Guanajato – San Miguel de Allende – Querétaro – Amealco de Bonfil – Chapa de Mota – Teotihuacan – CDMX: 473 km

El Cervantino lasts longer but will proceed without us. Our two weeks of rest in Guadalajara has made Marijn and me eager for kilometres. Surprisingly early, we get on the bikes, albeit with a heavy head after last night on the town. But the night has given us energy and we relive it on the bikes as we laugh at the fun we had and recall the people we met. The day is a perfect one. The road is smooth and mostly downhill, the wind is in our backs, the views wide, the lunch delicious. San Miguel de Allende and Querétaro will complete our sting of must-visit-cities-between-Guadalajara-and-CDMX in the next two days. The former is a dream of a town. Perfectly clean cobblestoned streets lead to impressive cathedrals on squares lined with even more squarely cut trees. The benches on the plazas are filled, golden hour makes everybody beautiful. It’s nearly Día de Muertos, and orange Marigold flowers line the doors of most homes, welcoming in the ghosts. San Miguel is a place for tourists, but Marijn and I don’t mind. It’s relaxed, most tourists are Mexican, gallivanting this Sunday away. We join them.

A bit bigger, more of a place to live, Queratero feels more normal, more genuine. The road is mostly downhill and we’re there in a whiff. We stay with an American lady, who came for adventure and stayed for love, the better part of two decades ago. Her Volkswagen Beatle is in immaculate state, and she doesn’t mind her son is growing different samples of weed on the rooftop terrace. Needless to say, she’s a bit of a hippie, and a very welcoming one at that. At night I already have an interview for a possible job in Guadalajara. It’s with Arturo, a friend of The Taller People who owns a coffee bar. The call goes very well, and before I know it’s settled; I’ll be going back to Guadalajara to work. I’m overly excited about the prospect.

More below ↓

The rest of the towns towards Mexico City start to blend together. More squares, more churches, more taco’s, more mountains and farms surrounding us. If it wasn’t for the potholes and ridiculous amount of insanely steep speed bumps. They come hidden and often, and it makes our ride tedious and slow. Unsurprisingly, the other rack mount also breaks of my frame. I’m disappointed with the All City, and liverish we seek another welder. We find one fairly easily. Precisely and carefully, they weld the broken piece back to the bike. True professionals they are. And again, when I try to pay, they won’t allow me under any circumstance. “Remember Mexico”, they exclaim with a smile from ear to ear.

Mexico City lies 2.200 meters above sea level, and as we pass through the villages, we reach higher grounds ever so slowly. Although the days stay warm, the nights get colder, the mornings mostly misty. Throughout the day we lose layers, throughout the night we add them. Instead of riding directly into CDMX we take a detour to see the Teotihuacán pyramids. It’s the first ruins we pass of the ancient civilizations that once ruled these lands. Even though most of the city has been destroyed by fire and time, what remains is spectacular. The Avenue of the Dead leads us through what once were residential neighbourhoods, towards the enormous Pyramid of the Moon, and past the even bigger (65 meters high, and 1 million cubic meters big!) Pyramid of the Sun. At one time, this was the largest city in the Americas, with an estimated number of inhabitants between 100.000 and 200.000. Apparently, a peaceful place this was, the absence of military or defensive buildings as proof, and no signs of an autocratic leader. Lest we forget the human sacrifices of course. The feathered serpents gaze at us from the walls of the ruins as we stroll past, dazzled and amazed.

More below ↓

As always with big cities, cycling into them is horrific, and Mexico City is no exception. And with over 9 million people in the city centre and almost 22 million in the larger urban area, it might be the biggest city I’ve even been in. We dodge cars left and right, but make it unharmed to our Warm Shower hosts Daniel and Daniel. They have an evening programme we can join, and before we know it, we’re at a birthday party in a cantina. We stay for a full week. An intense week. After the views over the corn fields and the quaint mountain towns that brought us here, it’s a bit of a switch. Mexico City is hectic, loud, and dense with life. Taco carts crinkle as their grills fill the corners with smoke, the sky hazy from the exhaust fumes, extremely loud busses drive around with open doors and windows, packed from front to back, hasty people stuck in traffic, rich people in the bars of Hipódromo, stylish people in the shops in vintage boutiques of La Roma, poor people pushed outside to the city edges. People, people, people everywhere. We fill our time cycling around, having food, having drinks, visiting markets, resupplying our bikes. We see the Mexican wrestling; Lucha Libre. We’re somewhat confused by what is definitely kind of a sport but also definitely kind of a play. But as we get into it, we soon find ourselves clapping and yelling at whatever is going on. And of course, we watch the Dia de Muertos parade. The day itself has been preceded all week by smaller events, dressed up folk on the street, and alters at the churches and common spaces. Oh, and the Marigolds of course. We take our camping chairs, that yes, we’ve been carrying with us for the past 10.000 km, and stake out along the route in the city centre. It’s a beautiful parade with elaborate creations of skulls and skeletons, large enough they move their libs over the spectators. The music is rousing and everybody is dressed like Tim Burton characters, in full face paints and beautifully eery dresses and ropes.

Then comes the night we nearly end up in jail. After a couple of beers and an unfruitful search for a party, we jadedly look for a taxi to bring us back to our Daniels. Before we do so, we get a last beer for our way back. Dutch tradition I would dare to say. We’re pretty much in the taxi already, having discussed the price, and with our hands on the doorhandles, three policemen, as out of nowhere, appear next to us.

“You have to respect the Mexican law! You cannot drink in public. Come with us now!”
“We didn’t know.” Of course we knew.
“You should know!”
“Man, we’re seriously on our way home, we won’t be a problem.”
“No discussion, come with us now!”

They make us empty our pockets and put all our belongings in the truck where they can see them. They carefully go through our stuff. We just got cash, and our communal wallet is thick with bills. They open that one too.

“No drugs?”
“No drugs.”
“3.000 pesos per person per beer. Now!”
Those are going to be some expensive beers…
“Or you go to jail!”

Before I can say, or even think anything, Marijn exclaims: “Take us to jail then!” The cops are somewhat taken aback by Marijn’s bravado.

“OK, get in the truck then.”

We get in the truck. There’s no other option. To be honest, I’m pretty scared at this point, but Marijn seems to be in his element. The ride consists of intimidation by the one cop that speaks English; “You know what happens in Mexican jail right? Are you gay?” I follow Marijn’s lead and decide to see what happens once we get to the police station. I hope they actually take us to a police station by this point, and are not just going to be taken somewhere and… well, I don’t really know what then… I text our hosts our live location, I send a message to a guy we met in Guadalajara who’s a cop too, but a friendly one. No response from either. My phone is almost dead. In the meantime, Marijn and the policeman go back and forth, the cop trying to scare Marijn, Marijn showing he’s fine with jail for a night. Free accommodation, right?! Then, after about 10 minutes of this strange standoff, the truck stops.   

“You’re free to go!”

Surprised we hop out of the back, and as we do so the cop that speaks English asks us with the friendliest of voices if we didn’t forget anything. Maybe he’s afraid we will accuse him of stealing. Once they’re out of sight we start laughing with relief, like a pressure valve that’s been relieved. Arm in arm we walk into the night, into the lights of this massive place, as we go over our thought processes. Marijn calling their bluffs, me making sure people know where we are. At last, we’ve had an essential part of the Mexican experience; being extorted by the police.