Iron Butt Lady
Oh, what a shower and a good night's sleep on a comfy bed can do for one's spirits.
I rise early, nearly dropping the bike on the slippery tiles as I leave the hotel, and I'm off. Probably one of the earliest starts I've had.
An hour and a half of twisty roads, I arrive in San Cristobol de la Casas. Mike's blog read that he'd had a good time here but all I have time for is breakfast. But what a good breakfast, three fat pancakes and a decent coffee. The town seems really cool, plenty of Europeans rather than gringos too. Being a Sunday there are loads (well actually only 3 or 4, but that's a lot for here) of bikers out for a Sunday ride. I get some advice on some good routes and head north (North west really but it doesn't sound as catching).
More twisty roads, then through the narrowest part of the isthmus. The Pacific and Carribean Oceans are relatively near at this point, causing winds reminiscent of Patagonia. Only this time, it's like a fan forced oven. For the first time the bike overheats. Doh!
After a little wait, I set off again. I arrive at where I thought I might spend the night. Still three hours till dark and the town doesn't look great. Do I go via the coast or directly up to Oaxaca? It's a minimum four hour drive of twisty bends and military check points. Determined, I set off. Even the soldiers checking for those ellusive drugs, guns and smuggled people in my panniers get the idea when I rant about 'Mas rapido por favor. Este mucho peligro on la camina para moto en la noche'. (Hey almost a full sentence in Spanish, only one English word thrown in). The suspension is now set up beautifully and the KLR takes the curves easily. I arrive in Oaxaca before nightfall, and thanks to Mike, I have directions to a cheap hostal with parking. More than eleven hours of hard riding and I've qualified for the Iron Butt status. Although I think my butt would have other ideas about doing that length of ride again.
Oaxaca is a beautiful colonial town. There are tourists around but not too many. The only other person in the dorm room is sick, so she declines my invite for a beer - well earnt after the long ride. She is also hiding in the room. I didn't know this at the time and went out unawares to the Zocalo for a walk around, some food and an email check. Whilst in the ineternt cafe, a Mexican archiologist starts chatting to me. Seems harmless enough. That's until I leave, and he follows. We're still chatting and he invites me to see some ruins nearby. I'm ready to decline as I've had my fill of ruins, and then he tried to kiss me. A slap and I definelty decline. What is it with these men! The next morning the local men are at it again. They see a single girl walking around by herself and try to start talking to them. Trying their moves. 'Excuse me, what time is it?. Oh, where are you from?, What is your name? etc...........'
Better late than never, I read the guide book. Oops, there is a section in there that warns women to be careful about the 'Zocalo Boys' in Oaxaca. Men who try to pick up American women. Now I know why my room mate is hiding.
I get a second opinion on the clutch plates, he tweaks some other bits and pieces and I'm ready to leave.
I rise early, nearly dropping the bike on the slippery tiles as I leave the hotel, and I'm off. Probably one of the earliest starts I've had.
An hour and a half of twisty roads, I arrive in San Cristobol de la Casas. Mike's blog read that he'd had a good time here but all I have time for is breakfast. But what a good breakfast, three fat pancakes and a decent coffee. The town seems really cool, plenty of Europeans rather than gringos too. Being a Sunday there are loads (well actually only 3 or 4, but that's a lot for here) of bikers out for a Sunday ride. I get some advice on some good routes and head north (North west really but it doesn't sound as catching).
More twisty roads, then through the narrowest part of the isthmus. The Pacific and Carribean Oceans are relatively near at this point, causing winds reminiscent of Patagonia. Only this time, it's like a fan forced oven. For the first time the bike overheats. Doh!
After a little wait, I set off again. I arrive at where I thought I might spend the night. Still three hours till dark and the town doesn't look great. Do I go via the coast or directly up to Oaxaca? It's a minimum four hour drive of twisty bends and military check points. Determined, I set off. Even the soldiers checking for those ellusive drugs, guns and smuggled people in my panniers get the idea when I rant about 'Mas rapido por favor. Este mucho peligro on la camina para moto en la noche'. (Hey almost a full sentence in Spanish, only one English word thrown in). The suspension is now set up beautifully and the KLR takes the curves easily. I arrive in Oaxaca before nightfall, and thanks to Mike, I have directions to a cheap hostal with parking. More than eleven hours of hard riding and I've qualified for the Iron Butt status. Although I think my butt would have other ideas about doing that length of ride again.
Oaxaca is a beautiful colonial town. There are tourists around but not too many. The only other person in the dorm room is sick, so she declines my invite for a beer - well earnt after the long ride. She is also hiding in the room. I didn't know this at the time and went out unawares to the Zocalo for a walk around, some food and an email check. Whilst in the ineternt cafe, a Mexican archiologist starts chatting to me. Seems harmless enough. That's until I leave, and he follows. We're still chatting and he invites me to see some ruins nearby. I'm ready to decline as I've had my fill of ruins, and then he tried to kiss me. A slap and I definelty decline. What is it with these men! The next morning the local men are at it again. They see a single girl walking around by herself and try to start talking to them. Trying their moves. 'Excuse me, what time is it?. Oh, where are you from?, What is your name? etc...........'
Better late than never, I read the guide book. Oops, there is a section in there that warns women to be careful about the 'Zocalo Boys' in Oaxaca. Men who try to pick up American women. Now I know why my room mate is hiding.
Oaxaca's beautiful San Domingo Cathedral
I get a second opinion on the clutch plates, he tweaks some other bits and pieces and I'm ready to leave.
posted by Michelle at 11:44 pm
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