I had heard about Mexico’s fourth highest peak the Nevado de Toluca, (14,993ft/4570meters) the snow covered volcano of Toluca. We achieved our goal of spending a night in the parking lot at 13,650 feet which sounds impressive to me. However getting there from the butterfly sanctuary was a drive from
hell and that I survived it without completely blowing my stack was even more remarkable.
I am not fond of the State of Mexico and I have no doubt I was being unfair but the ghastly potholed roads coming out of the mountains to the city of Toluca (9,000 feet that felt like sea level for some reason) set my heart against the state. Some local people fill in a few of the holes for a tip. They don’t fix the problem.
It was such a bouncy swerving drive I envied the dude on the horse. Make no mistake this is poverty country, crap roads, no cell signal and dusty tumbledown villages.
You have to look carefully but you’ll see the patchwork nature of the road. GANNET2 just rumbles over this stuff which you cannot avoid as it is the entire road surface.
And then we came upon a gorgeous forest of Australian pine, the trees they wanted to remove from Fort Zachary…and I said let’s lunch here.
Rusty romped then sat and suggested we might stay the night. It was lunchtime but I thought maybe Layne could lose a couple of backgammon hands to me and we could rest. I told Rusty I’d see what she thought.
Sure enough Layne had been thinking along the same lines, not the losing at backgammon part, and was entirely happy to plan a night here. That was until a pack of five hungry dogs showed up from a nearby village. We shared out all the dog food treats and tortillas we had and canned the stop. Rusty was not happy surrounded by street dogs. We left and got back on the crappy torn up roads of Mexico State.
There are moments when I’m driving through Mexico I have what we call “gringo moments.” My language grows intemperate and I wave my arms around in a manner my Italian mother might recognize and I curse everything Mexican. It’s a moment, a way of letting off steam. It’s unreasonable and impolite. But it is necessary.
Why in the name of all that’s holy can’t these goddamned Mexicans build a decent road? Highway maintenance? A concept unknown south of the Rio Grande. And on and on, Layne turns up the air conditioning and looks out the window and waits. Look at these potholes! How does a civilized country put up with this corrupt shit? Doesn’t any government big shot live around here to order his road paved properly? And on and on. On the pauses Layne starts the audiobook on the audio system. Then pauses it after I’ve caught my breath and some other monstrous injustice about the road, other drivers or universal Mexican irritation sweeps into my overloaded brain. I start and Walt Longmire pauses as I continue my interrupted rant.
I mean look at this random stretch of gravel that just appeared. The four cars? They just scattered each looking for a clear path in some madcap LeMans start struggling to reach the asphalt to be the first away to the next effing pothole. You think this sudden plunge into dirt didn’t provoke another in an endless series of gringo moments?
How about this one, below? I’m on the shoulder looking for smooth asphalt, while the car is risking all his suspension in a crazy effort to get past, but the minibus (collectivo) took the biscuit by passing us both in the oncoming lane. More rants.
Suddenly the life of an impoverished campesino has its attractions. For a moment. Then another rant about Mexico’s inability to look after its people. Longmire was getting short shrift today.
Waiting for a bus? Poor bugger. We listened to another chapter as the rants subsided, a few moments of solidarity with public transport riders. Actually buses are a good way to get around the country as they run often and cheap. Their survival skills put me to shame!
And then perfection. How long will this last Layne asked as I was silenced by a stretch of billiard table cloth. Oh, Mexico van build great roads. They just have to have someone to give them permission. Well, okay they never got around to striping the road so lane changes are perilous guesswork but they also forgot to put the effing topes back in. No speed bumps for a few blessed miles. A gift! Thank you Mexico.
We saw some crowds in a couple of villages and couldn’t figure out what was going on. So finally we pulled up to a couple of young men leaning up against a car and asked what was happening. “Is it some religious event?” Layne asked out the window.
“No,” he replied.
We waited but no further information was forthcoming as he stared blankly at us, so we pressed on bouncing like a giant yo-yo on the crippled asphalt.
Finally we got to the city east of the capital, at 8,000 feet elevation. The road sign said Mexico City was 46 miles away which for a city of an official population of nine million was too close. The traffic conditions in the capital would produce a few rants…plus they have strict traffic rules to combat appalling pollution. You even have to get a special permit to drive there.
Forget Mexico City but we’d given away all Rusty’s food! We had to get more before dinner time so Toluca was our target, a city just to the east of the capital. We stopped at the Mega Soriana where I also hoped Layne would find some toilet paper not made of rice paper (more rants as the stuff shreds in my hands) plus some milk for my tea. My job was to walk Rusty and weirdly he loves parking lots, so I leashed him and carrying a full trash bag went looking for a trash can. No luck -weird- but Rusty had fun and Layne was totally successful on all points.
Just a few more damned potholes and we’d be spending the night high above the tree line. I’d never driven above 11,000 feet. Was I acclimated for this?
