Guadalajara Bike Treats - the good and the better

One thing that can be tough to find while bike touring in Mexico is a plateful of good veggies that you haven't put together yourself. Imagine our surprise at seeing snack carts like this stationed all over the centre of Guadalajara...


I felt all virtuous seeing the cyclist stopping in to refuel at one of these veggie carts. Could it be that through him I was vicariously living the healthy lifestyle misnomer that Basil and I have somehow perpetuated as professional bike tourists? Truth be told, this is what I truly crave post ride:


Oh yeah, CHURROS! aka dough - hand kneaded, fried in fat, sliced open and filled with homemade caramel then rolled in sugar and cinnamon. So simple and yet when made by this trio of angels it is like ambrosia...

Clearly I will never be a Pan Am games contender, but I can certainly take you to the best churros in town. God Bless these Guadalajaran churros makers. To sample these treats while in Guadalajara go two blocks up from the San Juan de Dios market kiddie corner from Hotel Azteca (any afternoon except Sunday). You won't regret it.

Change of Plans

“Life is not orderly. No matter how we try to make it so, right in the middle of it we die, lose a leg, fall in love, or drop a jar of applesauce.”
--Natalie Goldberg


As planned we started out pedalling on our Day of the Dead Tour in the Meseta Purepecha, but, following the unexpected and sudden twists that life so readily hands out, we ended up in Guadalajara. Sad to be losing our riding partners who returned home to address family matters, Basil and I turned to embrace what new direction this change of events might lead us.


We awoke the following morning having barely slept due to the noise of the traffic outside our hotel window. After some minutes of complaining to each other, we realized the noise of buses and trucks and cars had stopped completely. Peeking outside our window felt more like a dream than any possible reality - a river of bicycles silently glided past our hotel. What a relief it was to hear conversations and laughter instead of brakes and engines. It was Bicycle Sunday! better known as Via Recreactiva. On top of this, Guadalajara was also hosting the Pan Am Games. Everything was busy and everyone was at their friendliest.



So many distactions and yet with all our unexpected extra free time we were devoted to finding the maps needed to trace out a new cycling route. Top of mind was a trip along the road from Durango to Mazatlan also known as the "Espinazo del Diablo" (Devil's Backbone). Our first stop was to the bicycle friendly Casa Ciclista who offers a free place to crash and wash up for folks travelling by bicycle as well as city bikes for rent through Guadalajara's public bike rental program called bicipublica. Bernardo at Casa Ciclista pointed us in many directions for links that might help us gather more info. Best of all, he confirmed that our desired exit from the city was the lowest traffic of the two options we had for heading towards Zacatecas.



After gathering all the necessary maps, we decided to reward ourselves by attending our first ever Lucha Libre match - a definite must for pure gut busting Mexican entertainment.

Guadalupe Saves

It was the seventh time I had called this hotel over a series of days, and the unhelpful young voice was not telling me what I wanted to hear. "You have to speak to Jesus to make a reservation for those dates". Previously nobody had answered the phone, and now I had someone on the line who wasn't equipped to make any decisions. This is not so uncommon, but, with enough persistence I usually get what I want. I tried to get around the need for me to have to personally speak to Jesus, but this voice wouldn't budge. At least I had the name of the absentee decision maker. "Okay, so when is Jesus in?" "Friday" she said and she hung up. I wasn't hopeful.

Four days later I made the indicated call to Jesus. This time a different reluctant voice told me that, "nobody knows where Jesus is as he has no fixed schedule". "Does he receive messages and call people back?" I suggested. "No" she scoffed and then agreed that I definitely needed to talk to Jesus to make a reservation. I was at an impasse. Exasperated, I sighed louder than I meant to and hesitated as I searched for the right words to move towards a solution, but my mind was blank. To get rid of me, she suggested that Sunday might be a good day to find Jesus.

On Sunday, I picked up the phone prepared to talk to Jesus. This time a much more confident voice gave me the bad news of Jesus' absence. I told her my story and she remembered us and our crew of strange bikes and cyclists. She offered that if I were to call back the following day, she would be able to tell me if she could hold some rooms for us. A little hopeful, but also wary, I asked for the name of the person willing to take ownership of my developing problem. "I'm Guadalupe" she brightly answered.

How many times a day do I see images of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico? She's on everything from towels to tattoos. She's in the market, on the bus, in the park, by the side of the road, on the wall outside the butcher shop. She's cut into tissue paper and strung decoratively about the streets. Heck, she's painted into hillsides. She's everywhere, and the next day, when she confirmed our room reservations, I was not surprised to be saved, not by Jesus, but by Guadalupe.

Day of the Dead

Leading up to the Day of the Dead sugar skulls and plastic wreaths abound in every town. Our little group of cyclists slowly plod their way up to the town of Angahuan, Michoacan at the edge of the lava flow of the volcano of Paricutin. Purepecha announcements echo across town like some kind of continuous chant, people scurry about town buying flowers and wreaths in preparation for the celebration of the Day of the Dead. The atmosphere in the cemetery is not somber. The whole community turns out to tidy the graves and make their offerings spending the evening and day with their dearly departed. Kids run and play. Prayers are made. Food is shared. Plates of tamales are extended to us. The feeling is overwhelmingly warm and welcoming.

Festive Oaxaca

It has been silent here a long while, but being in Oaxaca through Guelaguetza it is hard to keep quiet - especially through all the fireworks and festivities. Wandering amidst the carnival of colour and the hopeful energy that flows at events like this, it is difficult to understand the hesitation anyone might feel about coming here. As in life, if you keep your eyes and your heart open, Mexico is as beautiful as you allow her to be.

Mexican Doughboy?

Mexican bakeries abound even in the smallest of towns. Most evenings the aroma of baked goods wafts out into the streets tempting passersby to load up on what are mainly sweet breads. I have learned over the years that, for Mexican bread to be at all enjoyable, it really must be eaten the day it is purchased. In my opinion, breads here look and smell a lot more exciting than they taste. They certainly do come up with a good variety of shapes for their breads, but I have yet to discover a huge variance between their flavour and texture. Perhaps with time, I'll be better at discerning their subtleties. For now, I'll keep following those aromas and will never resist a roll that comes out of a wood burning oven - especially one that is lovingly created by a happy fat baker.

Isla Soyaltepec

What would life be like in a world without cars? A half hour boat trip through islands that are little more than tree tops takes you to the Island of Soyaltepec always remote, but now exceedingly remote since the flooding of the Temascal Reservoir. One benefit of the dam is that all 500 of Soyaltepec's residents have electricity, but the roads are grass or mud and stone and donkeys traffic all consumibles from the turkey studded wharf to the town at the top of the half hour climb. After days of rain the locals are pleased to see strangers picking their way along the muddy tracks towards the summit of their island. Local women proudly promote their embroidery, a local drunk keeps a good tune on an avocado leaf, livestock roams free and the 18th century church has the best view on the island.

San Pedro Ixcatlan

To the right off Highway 182 just past the village of Surprise and some 7 kilometres down a cement road surrounded by blue waters and idyllic pastureland is a tiny slice of Oaxacan paradise. The pace is slow, everyone acknowledges you as you walk by, and you hear Mazatec more than Spanish in the streets of San Pedro Ixcatlan. Some thoughtful soul decided to share this dreamlike village with the outside world by building a hotel at the top of town's most distant hillock. Spend a few days nourishing yourself on seafood and basking in the simple beauty of the surrounding islands.

Mazatec country

The gentle road that winds it's way along the banks of the Papaloapan river through groves of rubber trees and sugar cane is a welcome reprieve as we enter the wide open and warm country of the Mazatec people. Embroidery abounds, fields are fertile, and the weather holds out allowing some of our clothing to almost dry.

Leaving behind the Tuxtepec's paper mills and the largest brewery in Mexico, we turn west and make our way to a little visited gem in a forgotten corner of Oaxaca state: the 1000 islands. Fish, fish, and fish abound and are the main way of life for these people who just 55 years ago grew mainly cotton, coffee, and rice. Sleepy San Pedro Ixcatlan pokes out into the flood waters of the Miguel Aleman dam or Temascal reservoir and nestles itself nicely alongside the imposing presence of the Mazatec holy mountain Cerro Rabon.

Sierra Juarez

It's not that there has been no sun on our little turn through the north of Oaxaca. We left the valley with the sun on our backs, but when the clouds roll in and you're at altitude the only way to escape the cold is with a hot beverage, a heavy blanket, and/or a fireplace. Homes are not heated in Mexico the way they are north of the border. When it is cold, it's cold. We still managed to pull ourselves out from under our blankets on our rest day to head out by mototaxi for a small sampling of the biodiversity of the forests of Sierra Juarez.

Return to the Sierra

I stalled out. For some reason I got stuck and could blog no more. Not even cycling in the highlands of Michoacan or along the Pacific coast could pull me out of my slump. I was unwell while exploring our new Oaxaca route a few months ago and between guiding tours and moving in to our new place I have had little energy to spare since, but I'm back and reinspired by having nearly completed this new Oaxaca route with our first group of riders.

Here I return us to that climb from Oaxaca to Ixtlan de Juarez and on to Cerro Machin and Pelon and then that tremendous 3000m drop down into the spongy lush Papaloapan basin. We thought it was epic having done it in the rain and fog and then the dark, but this time we got to add the presence of ice and snow into the mix. Perhaps it is just a really mean mountain that doesn't really like to give up cyclists to the other side? All I know is: blankets can be hard to come by when it is cold and rainy in a place that is always hot, and clothing that varies from wet to damp isn't much fun at all.

Curious Goose

Stopping for a quiet lunch outside of Tuxtepec we take notice of a curious goose keen on clean bicycles. His bike worship went on for many, many minutes until I shooed him away once he started to reef of the cables of the bike. He didn't move far though he simply waddled over to the next bike to cuddle up and gaze longingly.

Plunging into the Papaloapan

Okay, so....I lied.

Earlier I said we were going to cycle this route the opposite way when we offered it as a tour.

You see, Basil cycled this road a decade or so ago and his memory was almost as foggy as the middle part of this day's ride. Leaving Ixtlan we believed we had 17km of uphill to be followed by a beautiful long downhill to almost sea-level, but much to our surprise 17km became 40km, and as a result, the ride became not so easy. It didn't help that our very late departure put us at only half way down the mountain by nightfall. Our only blessing was that the rain and the fog gave way leaving us a beautiful, dry, newly paved road that delivered us safely into Valle Nacional.

In the end, the amount of work that went into this day's longer than expected climb and our rolling (not always downhill) 3000m drop made us realize what a death march this ride would be for most fully-loaded bike tourists if cycled the opposite direction. For most such a ride would be simply impossible. Therefore we will indeed drop 3000m instead of climbing them. That drop will take us through pine-oak forests and into stunningly lush tropical hardwood jungle that is fed by water that trickles slowly and then cascades down the walls of the surrounding mountains eventually turning into tremendous rivers that gush out into the Papaloapan Plain. Corn, tobacco, coffee, rubber, sugarcane, and pineapple fill the valley and spill out towards the state of Varacruz. In Valle Nacional, surrounded by descendants of the Chinantec people, we eat empanadas and relax.

The Perfect Egg

A day was taken to explore the communities and trails around Ixtlan de Juarez where everyone and their dog's fleas are named Juarez. In this exploration Basil and Alejandro came upon what might be the most perfect egg. Fried on a flat clay grill (comal) rubbed with salt this egg never met a drop of oil but it was coupled (quite beautifully I might add) with a fresh piece of the peppery anise flavoured leaf known as hoja santa. Bring it together with handmade tortillas and and this humble breakfast gets my label as the perfect egg.

Oh, and there are some pretty sweet forest trails out here as well, but those eggs!

Arriving Ixtlan

We awake in a tidy, but roughly hewn wooden cabin in the village of El Punto almost 1000m above the Valley of Oaxaca. Outside the sun blazes down the lush hillside that leads to our cabin evaporating the thick layer of dew that has fallen overnight. We layer up in preparation for the remainder of our downhill before climbing back up to Guelatao the humble birthplace of Mexico's most beloved President, Benito Juarez.



From Guelatao it is a steep ascent to sleepy Ixtlan de Juarez once famous for it's cochineal industry. The Churrigueresque churches are the only testimony to the wealth that the highly sought after vibrant red dye of this insect brought to the area. Like Baroque on steroids the interiors of these churches drip with colonial excess. After silver, cochineal was once the second export of Mexico. It is difficult to imagine this simple town created so many millionaires.

Today it's wealth lay in the biodiversity of its surrounding forests. The WWF rates it amongst the 17 most biodiverse ecosystems in the world. All of Mexico's big cat species can be found here. Thankfully the Mexican government has invested a great deal in the development of ecotourism in this region and the surrounding communities take their role in this development very seriously.