Empalme to Navojoa

The bed in the guest house is all springs, I get my Thermarest out and place it on top.  The floor would probably be more comfortable, but there is barely space as it is with my bike in the room.  Plus I’m a little afraid of what might be living underneath the bed.

There isn’t a towel, soap or toilet paper in the bathroom, I’m not surprised.  No worries, I pack these items anyway.  I open the door of the dilapidted dresser, and there, laid out, are two bars of Rosa Venus (standard issue soap at any Mexican hotel) on top of a towel, a roll of toilet paper made up of odds and ends from other half-used rolls, and a jug of water with a plastic glass on top.  The glass has lipstick on it.  Classy!

The neighbor in room 5 plays music for a while but I sleep just fine.  I’m up at the usual time, 7:30 with no alarm.  I stay in bed for a while, though I’ve decided to take a day off, I don’t know for sure yet if I can spend another night at the guesthouse.  On my way out to get grocieries, I ask the owner if I can stay another night, she says sure, stay as long as you need.

At the grocery store, I pick up a few pastries.  In Mexico, you pick your pastries, place them on a metal tray, and take the pastries to the pastry counter, and there they put them into a bag and write the price on it.  Everything in the store now has barcodes, so I don’t see why you can’t just take it to the register.  But then the pastry counter employee would be out of a job!  Back at the room, I prepare the usual oatmeal and coffee.  Here at sea level, however, the water boils at much higher temperature than what I’m used to.  I almost can’t hold onto the coffee filter while I pour the hot water over the grounds.  But I manage somehow, eager for that caffeine fix.

Over to the internet cafe.  Mostly younger folks here.  One kid watches boxing clips on YouTube, another plays a game, a girl prints out lyrics to a song and another girl looks for pictures for a school report of the damage done by tropical storm Jimena that hit the area just a few months before.

Back to the room, and then over to the grocery store again.  Empalme is big enough to have a couple chain supermarkets, but doesn’t have the big name retail or fast food stores.  It is a young town, stickers on windows proclaim the 100 year anniversary that was celebrated in 2005.  I can go about town with relative ease, it seems there is little tourism, so vendors are there to cater to the local residents, and no one tries to sell me things.  A few people do ask for pesos para completar los tacos, but there are no beggars stationed anywhere.

I buy an avocado, cheese, two limes and half a kilo of flour tortillas that have just come out of the machine steaming hot.  They are chewy, moist, a little doughy still, and have a delicate taste more like Swedish pancakes than anything you can find even in a Mexican grocery store in Chicago.  Back in the room I work on the problem of quesadilla engineering that has haunted me since the beggining of the trip: how to fold the tortilla and cheese so as to fit two at a time in the small cast iron skillet.  I come up with a way to roll the tortilla up neatly, but this encloses the cheese too tightly.  Runny cheese that seeps out and gets nice and crispy is a must in my book.  I’ll either have to start trimming the tortiillas so they fit, or trade the skillet for a larger one.

The serviceman arrives to install cable TV for the lady in the room next door.  It seems I have a choice, stay two nights or end up here for the rest of my life.

The church at the end of the block has been busy all day.  A funeral, a wedding, but this time I walk by and nothing is going on.  I walk in and take a seat at the back.  Three women go about sweeping the floor.  The one at the front is shushing another who is at the back.  But she is too busy talking to a dad who is there with his son.  The topic is her gastrointestinal issues.  She says carbonated bevareges don’t treat her well.  I am tempted to take a picuture of the older lady sweeping, but don’t want to be that pesky tourist.  Right then, I kid you not, a man walks into the church, and flash and all, starts taking pictures of the lady.  She ignores this completely and dutifully continues with her chore.

I read a few chapters of a book I stumbled across in Prescott, AZ titled “Southwestern Utopia”.  The book had lost its cover and was in a sealed bag, but the inside covers had a hand drawn map of Mexico, with a detail of the area of Los Mochis and Topolobampo, Sinaloa.  This alone made me want to get it.  The gist of the book is this, without going into too many details:  Alfred Owens is a child during the time of the Civil War.  His dad is a well respected medic and Alfred helps his dad on the battlefield.  Alfred gets a good education and ends up doing survey work for the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway.  The railroad will link up Kansas City to a Pacific port in Mexico in the Gulf of California and will be much shorter route to the ocean than California by several hundred miles (look at a map!). Somehow decides to start a colony in Mexico, his surveys of the Topolomampo area make for a perfect port city.  He has the buy in of all sorts of important politicans of the time (including the American and Mexican presidents).  He promotes the colony all over the US and raises funds.  Folks are overly enthusiastic and come in boatloads too early.  Many stay and endure hardship of building a town from scratch.  We’ll find out how this story ends another time.  If I don’t finish the book, no worry, I’ll be in Los Mochis in a few days.

Dinner time, so over to Don Tamal.  Three tamales, including a chocolate tamal which I take with me to enjoy later.  I’m sad as I know I won’t be back to eat here anytime soon.

I leave town the next morning, and ask directions at every block.  The directions out to the highway generally consist of folks pointing and saying vete todo derecho, roughly, just keep going straight that way.  It works!

A few dozen miles and I arrive at a town so foresaken I’ll not even mention its name.  I go over to the OXXO of course, and am approached by a group of little boys and a swarm of gnats.  The usual questions, but also if I got stopped by the federales.  I buy a Coke and move over to the other side of the parking lot under the shade of the gas station.  I watch two drunks pretend to fight.  Or maybe they are really fighting but are too drunk to do any harm to each other?  I eat my chocolate tamal from the night before.  I bike a mile to the other end of town and find a more peaceful gas station and eat some PB&J.  My peanut butter supply is dwindling.  Oh no!

More tedious biking in the heat.  I make it to a toll booth just north of Esperanza, any further and I’ll be in a city with less luck of finding a place to camp.  I ask if I can set my tent up outside of the gas station office.  I watch part of the ranchero movie Zacazonapan starring Pedro Infante Jr. in the lounge.  Some truckers that are spending the night in the rest area talk to me.  I ask them a little about their jobs.  I mention the military checkpoint I saw a few days before, they say it can take over 10 hours sometime to wait in line.  There are dozens of other questions I decide would be a good idea not to ask, so don’t.

A very noisy night and the only reason I sleep is because I’m exhausted.  The trucks keep coming through.  In the morning I go to use the restroom.  As is usually the case at gas stations, there is an attendant outside that will let you in and hand you a ration of toilet paper in exchange for 3 pesos.  I pick the only stall out of three that has a toilet seat only to find the door doesn’t shut well.  I try to wash my hands but neither faucet works.  Am not sure why the worst restrooms in Mexico are the ones you have to pay for.  What a racket.

I pack up and leave without breakfast, something I rarely do, but I’m fed up with the rest stop. Past Ezperanza and a few miles to Ciudad Obregon.  To Walmart for some pastries and coffee, and then across the parking lot to the VIPS diner.  The waitress takes my order on a little handheld computer.  My molletes arrive lukewarm, and I remember this happens everytime I’m at VIPS, next time I need to ask for them extra melted.  Or just not go to VIPS.

On my way through Ciudad Obregon, the main road splits in two.  One way the sign says “Navojoa, Los Mochis”, the other way “Navojoa, Los Mochis”.  Choose your own adventure!  I’m disappointed later to find out both routes meet up again.  I stop at one of the many OXXOs for some water.  I’m in line, wearing a bright reflective vest, holding a 1.5 liter bottle of water when a guy walks up to the cashier and places his Coke on the counter.  I’ve encountered this situation several times before at other OXXOs.  It seems as though if you want faster service, you simply cut in line and crowd the cash register.  I remind myself I’m in no hurry and that it is  not worth raising a stink.

Bike for an hour or two, stop at the next OXXO.  Repeat.  This gets me to Navojoa, where I’ve contacted a host through CouchSurfing.

The bed in the guest house is all springs, I get my Thermarest out and place it on top.  The floor would probably be more
comfortable, but there is barely space as it is with my bike in the room.  Plus I’m a little afraid of what might be living
underneath the bed.
There isn’t a towel, soap or toilet paper in the bathroom, I’m not surprised.  No worries, I pack these items anyway.  I open
the door of the dilapidted dresser, and there, laid out, are two bars of Rosa Venus (standard issue soap at any Mexican
hotel) on top of a towel, a roll of toilet paper made up of odds and ends from other half-used rolls, and a jug of water with
a plastic glass on top.  The glass has lipstick on it.  Classy!
The neighbor in room 5 plays music for a while but I sleep just fine.  I’m up at the usual time, 7:30 with no alarm.  I stay
in bed for a while, though I’ve decided to take a day off, I don’t know for sure yet if I can spend another night at the
guesthouse.  On my way out to get grocieries, I ask the owner if I can stay another night, she says sure, stay as long as you
need.
At the grocery store, I pick up a few pastries.  In Mexico, you pick your pastries, place them on a metal tray, and take the
pastries to the pastry counter, and there they put them into a bag and write the price on it.  Everything in the store now
has barcodes, so I don’t see why you can’t just take it to the register.  But then the pastry counter employee would be out
of a job!  Back at the room, I prepare the usual oatmeal and coffee.  Here at sea level, however, the water boils at much
higher temperature than what I’m used to.  I almost can’t hold onto the coffee filter while I pour the hot water over the
grounds.  But I manage somehow, eager for that caffeine fix.
Over to the internet cafe.  Mostly younger folks here.  One kid watches boxing clips on YouTube, another plays a game, a girl
prints out lyrics to a song and another girl looks for pictures for a school report of the damage done by tropical storm
Jimena that hit the area just two months before.
Back to the room, and then over to the grocery store again.  Empalme is big enough to have a couple chain supermarkets, but
doesn’t have the big name retail or fast food stores.  It is a young town, stickers on windows proclaim the 100 year
anniversary that was celebrated in 2005.  I can go about town with relative ease, it seems there is little tourism, so
vendors are there to cater to the locals, and no one tries to sell me things.  A few people do ask for pesos para los tacos,
but there are no beggars stationed anywhere.
I buy an avocado, cheese, two limes and half a kilo of flour tortillas that have just come out of the machine steaming hot.
They are chewy, moist, a little doughy still, and have a delicate taste more like Swedish pancakes than anything you can find
even in a Mexican grocery store in Chicago.  Back in the room I work on the problem of quesadilla engineering that has
haunted me since the beggining of the trip: how to fold the tortilla and cheese so as to fit two at a time in the small cast
iron skillet.  I come up with a way to roll the tortilla up neatly, but this encloses the cheese too tightly.  Runny cheese
that seeps out and gets nice and crispy is a must in my book.  I’ll either have to start trimming the tortiillas so they fit,
or trade the skillet for a larger one.
The serviceman arrives to install cable TV for the lady in the room next door.  It seems I have a choice, stay two nights or
end up here for the rest of my life.
The church at the end of the block has been busy all day.  A funeral, a wedding, but this time I walk by and nothing is going
on.  I walk in and take a seat at the back.  Three women go about sweeping the floor.  The one at the front is shushing
another who is at the back.  But she is too busy talking to a dad who is there with his son.  The topic is her
gastrointestinal issues.  She says carbonated bevareges don’t treat her well.  I am tempted to take a picuture of the older
lady sweeping, but don’t want to be that pesky tourist.  Right then, I kid you not, a man walks into the church, (he looks
Mexican, but how can I tell for sure), and flash and all, starts taking pictures of the lady.  She ignores this completely
and dutifully continues with her chore.
I read a few chapters of a book I stumbled across in Prescott, AZ titled “Southwestern Utopia”.  The book had lost its cover
and was in a sealed bag, but the inside covers had a hand drawn map of Mexico, with a detail of the area of Los Mochis and
Topolobampo, Sinaloa.  This alone made me want to get it.  The gist of the book is this, without going into too many details:
Alfred Owens is a child during the time of the Civil War.  His dad is a well respected medic and Alfred helps his dad on the
battlefield.  Alfred gets a good education and ends up doing survey work for the ZZZ Pacific Railroad.  The railroad will
link up Kansas City to a Pacific port in Mexico in the Gulf of California and will be much shorter route to the ocean than
California by several hundred miles (look at a map!). Somehow decides to start a colony in Mexico, his surveys of the
Topolomampo area make for a perfect port city.  He has the buy in of all sorts of important politicans of the time (including
the American and Mexican presidents).  He promotes the colony all over the US and raises funds.  Folks are overly
enthusiastic and come in boatloads too early.  Many stay and endure hardship of building a town from scratch.  We’ll find out
how this story ends another time.  If I don’t finish the book, no worry, I’ll be in Los Mochis in a few days.
Dinner time, so over to Don Tamal.  Three tamales, including a chocolate tamal which I take with me to enjoy later.  I’m sad
as I know I won’t be back to eat here anytime soon.
I leave town the next morning, and ask directions at every block.  The directions out to the highway generally consist of
folks pointing and saying _vete todo derecho_, roughly, just keep going straight that way.  It works!
A few dozen miles and I arrive at a town so foresaken I’ll not even mention its name.  I go over to the OXXO of course, and
am approached by a group of little boys and a swarm of gnats.  The usual questions, but also if I got stopped by the
_federales_.  I buy a Coke and move over to the other side of the parking lot under the shade of the gas station.  I watch
two drunks pretend to fight.  Or maybe they are really fighting but are too drunk to do any harm to each other?  I eat my
chocolate tamal from the night before.  I bike a mile to the other end of town and find a more peaceful gas station and eat
some PB&J.  My peanut butter supply is dwindling.  Oh no!
More tedious biking in  the heat.  I make it to a toll booth just north of Esperanza, any further and I’ll be in a city with
less luck of finding a place to camp.  I ask if I can set my tent up outside of the gas station office.  I watch part of the
movie Zacazonapan.  Some truckers that are spending the night in the rest area talk to me.  I ask them a little about their
jobs.  I mention the military checkpoint I saw a few days before, they say it can take over 10 hours sometime to wait in
line.  There are dozens of other questions I decide would be a good idea not to ask.
A very noisy night and the only reason I sleep is because I’m exhausted.  The trucks keep coming through.  In the morning I
go to use the restroom.  As is usually the case at gas stations, there is an attendant outside that will let you in and hand
you a ration of toilet paper in exchange for 3 pesos.  I pick the only stall out of three that has a toilet seat only to find
the door doesn’t shut well.  I try to wash my hands but neither faucet works.  Am not sure why the worst restrooms in Mexico
are the ones you have to pay for.  What a racket.
I pack up and leave without breakfast, something I rarely do, but I’m fed up with the rest stop. Past Ezperanza and a few
miles to Ciudad Obregon.  To Walmart for some pastries and coffee, and then across the parking lot to the VIPS diner.  The
waitress takes my order on a little handheld computer.  My _molletes_ arrive lukewarm, and I remember this happens everytime
I’m at VIPS, next time I need to ask for them extra melted.  Or just not go to VIPS.
On my way through Ciudad Obregon, the main road splits in two.  One way the sign says “Navojoa, Los Mochis”, the other way
“Navojoa, Los Mochis”.  Choose your own adventure!  I’m disappointed later to find out both routes meet up again.  I stop at
one of the many OXXOs for some water.  I’m in line, wearing a bright reflective vest, holding a 1.5 liter bottle of water
when a guy walks up to the cashier and places his Coke on the counter.  I’ve encountered this situation several times before
at other OXXOs.  It seems as though if you want faster service, you simply cut in line and crowd the cash register.  I remind
myself I’m in no hurry and that it is  not worth raising a stink.

13 comments to Empalme to Navojoa

  • Janice

    ¡Feliz día de acción de gracias! Esperamos que encuentres a alguien con quien festejar el día. Estás en nuestras oraciones. Con amor, Papá y Mamá

  • Lauri Moser

    I’ve suddenly become very interested in OXXO.

    • admin

      It is basically like 7 Eleven. And there are 5,500 of them in Mexico (at least that is what I think wiki said). And I seriously have probably seen over 200 already.

  • Doug and Mary`

    Hey Matthew!

    Sitting with your folks in our basement looking at your blog and at Linnea’s pics from Thailand! Global fun after Swedish pancakes!

    We’ll keep watching your progress!

    Doug and Mary and folks!

  • Cooper

    Awesome Matto. Hope you are really enjoying the Copper Canyon also. I bet it is muy increible.

  • Linder

    Matto, thanks for your postcard dudeman, I loved it! I might have to try and return the favor, although it could be rather tough if not impossible to mail you anything at this point, let alone from an ocean away. Dude I love that you’re in the Copper Canyon, do some barefoot running with the Tarahumara for me, or at least snag some of their corn-based beer. Holla!

  • VIPS! My days, I haven’t thought of those places in years. So you’re already in Mexico dude? Wow, really going strong. The pastry procedure you described was the same in Japan. Funny how little things like that can remind you of the past and really take you back. All the best man.

  • Barb Goode

    Hi Matt,
    I do enjoy looking at your website and learning a little geography along the way.
    Here is another possible contact along your way. My brother and sis/law, Bob and Ann Jeffery, are missionaries in Costa Rica. They live in San Jose. I don’t know the address because we keep in touch mostly by email. Here is contact information, in case you can make a connection:
    Home 011-506-270-9020
    Cell 011-506-843-7025
    email gapjeff@gmail.com
    Keep on trucking – oops biking, Barb Goode

  • Matthew, we’re caught up with you now. Guess you are in some new Mexican territory for awhile. Had my 5th chemotherapy yesterday (12/4). Went well. Our thoughts and prayers are with you as you make this awesome journey. Dan and Barb

  • Auntie Karen de Quito

    Hi sobrino!
    fun to read your updates…God bless you as you continue on your journey…it has been quite an adventure! We’ll keep checking in and look forward to when you hit the best country in south america!! tu tio te manda saludos!

  • Grams

    Hola Mateo! I have been invaded by 4 nietos. That is Aaron from Guatemala, Ben from Rush Med.School, Andrea from NPU and Care Bear also from NPU. We are having a ball and I hope you are too. It’s great to read your messages and I hope you are keeping them all so you can work on your book. I am ready to sell them door to door. Keep well and keep safe and have a wonderful unforgettable trip. Love ya, love ya. G-ma.

  • Miguel Ortega

    Saludos Mateo. Veo que al fin estuviste en la Barranca del Cobre. Te envidio pero te felicito porque pudiste disfrutar esas bellezas de tu México. Dios te bendiga en todo tu trayecto.

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