Going North

Friday we leave Pátzcuaro and start our 1800 mile trek north to the California border near Yuma (Arizona) where we will complete Layne’s two tooth implants. We have been resting all week in the park-like ambiance of the Villa Pátzcuaro campground, an oasis of shade amid distant city noises. 

The swimming pool is mysteriously out of order but we have electricity, sewer dump, hot showers and lots of nearby shopping laundry banking and so forth in a very beautiful city. And this time of year tourism is down and seasonal foreigners are back in the States and Canada.

Shirtless Stephane from Alberta was teaching Chris from Washington how to play washers, a weird Canadian sport where you put a coffee can in a drawer on the ground and throw washers into it. About as weird as curling I suppose, or playing hockey on ice. Watched avidly by Squirt who two weeks ago was starving in the streets of El Tule near Oaxaca: 

He has plumped up nicely. I threaten to roast him with potatoes for dinner but he just licks my face. 11:30 Friday the plan is to drop him off to his new life in San Miguel de Allende with a doting California dog lover who lives in a gated community with her own small active dog who needs a playmate. On first acquaintance they got on famously and I have no qualms about leaving him there. And now Rusty has an eye infection which the vet said should heal with daily cleaning with antibiotic laden saline solution. You can imagine how much he enjoys that but after two days we see significant improvement already. 

Rusty had not been happy, hanging by himself and ignoring Squirt chewing his bed and licking his paws. This process of securing Squirt a new home has gone on too hlong for all of us and as nice as sitting under the trees reading is, we are ready to return to travel as a threesome. We have a lot of driving planned in parts of Mexico new to us and I hope to glimpse the famed Copper Canyon this trip. Oh and the Pancho Villa museum where he was killed in Parral. Meanwhile we are in Pátzcuaro a city of some beauty. 

A church turned into a library when Mexico revolted agains the Catholic Church domination in the country: 

A statue of Gertrudis Bocanegra an 1817 martyr in the Mexican War of Independence. 

The small square named for her is a hub of commerce in Pátzcuaro. 

Lots of delicious pastries and puddings for sale on the sidewalks. I got my favorite, a custard filled pastry cone which I shared with Rusty. Squirt found the city overwhelming and we soon left him safe in the van. 

We made a sentimental journey to the top of the hill overlooking the city to the other RV park we have stayed at, called Rancho La Mesa. It’s one of those destinations in Mexico where Google maps sends you by the “fastest route” which is a hellish collection of alleys and tight turns and steep narrow streets. The easier route involves going round the back and bumping up a wide dirt road over a bridge. That’s the main highway in the distance:

And a wide east of bumpy dirt road to our favorite restaurant. Oh yes, the campground at La Mesa has a first rate place to eat. 

We also met an old friend, one of the farm dogs up at the ranch. A round of cookies and some chat. She told Rusty nothing much has changed since we were last here. 

The restaurant has a cracking view over the city and the lake which we drove around last year. 

We shared a lunch with Michoacán dried meat to start.  It’s called cecina (“sesina”) served with beans and of course tortillas. The meat is served “golden” that is with no sauce which you add yourself. We’ve had it in scrambled eggs for breakfast but it is better like this, jerky that tastes of beef. 

You can have an ostrich burger but I went for good old fashioned beef. It’s not “Mexican” but it’s delicious here. 

Layne had carrot cake but I had “ronpopo” which is egg nog and has the wet consistency of tres leches but tastes more of custard. My favorite washed down with cinnamon coffee. Yes it was a blow out and we napped heavily back at the campground. 

Lunch with a view for less than $30. 

We got an oil change, we bought pesos at the bank, we did boring stuff like you do because we don’t have servants. But retirement suits me, making my own routine and enjoying my leisure. On the subject I’ve been reading a book by a man who walked Baja in the early 1980s. He’s a tad bit too spiritual occasionally for my taste and I think that put me off the book when I bought it years ago but with age cones tolerance and I’ve been devouring it. 

Perhaps the fact that I’ve since  Baja adds to its appeal but it is a bizarre undertaking. He does it with no money, a constant stress, and leaves himself open to meeting and living with fishermen in crude fish camps and Gringo campers enjoying the wilderness he is struggling to walk through. It’s a great adventure and I’m glad I went back to it. You can give him on Facebook I’m told now in his seventies still camping and now kayaking the Baja wilderness. Graham Mackintosh found  his wilderness in Baja. 

We hope to be on the road by the time this posts, dropping off Squirt in San Miguel de Allende then driving north toward Durango leaving this park like campground and staying we hope in a friendly truck stop! Life on the road…

“A” is the mountain resort of Creel where I’d like to take a couple of days to rest.  

“B” is Hermosillo capital of Sonora in the desert. 

“C” is Rocky Point a beach resort not to our taste but where we hope to pause and swim. 

Pátzcuaro

Our drive from the failed hot spring experience was across a fertile agricultural plain south of San Luis Potosí from San Miguel de Allende towards Morelia the capital of Michoacán State, one of our favorite areas.

Squirt is a great van dog even though he needs training obviously. He travels with no problems curled up on his blanket behind our seats with no complaints. When we stop he sits in our seats and grumpy Rusty retires to his bed on our bed which is too high for Squirt to jump up so he has a refuge. 

The countryside was hot though GANNET2 recorded highs bear 85 degrees only.

A lot of the high plains were less fertile and reminded me of the desert southwest with mesquite bushes and dust everywhere. 

I can’t say it was attractive and I’m not sure I want to see it again particularly but I enjoy driving and these backroads have very little traffic. But lots of potholes. 

The stops to stretch our legs seemed to please the boys. I got thorns in my Crocs but they were fine. 

Layne buying fruit while Squirt tries to cross the main road. I am so used to Rusty’s traffic sense I struggle to remember he has no sense at all. How he survived on the streets is a mystery. 

Rusty seeking some solitude. One night he ran off into the darkness and freaked me out. He was just letting me know he was sick of sharing his slave with another dog. This phase of our journey is filled with stress for all of us.

Might as well be Florida…or more likely Arizona! 

Except there were some bits with odd topography. The road surface wasn’t too bad with not many potholes. Of course there were stretches where road maintenance was all patchwork and GANNET2 rattled like the surface was washboard.  

We passed the heroic larger than life representation of Miguel Hidalgo considered to be the first rebel in Mexicos fight in 1810 to throw out Spain. He was born in Guanajuato in  1753 and studied theology and philosophy in Morelia. He became a parish priest in the city of Dolores in 1803, a city known today as Dolores Hidalgo where started several businesses and learned Indian languages not a common thing in those days. 

On September 16th 1810 Hidalgo gathered the citizens in front of the church in Dolores and proclaimed the Cry of Dolores ( “El Grito de Dolores”) “Long Live America! Death to the Goverment! Death to the Gachupines (Spaniards)!” And so began the Mexican Revolution. He was caught in 1811, defrocked and executed. You may celebrate Cinco de Mayo when Mexico defeated France in 1862 at Puebla but for Mexicans the Grito de Dolores on the 16th of September is the big day in the calendar. 

All very well of course but we were driving to Pátzcuaro and night was falling. With perfect timing we found ourselves on the freeway driving past the miserable city of Celaya currently under martial law with the Army and National Guard trying to suppress a more vicious than usual cartel war.

I’m not scared of driving around Mexico but I’m not stupid either. We’d seen the columns of troops and police driving there two days prior and had no illusions. This was real. 

We were looking for a truck stop to spend the night but we weren’t stopping anywhere near Celaya by mutual agreement. 

Apparently the Jalisco Nueva Generacion cartel resents the Rosa da Lima cartel trying to muscle into Celaya and there have been a few massacres in the city lately. They aren’t interested in foreigners passing by but their aim isn’t always that great but their firepower is,  and getting shot in the crossfire is a distinct possibility. We raced the setting sun. 

Obviously we were fine and saw nothing untoward but we breathed easier once we were out in the fields driving the freeway through the countryside. There wasn’t a gas station to be seen for miles as we drove toward Irapuato from Celaya so when finally a small Shell station appeared we pulled over, not for gas but for the cement apron where a couple of trucks had stopped. We joined them. 

My former colleague Keith texted me as I walked the barren field with the dogs and I greatly enjoyed exchanging messages from afar discussing our former lives together, work and Key West. A small connection across a vast world. 

The freeway to Morelia and then Pátzcuaro was an easy drive. Layne tried to contact several boarding organizations in San Miguel de Allende as we drove. It was her brilliant idea to see if we could board Squirt in his future home town until Andrea his new mom could pick him up on Friday.  

We nearly pulled it off but in that very gringo town the only owner had had any room wouldn’t take him because he hasn’t been vaccinated for kennel cough. Huh? In Mexico? Just our continuing streak of bad luck. We are stuck with him till Friday. 

Above you see the sign warning you there is a toll booth coming and to prepare your cash. But they don’t actually show how much that is! Mexico the inexplicable… but there is an electronic sign right at the booth revealing the various amounts as you fumble at the last minute with  your coins and bills. Some brave souls use electronic passes but I’m not sure they are quite reliable just yet. 

Lots of magic third lane in action on the two lane highway. Slow vehicles ride the shoulder and when you want to pass you run down the middle. No problem, no road rage. 

It can get s bit hairy when some people get over enthusiastic but I just hang back and hope for the best. We did nearly get squashed once when a truck driver apparently distracted slammed on his brakes and started fish tailing with clouds of burnt rubber just as I was passing (in s straight stretch). He missed the truck in front by a long way but nearly wiped us out. 

We passed s bad accident too with an 18 wheeler crushing a sedan and knocking a pick up truck into the median.

The pick up was carrying avocados which made a mess but worse than that the sedan driver was whisked off in an ambulance. One oddity at these scenes is you almost always have an insurance company vehicle parked among the police rescue and  tow truck crews. 

Trash clean up. Freeways are operated by private companies in Mexico and your toll fee buys you emergency services if you break down and need a tow truck. Pretty slick actually though I’m glad we’ve not had to used them yet. There are also far fewer speed bumps on toll roads six often not too many pit holes. 

I felt confident driving 60 mph on this smooth highway. Here below I’m on the shoulder and the VW pick up is in the magic third lane as a car cones toward him. 

We arrived in good order and decided to spend the week in Pátzcuaro with the dogs until we can drive back to San Miguel Allende (bypassing the cartels of Celaya again) to drop off Squirt. Then we will drive north to finally fix Layne’s teeth in Los Algodones before we return to the States for a brief summer tour. Something like this over ten days: