When we are on the road we like freeway test stops in the US as easy uncomplicated free places to spend the night in our van. In Mexico truck stops serve the same purpose and some are really nice with showers and washer/dryers while others are barely passable as a place to stop.
The truck stop in Los Mochis was of the not very nice category filled with broken cars, dust dirt and rows of trucks coming and going at random. Los Mochis is the mainland connection for trucks going to and from Baja by way of the ferry on the coast. We decided to park outside the truck area in the alley behind the 24 hour restaurant. As usual no one bothered us or even spoke to us. Might as well have been on I-75 in a rest area.
The hot dog lady blasted corrida music into the night. Corrida is a ballad style supported by thumping tubas telling of the heroic derring-do of narco -traffickers endemic to Sinaloa State. With the doors closed we couldn’t even hear her musical joy.
We got up at first light and while I walked Rusty (and dutifully collected his egg and disposed of it lest you imagine I think Mexicans should step in it) Layne cleared the decks for travel and made us coffee and tea to power us into the traffic flow.
We took the toll road which by now you know is called the “Cuota” and which cost us $17 from Los Mochis to the state capital of Sinaloa which is Culiacan, and slightly beyond, close to Mazatlan. The rates at each tollbooth seem totally random. My buddy Robert asked me to include a map of our travels, thus:
I’ll be honest because I always try to be at least that. The drive down Highway 15 was pretty boring even though it is Mexico! Layne denies it but she dozed off twice as we listened to a Carl Hiassen novel (Hoot, downloaded from the Libby app). The countryside was miles of corporate farms growing an ocean of corn -no surprise- with mountains looking hazy and insubstantial in the distance. The road varied between ghastly potholes and stretches as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Totally at random.
I love driving in Mexico. Compared to the stress and aggression in the US Mexicans take care of themselves. When rejoining the highway you drive the shoulder to get up speed and if you need to ride the middle to avoid potholes and no one is around you do it. On two lane roads people pass as they see fit and if you want to help keep hard to the right and use your left turn signal to tell them it’s safe. No tailgating, no inability to pass, no resentment if you do pass. It’s easy.
In cities it’s more complicated but people will give way if you need to change lanes. Parking spots are narrower and shorter and tighter to get into so I appreciate the tight turning radius of front wheel drive.
After we shopped at Costco, and we like to offset Mexican food with familiar food, a subject for later, we set off from Culiacan for the beach. The state capital is modern and reeks of prosperity. American fast food, a big Ram/Dodge/Fiat dealership and two Starbucks, both resisted by my wife, show it off as a city in touch with the world, like it or not. Away from the glitz you can enjoy a different pace of life as we like to, between shopping expeditions.
The iOverlander app, our camping Bible, showed a much enjoyed RV campground on the beach with full facilities and a pool. Layne overrode my objections and we headed for our first opportunity to pay to sleep in Mexico. Guess what? They didn’t answer our horn, our calls or our text.
When using iOverlander, in the US or anywhere in the world, it’s necessary to have a back up plan as the spot may have changed since the last visitor posted about it. Half an hour down the road according to Google maps there was a spectacular free campground overlooking the ocean. You be the judge.
To get there was a bit of a faff. Here’s how it works: you look at iOverlander and find your spot with a description and sometimes a picture. At the bottom it offers you a chance to open the location in Google maps. Easy. Then you set the mapping, turn off the Internet to save gigabytes, and off you go.
For a while we felt like we had turned down a rabbit hole picking our way through sand and dried mud.
Then we popped back out into the freeway. Just like that. I kept following the blue Google line. For a while after we turned off the freeway again we had pavement. That dream shattered soon enough.
It was apparent the village of Barras de Pixtla had been hammered by heavy rains. The government answer was to throw down pink gravel and hope for the best. Layne was not excited to be sitting alongside the voids that appeared from time time as we squeezed the elephant past the broken bits.
It had to happen and of course we drifted off course. Suddenly Google was wagging a finger at me for going off course. “That turning was a road?” Layne asked me indignantly. “Are you sure?” Bloody hell no I wasn’t sure. Nothing much made sense. We turned the beast around in an open space that appeared by magic as though everyone misses the turn and needs to pull a u-turn there.
Yes, it was worth it, the stones, the dirt, the sand, the sense of being lost as our home lurched down a narrow road to nowhere.
We might be here a bit. A friend might join us. We’ve already met some locals and we’ve seen mysterious lights in the night. Oh dear me who knew living in a van could be so much fun?
