Nice breakfast buffet, and off we go, all heads attached, no one even mentioning kidnapping macheteros…that’s a Norteamericano thing. Old news, and wrong news at that. So far. The bad news this morning is that I'm beginning to question the wisdom of allowing a Harley dude to join us. We're all gearing up, bikes packed, walk out to the parking lot, and J. D. is washing his motorcycle with a bottle of water. We're appalled...you can surely see why.
Perfect temperature, 70 degrees, blue skies, green mountains coming up in the distance, road begins to wind a little bit, what could possibly go wrong on a day like today?
Oopsie. We’ve arrived in Topelandia. More topes than I ever knew existed, whole swarms of them, big huge ones, Invisible in the gray asphalt, Dear Leader, being in front, bearing the brunt of hitting the things a normal speed. Owwwwwww. They’re EVERYWHERE!. Not much rhyme or reason to their placement. Not like the old days, when one knew a tope would be lurking at the entrance to every village and town.
However, mellow reigns anyway, as we cruise south through orange orchards, sugar cane fields, mango orchards, get to see glimpses of horse-powered cane mills grinding sugar cane. We arrive at the Tropic of Cancer, which, worldwide, is marked by giant balls, put there by ancient gods for future generations to have a photo op.
I only get us lost once, but do it twice. Really. The same losting. Well, not counting the getting lost in Xilitla.
Right on schedule we reach the turn-off to Xilitla, and climb rapidly up to the charming little village I remember, which has grown some, but is still the same, except for the getting lost part trying to find the Castillo guest house. I see a policeman, pull over to ask directions, and notice he instantly quits paying attention to me and is looking, with great concern, at the ground behind me. Well, no, he’s looking at one of my compatriots who is on the ground. As is his motorcycle. A missed shift, putting the bike in neutral instead of first gear, combined with an unfortunate incline has sent Jim to the pavement. Luckily he is shaken, but unhurt, nor is his motorcycle damaged.
Follows a finally successful hunt for a way to get to El Castillo, solo, then back to pick up the rest of the crew, lead them to the hotel, Jim takes a cab, Juanita waits with his bike, it takes forever for me and Joe to figure out how to walk back to where she is, (three, maybe four policemen give perfectly contradictory directions) and when we finally arrive, I’ve melted again. Now, I have to confess to certain Levels of Frustration when I melt, so I was quite pleased to finally get Jim’s bike to the hotel, get it and mine unloaded and rip my riding suit (black in color) off and change into clean clothes, order up two taxis, and all but Jim go merrily off to the main event of the day, Las Pozas, a place which has never failed to soothe my soul. My harshed mellow returns. Perhaps the photos at the end of this post will explain a little of the attraction.
El Castillo is still a wonderful place to spend one or several nights, delightful hosts, a new, excellent restaurant next door, rainy forest all around, organic locally grown coffees on sale in little stores, and of course Las Pozas is a wacky, wonderful, surreal place to visit. If ever you get a chance to visit, jump at it.
Jim was able to rest comfortably by the pool while the res of us went to Las Pozas, but unfortunately getting around was difficult for him, due to his rheumatoid arthritis.
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