, I should heed his warning. I pulled into the next town in search of a cheap place to stay and some motel therapy.
While I don’t have dates on where I need to be, I did plan on getting to Guatemala in about a week. The reason being was my sister was starting a new job and had time before her first day. She asked what she should do and I said head to Guatemala and I’ll meet you there.
Now I am two days behind schedule and the window to see her was quickly closing. She booked the trip knowing I wouldn’t be there for the entire time but hoped to spend time together. I messaged her about my status and while I could tell she was nervous facing the possibility of traveling alone, she understood and told me to be safe.
I didn’t get much sleep that night, every noise outside sent me rushing to the window expecting to see my bike being loaded into a truck. It was a shady New Mexico highway town and felt my trip could be over before it started. In the morning the bike was there and I loaded my gear.
Having a bit more time for the days ride I decided to make a detour and visit the Great White Sand Dune National Monument. In the middle of NM there are pure white sand dunes from eons of erosion and natural water activity. It was magnificent and made for a great stop and a checkmark for another national park.
Arriving in El Paso was easy. I found a room in a beautiful home in the suburbs with a guy named Shane. He was incredibly helpful and cleared a space for me in his garage for my bike. His cat Princess was fantastic and his son was super sharp. We spent the night sharing stories and giving me pointers for traveling through Mexico.
Rested, I left early to cross the border. This was my first time crossing into Mexico by land and heard it was pretty easy going into Mexico, going into the states can take hours. I rode along the Rio Grande peering into Mexico through the enormous chain linked fence guarded by border agents in suburbans. To my left, beautifully manicured golf courses in El Paso. To my right, a much different view into the small shanty homes and industrial parks of Juarez Mexico.
Upon reaching the border I filed into my lane exiting the United States and entering Mexico. Above the road are fenced pedestrian walkways with people walking from country to country. Before I knew it, I was in Mexico. No stops, no questions, just BAM, Mexico. It was chaotic and insanely busy. People selling snacks to vehicles stuck in the long line entering the United States. Stands lining the streets buying and selling currency next to a dentist and pharmacy.
Overwhelmed by the sounds I proceeded through the town. Confused I questioned how I entered. I hadn’t given anyone my passport nor paid any registration for my bike. I just drove through and that was it. Riding further and further from the border I questioned the process. Asking “don’t I have to do anything? This can’t be right.” I turned around and went back to border control. Stuck in the traffic entering the US, I waited for an opening and rode into oncoming traffic to skip the line. I found the most official looking building in the area and parked my bike.
Upon entering I was correct and did enter illegally. No one was terribly concerned and I was processed quickly. Learning that it is common for people to miss the check-point. To combat this, all the roads outside of Juarez funnel into another checkpoint outside of town where you are asked for your documents. Here is also where you pay taxes on your vehicle. Mexico primitively takes taxes on your vehicle when you enter. This way if the vehicle is sold in country, the gov still gets their piece. The taxes are returned once you exit the country within your valid visa length.
With my paperwork in order I set off for my first stop, the city of Chihuahua. I was quite nervous riding alone through Northern Mexico. There Isn’t anything but the Señora Desert for hundreds of miles. No fuel, no water, no people. Not to mention all of the smuggling efforts. I got a lot of stares from fellow motorist who were more confused than I was.
The toll roads of Mexico are quite nice but expensive and traffic moves very fast. One thing I was not prepared for were the police roadblocks by the federales. Seemed like every 30 miles traffic would come to a standstill and the police would be ripping apart cars searching for contraband. I watched as families were forced at gun point to exit their vehicles to allow their door panels ripped off and bags emptied onto the road. The police are very intimidating in their military-esque trucks with machine gun mounted turrets.
The searches didn’t seem random but if the officers were busy, cars were allowed to flow freely. Everyone was being searched and questioned. I was waved through most times and only asked a few times to remove my helmet and turn off the engine. After a few questions and quickly realizing I didn’t speak Spanish, I was allowed to proceed. The presence of police didn’t make me feel any safer, they were there for a reason. I am not sure if the smuggling is that prevalent to warrant such an exercise or just a show of force to anyone considering their luck. I can’t imagine they were incredibly effective though.
Time and time again I would be passed by a nice car (Mercedes, Caddilac, etc) only to see them pulled over a head of me. A few times while resting I witnessed one of these “stops”. It couldn’t have lasted longer than 3 minutes before the motorist was released. No search, no document check, just the driver passing something to the officer. I imagine the police know who is in these cars and was passed some sort of payment but can’t be positive. It just didn’t seem right and a bit too transactional.
Reaching Chihuahua before night I eventually found my hostel for the night. My host was about my age and had traveled extensively though Europe. He inherited his grandfathers house and was renovating it for Airbnb. We spent the night talking and walking around the town sharing some beers. I heard some music I recognized in the distance and suggested we head there. It was playing that typical Mexican country music from the movies. He quickly shut me down informing me that it was Narco Music. Telling me that he doesn’t go to any of those places because that’s where people are killed. The Narcos hang out in those bars playing their music attracting a certain clientele and to let others know to stay away.
The city was nice and didn’t think the threat was as real as it was. Narcos are part of the culture and are the outlaw cowboys. They stick to themselves but it’s a one way street once entered. Once we got back to the house he helped me move the bike to a hospital parking lot that was guarded. The ‘parking lot’ was the entrance to the emergency room and the spot was in-between wheelchair ramps. He said it was really the only option and would be safe for the night. I fell asleep to the sounds of narco music in the distance wondering if the people who approached me on the street earlier were friendly or were scouting the bike to steal later.
In the morning I was ready to leave. My host was great but I started to feel the bike was attracting a bit more attention than expected. I also started to realize that this was going to be a lot harder than the previous 5 months in Asia. Tourism isn’t developed in Northern Mexico and the further south I go, the less English people know.
I was told by a friend about his route he used to take as a kid to visit family and started to follow his suggestions. The next real stop was about a two day ride where I would take a rest. During my next day I also realized that my MPGs were abysmal. I predicted I would average 500miles per tank and was getting just over 300. I was burning gas and cash and stopping far too often. I arrived in Torreon and got a room within a strange concrete complex on the edge of town. There was a pool which a local family was using for a family party. After getting situated they offered me a beer and taught me some Spanish using a map of the world in the patio area.
Again in the morning I packed up and left for my next destination of Zacatecas. A small hilly Colonial town situated in the mountains. The hills made parking difficult but I was happy to have a chance to rest. I spent the night walking the town square and eating. That night I woke up very sick and didn’t sleep much. I knew I was going to have to extend as there was no way I could ride in my condition. Luckily I had some powerful antibiotics I purchased in Asia and knocked it out quickly.
At this point in the trip I haven’t met a single other person besides my hosts, who usually didn’t speak English. Feeling a bit lonely I took the next day to play tourist and walk the city. I also broke the news to Sarah that I was going to miss her by at least a week. Mexico is much much bigger than expected and I overestimated how much ground I could cover. Zacatecas was a great city and unlike anything I thought Mexico had to offer. I also learned that I needed to learn Spanish sooner than later due to an experience of losing my debit card twice in one day. Thankfully I got it back, both times.
Following the suggestions I went to a little lodge his relatives own. Far off the paved road and situated off a dirt road in the mountains. I hadn’t been able to reach them but it was advertised as a hostel so figured I could just show up. As I progressed the road deteriorated resulting in losing traction and dropping my bike on some rocks close to where the lodge was. Picking it up and ego bruised I reached the end of the map. It was on some farm land with no lodge in sight. Some farmers came to offer help but with our limited conversation they just pointed me to go back.
Close to where I dropped the bike I spotted a large lodge type building and entered the driveway. Greeted by my friends cousin I told him about our mutual friend and he welcomed me home. They are building an eco lodge focused around yoga but isn’t open all the time. Only a few days a year and it was not one of those times. I could stay one night but then everyone was leaving the following day. It was a great space and relaxing in the mountains. They had a herd of friendly dogs that roamed the complex. It is a new community but one they have grand plans. Each member of the family has an area of focus and an idea of what to build on the land. Cumulatively a family vision to welcome guests and hold retreats.
Leaving the following morning my bike was really acting up. It is burning fuel but I have no power. Looking on the map the next destination has a few mechanics. Setting off for San Miguel de Allaente hoping that someone can help figure out my issue. The town recently was named the best city in the world. People I met along the way were confused about this distinction but nonetheless seemed like a promising place.
Following my directions to the only listed Kawasaki mechanic within 1000 miles I arrived on the outskirts of town at a nondescript house on a cobblestone street. No shop or motorcycles in sight. Proceeding to my second choice I arrive at a shop who has stopped providing mechanical services. He does recognize my bike and tells me there is a guy named Alberto who works on them. He doesn’t know the address but with google street view he locates it.
Hopeful and with third time being the charm I arrive at Alberto’s. A huge iron gate separates his garage from the street. With no markings of being a motorcycle shop I enter and find Alberto changing the fork oil on a KLR. His shop is full of KLRs and GS’s in various states of functionality. 15 bikes litter the space and I tell him of my problems. Having a full roster of work he tells me he has no time to work on mine but is confident he knows the issue.
Alberto was the fleet mechanic for MotoDiscovery, a group that takes people on motorcycle trips. Their bike of choice was the KLR when Alberto worked with them. As they would replace bikes he would buy them. He knew the bike in and out and spends his days working on customer bikes nowadays.
Based on my explanation and listening to the bike, he searches for the part. Having none on hand and the next closest being 600 miles away, we weigh the options. “Well maybe I am wrong and maybe it’s something else” he quips to keep my spirits up. Suggesting that we take it apart and see for ourselves. We decide it has to do with the carburetor and need to get it out. Offering me his shop and tools he tells me to get to work. I will handle tearing into the bike and when I reach the carb he will come over and help fill in the knowledge gaps. Spread out on the floor I remove everything from the bike and place the parts again in organized chaos.
With his help we take apart the carb for my first time. Thankfully the part we had in mind wasn’t damaged and was in fine operating condition. Puzzled I fill in some knowledge gaps I had from the previous owner. I always had a feeling the previous owner had modified the carb but it was never enough of an issue to investigate. I had packed a carb rebuild kit in my tools on the off chance I would need it. I didn’t know what was inside of said kit but I had it and figured when the time came I could find the knowledge.
After hearing about the modifications by the previous owner we had a look at the fuel jets and found our problem. The previous owner changed them out to compensate for an upgraded exhaust. Something you are supposed to do but no one ever really does, guess the guy did it correctly. A few twists of a Phillips head and the jets were out. A few more twists and the correct ones were installed along with a new spark plug. After installing the rest of the fuel system and a little bit of choke, the bike fired up.
We talked that afternoon over coffee and grease about my trip and life in general. I shared how my dads passing really triggered and set in motion my trip searching for some additional meaning for my life. He certainly believed in the long game of life and said at 29 I was a toddler and there is so much more to live. A close friend of his had recently passed away just as his life was finally coming into focus. It was a shame for it to end just as things just started ‘working’. Dedicating his entire life on his business in hopes of a better life only for it to end as it was gaining traction. Seems to be a common and unfortunate narrative I’ve heard before.
He thought I had made the right decision to travel and live the years I have. Also providing caution in acknowledging that I am or will be quickly approaching a cross-road. This lifestyle is too easy to accept and at some point there will be a time where I’ll have to go back, or I won’t. The choice is mine but it’s hard to give up waking up and going to bed when I want, where I want, when it goes on for too long. Certainly understand what he is saying and his message was not loss in the bliss of traveling.
As our time came to an end he wished me well and told me to be safe. Signing my tank “Solo, Pero con cuidado. Suerte!!”
At the hostel I met another guy my age who was doing something similar to my host in Chihuahua. He had a beautiful home and offered me a delicious breakfast each morning. Telling him of my mechanical trouble he said his neighbor runs a shop with a focus on my model bike. He was referring to Alberto and we shared a laugh how I had already met with him. Small world but understood that “those people” were in my path.
I spent three nights in the best city in the world. Walking its narrow cobble stone streets and people watching in the town square. It was an extremely interesting place to visit and one I hope to visit again. There is a large ex-pat community of artists with galleries and workshops. Spending a day at the hot spring spas was extremely relaxing even if I lost one of my three shirts there. Also getting the chance to visit a traditional Mexican mask museum inside someones home. The masks look like something out of an African tribe but are all part of traditional Mexican culture. The museum was so well curated and unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
I had no idea this was part of Mexican culture and he did a great job explaining it. Masks based on animals or folklore used in rituals and ceremonies, there was even an Obama mask. Telling me he started collecting masks after traveling Mexico and stumbling across a ceremony. Being so interested in it he decided to get a degree and is now the leading expert of the world. If I was riding my bike and randomly saw one of these ceremonies or masks in action I would think I was being sacrificed. Extremely interesting and helped me understand there is more to Mexico than the resorts.
An aspect I have found surprising while I have been traveling is how the locals refer to the country I’m in as “my country”. They want you to feel comfortable and doing most everything their power to help. They are proud of their country and honored our paths have crossed. That’s not something I have experienced much in the states. I would never refer to the US as “my country’ it’s just a place I live there is nothing possessive about it. And I find the difference very interesting.
From the border guard telling me to stay on the toll roads because “his country is beautiful but can be unsafe.” To my hosts in the woods helping me stay safe on the roads. To the random motorist asking if I needed help as I rested on the side of the road. It seems they feel a responsibility to my experience and my journey.
At this point I started to feel pretty comfortable riding and the perceived risk levels. I did have a sobering experience as I was leaving the following day. I hadn’t been following the news but currently there is a national story about two European cyclists who went missing. At the end of April their families alerted the authorities about their radio silence and a search was called. The people of the southern state of Chiapas combed the country side and everyone feared the worst as the search yielded no results. After a few weeks the cyclists were found and the government claimed they were involved in a wreck and fell into a ravine with no foul play.
The people of Mexico did not buy the explanation and the issue was pressed due to the government covering these types of incidents in the past. The unfortunate truth came out this week and the cyclists were found beheaded and their bodies dumped. I can only speculate the reason for the governmental coverup but I think it says a lot about the people of Mexico. This is their country and they aren’t afraid of the powers that be. They are willing to fight for what they know is right. Also check out the teacher protests in Oaxaca, revolution is brewing down here and they are proud of it.
I debated proceeding to Mexico City but elected to skip over it. Big busy cities are a pain with the bike and I’ll save it for next time. The next destination was Oaxaca about 500 miles from San Miguel de Allende. A long ride to say the least but excited to see how the bike performed. MPGs climbed ~30% after the improvements and into an acceptable level. The state of Oaxaca is magnificent and reminds me of Colorado. The desert is replaced by rolling mountains covered in pine needled trees. For hours I climbed the switchbacks and at some point crossed over into central time.
At an overlook I stopped to take a picture and have some water. Stopped with me was a family in a packed van. Eventually one of the members of the family approaches me and motions that he needs a screw driver by pointing at one of my bolts. I dug in my cases and grabbed my tools. The sidewall of their tire blew out and needed to change it. They had a jack thankfully but no way to get the spare down. I lent a hand and with the help of another motorist with a lug wrench we got the tire changed. I was happy to help and it offered a nice break to the ride. Reminded me of a story I saw on Reddit about a Mexican family who helped an American guy on a road trip. Exceedingly helpful and when offered payment said “hoy por ti, mañana for mi” “Today you, tomorrow me”. I think it’s a good saying and one I hope to experience should the time come.
Exhausted and arriving in Oaxaca I took time to rest. Spending two days walking the small city and exploring the ruins of Monte Albán. Monte Albán is an abandoned Zapotec society which was discovered in the 1920s. At the hight of the civilization it was home to 30,000 people and focused on Astronomy and Medicine. It was a very advanced society but was built on a mountain. Once the water dried up, so did the people. They did not practice human sacrifice and their scientific discoveries were etched in stone adorned on the side of the pyramids. I found the most interesting aspect of the society being that as advanced as they were, they never discovered paper. It was all stone carvings passed along to new generations. I thought how can a people who were able to figure out the placement of the sun at any point in time be unable to think of a pen. Made me consider what things we use today that in the future will seem as insane by provide a trivial solution.
Climbing around the pyramids I had flashbacks of when I was a junior in high school and we visited Chichen Itza during a family vacation. That was certainly a weird time for me but I remember enjoying it even if the pictures lend a different interpretation. That was a good trip and one I am happy to have the memories. Even if I was sooo embarrassed to be seen with my family.
After Oaxaca I didn’t have much of an idea of how to get to Guatemala. My breadcrumbs of suggestions had run dry but I recalled a story I heard about a woman in the mountains named Maria Sabina. During the 50s there was an American economist who was traveling through Mexico and met Maria. Maria lived in a small village and was a shaman. She invited the travelers into a ceremony where she used traditional plant medicine invoking psychoactive experiences. The plants were psilocybin mushrooms or commonly known as shrooms or magic mushrooms. The travelers had such a profound experience and swore to Maria they would tell no one of their experience. Well, as soon as they got back to the states he wrote a story for the New Yorker telling of his time. Many credit him as being the first western to experience this compound and credit the piece for being the catalyst for the psychedelic movement of the 60’s. I had to go see for myself.
In researching the location I learned that the original location that sparked the movement was pretty much destroyed after convoys of hippies plundered the village. But was home to Bob Dylan, The Beatles, and other art types of the time for the experience. In the wake of its success a new village took its place which is where I went. I’ll call this place Navaro to protect the real name. ::If anyone is reading this and is interested, please reach out and I will happily fill you in::
There isn’t much about Navaro online or in an travel guides. It doesn’t show up on any hostel booking guides and seems to exist only by word of mouth. I was told that the town exists for psychedelic mushroom use. The plants are part of their heritage and the government leaves the people alone. The mushrooms grow wildly during the rainy season and the locals forage for them to use during ceremonies. This seemed unlikely and impossible. Mushrooms are extremely illegal at home and fear is fueled by stories of bad trips. But nonetheless I put in the GPS coordinates and set sail.
The location of the village is in a remote area of the Oaxaca mountain range. Following the directions along a winding road eventually I am told to turn off and the road is replaced by a rutted dirt trail. Concluding that this must be correct, there is no way for a place like this to exist just off a paved road!
The trail gets steeper and after a few stream crossings and odd looks from locals I am faced with a washed out trail ahead. I picked my line and gave it some gas. Going against everything I know about riding off road I stayed seated instead of standing on the pegs. Bouncing from rock to rock I feel that I am losing it. Before I knew it I gave it a bit too much gas and the bike flips. I fly off the bike and land on the side of the trail. Once I get up I see the bike has rotated back and facing down hill and upside down. Gasoline is pouring out of my tank and covering everything I own. Panicked I try to pick it up as fast as possible while gas is pouring on my chest and riding suit. The trail is steep, rocky, and each time I get close to righting it, it slides or I lose my footing. Dragging it around in an attempt to stop the flow of gas is only met with more challenges. Eventually I lose enough gas that it stops pouring out of the cap.
Standing on the trail steading the bike on its side I contemplate my choices. I realized that my directions were wrong and I am still 20km away and this trail wasn’t happening. With no one around I place some rocks to stabilize the bike to take my place. I can’t lift this thing alone and the closest person I saw was 5km away in the last town. As I am debating my options a truck appears traveling towards me and downhill. I am blocking the entire trail and there is no way around me. I motion that I need a hand and the passenger exits to help. Together we get the bike up and stabilize it so I can mount it and ride it to a flat area below. Out of the way I thank my new friend/savior and wave them goodbye.
Looking at the map I see it tried to use a shortcut. The town is still further along the paved road and return to where I turned off. I stop at a roadside home who sold food and rested with a quesadilla.
Continuing to follow the road eventually I see a sign claiming I had arrived at Navaro. It looks like any of the other small villages I have ridden through except for one obvious difference if you were observant. Wooden carvings of mushrooms adorn the road coupled with psychedelic murals. It was unexpected but verified that I had arrived.
On the top of a big hill rested a shanty hostel offering rooms for $8 a night with rooms build into the hillside. It was foggy but at the top I could tell there was a phenomenal view. The area is also known for Temezcal which is the traditional Mexican sweat lodges which I saw some signs advertising on the road.
After getting situated I asked my host if he could suggest a Temezcal lodge and arranged for one the following day. Pressing my luck I asked if he knew where I could get some “hongos” which is what the mushrooms are called. Enthusiastically he said “of course!” And said the hostel sold them. Further suggesting and encouraging me to do the Temezcal and Hongos tomorrow back to back. I thought having the two experiences in one day would be too much but was how the medicine was traditionally received.
I met a few other of the hostel guests who hopped on the psychedelic train and together we set off the following morning for our spiritual journey. We didn’t know each other for long but we were there together and felt comfortable with the company.
After a short tuk-tuk drive we arrived at Navaro’s house. Navaro owned 25 acres of jungle in the mountains and offers the traditional medicine ceremony. He was a character to say the least but his passion was palpable and shared how he learned about the medicine from his Grandmother. His land was selected due to its ability to produce naturally the plants he worked with. Everything we would use came from his land which he tended and protected.
As we waited for the fire to heat the rocks and boil the tea, we got to learn a bit about him and about each other. He made us feel safe and told us how he had found his ‘element’ encouraging us to find ours. A persons ‘element’ is what they were born to do. Once a person finds their element they are the best in the world at that thing and should devote their life to it. Upon finding it your soul knows and the entire universe opens.
Happy to hear about each of our perspective travels said that traveling allows a person to live twice. Once in the moment and again imagining knowing what is occurring at the same time back home. As you would expect from a shaman who lives in the woods he was not monetarily driven. Telling us a story about four-leaf clovers and a Rolex. His point being if someone has a Rolex and you ask where he got it, he would respond that he bought it at the store. If someone asks you where you got that four-leaf clover, the response is that you found it, now go out there and find your own if you want it. He was great conversation and I thoroughly enjoyed his point of view. Right before the ceremony started he presented each of us with a four-leaf clover as a gift.
It was time for the ceremony to start and I was nervous. I don’t last long in saunas and I have learned I am a bit claustrophobic. The ceremony was to last 40mins and we were ushered to a tiny adobe teepee. The three of us entered the structure and sat shoulder to shoulder along the edge. After we were seated he shoveled in some rocks from the fire and presented us with the pail of tea. Sitting in the tea was a batch of herbs which he instructed us splash on the rocks to produce more heat and steam. As soon as he finished he sealed off the entrance and left us.
Once the door was sealed it was pitched black and I started to panic. Breathing in deeply and closing my eyes I started to relax. One of the others took charge of splashing the rocks and controlling the temperature. Navaro would come periodically to add more rocks and refill the tea. There was no leaving early and after making sure we were ok would quickly shut the door, keeping in the heat.
I had heard that time evaporates while inside and it was most definitely inline with my experience. Before I knew it and just about as I was starting to feel dizzy, time was up. Quickly rushed out of the hut and into an awaiting cold shower to rinse and seal the pores of our skin.
Leaving the area and having a seat I was beyond relaxed and felt cleansed. I felt great and my senses seemed heightened. Sitting and reflecting back on the experience I was happy to have made the choice and felt right about it. As we recovered and drank water Navaro traditionally prepared our hongos into a tea. Returning with three clay chalices filled to the brim with his witches potion.
Upon cooling we drank the concoction and ate the remnants. It didn’t taste bad and is a much different experience than the western way of eating them dried. These are fresh, picked locally, and ingested in the environment they grow.
As we waited for the experience to begin he told us about his property and told us that it was all our home today. Encouraging us to feel free to explore and enjoy it as much as he does. After some time we walked the trail down to a large rock and sat in the sun like lizards in the heat. It was a beautiful day and one I won’t soon forget.
Between the waves of visions we explored the jungle and sat among the plants and trees. I hate to use the word hallucinations because we were in complete control. The plants were each taking us on a journey and showing us what we needed to see.
I remember laying under a big tree and studying the structure of the plants around me. Seeing how each was complex in its own right but each with its own solution to grow. There was no perfect plant and each needed the others for their own survival as well as the ecosystem. Each plant in the perfect set of circumstances had the potential to grow big or ‘successful’ but there were so many variables outside of its control that had to be considered.
Plants that grow rabidly, stretching and reaching for the sun were unable to sustain their exponential growth and would die under their own weight. Plants that played it safe and had great foundation but didn’t reach for that elevated level of growth would be snubbed from the nutrients of the sun by others growing faster over top.
There were no clear winners just ones that got lucky in their placement. Each having the potential to be great but few would ever make it. It was a delicate balance of the plants design and random placement within nature. As I studied the healthy ones I saw that the only consistency between the healthy ones were strong structures and environments. Ones that took the time to focus on the consistent growth while living in harmony with its neighbors.
Connecting it to my personal life I don’t think humans and society are so different. We all have the potential to do great things but there are so many aspects out of our control which can dictate the future. It’s no ones fault, it just is. But different than plants, we are given the choice of how to respond and react.
We also aren’t alone in this, it’s all a symbiotic relationship between each other. Regardless of the circumstances, control what you can control, because others are relying on your existence for their own sustainability. A healthy eco-system or society relies on all of its members equally. A loner or rouge actor can single handily destroy much more than just themselves and the impact can be great. On the flip-side, an ecosystem or society of those doing the best they can will only help grow and lift up everyone.
It was a hell of a day and one I am happy to have experienced. Navaro was a real deal and I am happy our paths had crossed and share that afternoon.
As we walked back to the village along the road he told us that logging is taking over the area and fears the forest will be taken soon. It reminded me a lot of my time in the jungles of Cambodia. Navaro is fighting to keep the forest and helping to protect it as it is part of his culture and wants to see it passed down to generations. As if it was out of a movie, as soon as he mentioned the loggers he summoned them.
Traveling along the opposite side of the road towards us roared a convoy of enormous diesel trucks spewing black smoke. They raced down the mountain side and past us. Navaro with his walking stick shaking his fists and wondered if the leader was in one of the trucks. The next truck was chopped up with a huge saw in the back. Driving it was the leader. As we made eye contact, with a cigar in his mouth and a scowling look. He reached out of the cab and flicked us all off. I’ll never forget the look that guy gave us or that situation. It felt as if he was animated and we were in the FernGully based in Mexico. An epic meeting of two worlds on the side of a mountain.
Back home we enjoyed a few meals prepared by the locals and the following morning went our separate ways.
The next day I arrived at a small beach town called Mazunte on the pacific coast and taking a few days to relax. My days have been filled with relaxing at the beach and enjoying the water. Yesterday I released some baby turtles and it was amazing to witness. The turtles were only a day old and knew exactly how to get to the ocean. As soon as they heard they waves they were off, frantically digging across the sand. The locals here used to sell the sea turtle meat but in recent years it has been transformed into a sanctuary with recovery efforts in place.
I’ll leave in a few days and probably have a week left in Mexico totaling about a month in country. Much different than my original plan of a week. There is a lot to see in Mexico and I want to experience as much as I can while I am in the neighborhood. I am also pivoting to study Spanish in Guatemala as there is no sense in waiting and it will only help. Have you ever tried to explain “oil filter” in a game of charades? That’s kinda how its been the last few weeks. Also, passage is secured to Colombia via a large sailboat which will set sail on July 13th from Panama.
The last three weeks have been great and looking forward to whatever is ahead.
- Joe