Acasucko was a bitch, heavy traffic, Hong Kong heavy traffic. Bad signage, just bad bad bad. The best advise I can give for transiting Acapulco north to south is, follow the signs directing you to the air port. Before you get there look for an invisible sign that directs you to CA2.
I was lost for 3 hours, got misleading directions, and a lot of no hable engles. Huge traffic jams that required hair raising lane splitting and beating on the side of buses with your left hand to make them move over at the pinch point. Miserable stifling heat wearing full riding gear.
After escaping the shit hole of Acasucko I had some easier roads. The concern about the Rube Goldberg rear rack repair caused me to stop at a roadside moto repair shop around Juchitan. The vendor and his two sons were real nice to me and offered there shop and services. They offered up a drill and a couple of bolts out of the scrap bin. These augmented the zip ties but I needed a drill and an easy out to remove two bolts ends that had broken off in factory tabs that were on the rear frame loop.
On the road again and stopped by Major Major of the Mexican army at a military rod block. He wanted paper work and to geek the bike.He delayed me enough to hasten my decision to stop for the night. It was 8 kilometers to Pinetepa and that was going to be my rest spot.
The traffic was backed up the entire way.This day was to test every aspect of my riding skills. I employed my best attempt at track stands, heavy braking, emergency swerves, acceleration to avoid danger and trials skills.
Speed is truly relative to the venue, 180 MPH on the salt is as challenging as 20MPH in a snow storm.
The traffic jam was caused by funerals. The procession walks through town carrying the coffin. A band playing a dirge precedes the mourners. This is on the national hwy CA2.
It became apparent while searching for a room that this fills up the hotels. On my third inquiry I got an eight dollar room in a hotel that had an under ground garage that locked up for the night. The room was a little like a cattle stall but had a TV, toilet, shower, and a steel door that locked, it did cross my mind that if locked on the outside it was ma cell.
Not posh but secure.The word posh comes from the sailing days of the British dominance of the seas. On trips to the Spice Islands around the African horn paying passengers preferred Port berths Outbound and Starboard births Home creating the acronym POSH. The cargo of fertilizer, dried and compressed, if exposed to water would swell expand and could crack the hull and sink the ship. It was marked ship high in transit giving us the acronym SHIT.
Now I'm into unpack, change clothes, wash out some stuff by hand, and take a walk to find some grits. Dinner is turning out to be a high point in this trip because of the great meals. After dinner I walked around the town square and found a beer with an outside bench where I could people watch. a Couple of local guys sat down then left, no conversation, they were enjoying the eve same as me.
I stopped at a vendor to get a couple of beers for the room a local by the window helped with getting the beer into a bag and covered with a little ice. He then offered to sell me cocaine grass or girls, that emphasized the difference between my normal environment and this economy.
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