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Day 12 by Jean Akens
with photos from Carmen Hill, Charlie Freeman, Ellie Lincoln and Bob Stuckey
 Burros with wooden packs that carry 3 handmade adobe bricks each. |
Since most of the farm animals on the ranch owned by the family of the young teen, Alonso., ran loose, we were visited at 2:30 a.m. by four burros, and a cow with a loud bell around her neck. Although the noise didn't seem to bother anyone else, I finally got up and shooed the visitors away so I could get back to sleep - at least until 5:30 a.m. when all the chickens in town began to greet the dawn.
Alonso brought us fresh, warm, homemade tortillas for breakfast. Before we could get underway after this delicious meal, one of Frenchie's trailer tires had to be changed (it was worn through), and Charlie's Bronco had to be jump-started. We then began the last (and roughest) part of the trail to Alamos.
Reluctantly leaving the
beautiful valley of the Rio de Chinipas, we went from approximately 1600 feet in
elevation up! up! to around 6500 feet, every foot of the climb rough, rocky, narrow and
winding (the only true four-wheeling of the trip). We began to wonder if we would ever see
the top! Craggy peaks outlined the crest of the mountains, their vegetation varying
according to what side the slopes faced. Palm trees and cactus intermingled with pines on
the south-facing slopes, with true pine forests on the north.
Unfortunately, there was no time to stop and appreciate the diversity of the flora. Raphael had told us that he could ride his burro up and over the mountain faster than we could drive the trail, and he was probably right. We managed five miles in two and 1/2 hours. In order to reach Alamos on schedule - and not knowing what delays might be encountered along the way - we were forced to keep a fast pace. Brad was having problems with his truck not wanting to go uphill, but slowly and surely we made it over the top and started down the western side toward the coast.
After lunch, Brad's pickup began to really experience problems. Last in line (by choice; we liked to stop and take more pictures than the others), we quickly fell behind. With a radio that was receiving well but not transmitting more than a few hundred yards, the others were soon far ahead and could not be informed of our plight.
The pickup finally quit altogether. Everyone could be heard discussing what might have happened to us (a wrong turn, etc.), but they could not hear our replies. Ellie and Bob finally came to the rescue, but the problem could not be corrected. The truck would start up after a rest, run a half mile or so, then sputter and die, especially if any uphill travel was involved. The process was repeated until we were all together again and, with Brad placed in the middle of the group, the truck began running well enough to get off the mountain. (Fuel filter, fuel pump and clogged catalytic converter were later diagnosed as possible causes.)
The group stopped for a quick dip in a cool stream before dropping down onto the flat-land surrounding Alamos. In a hurry to depart after his refreshing swim, Frenchie forgot to drop the door on the back of his trailer, and along the route it "blew off." Since Frenchie was bringing up the rear at the time, the loss was not discovered until the Fukarwes reached Alamos. So, "somewhere in Mexico" is a white trailer door, whose departure left the inside of the camper and all the gear it contained covered with a thick layer of fine tan dust.
Travel was speedy across the desert (50-60 MPH) until, near Alamos, Brad's truck decided to throw another tantrum. The process of starting and stopping was repeated until finally we managed to limp into town.
Alamos (Cottonwood) is a prime example of colonial Spanish architecture. A rich gold and silver mining area, the town had attracted a population of over 30,000 by 1781. Elaborate old mansions - many of them long abandoned but now renovated and owned primarily by Americans - line the narrow brick streets, and a majestic church dating to around 1780 faces the town square, which is surrounded by tiny shops that cater to both tourist and residents.
Rooms were found at the Motel Sonar, for around $5.00 a piece, rooms that came complete with cockroaches (which Frenchie swears were at least 16 inches long!), stained sinks and toilets, shower stalls where who-knew-what was growing, bars on the windows and dust-covered furniture and floors. But here again, at least the sheets were clean, and the atmosphere reflected true Old Mexico.
Dinner and drinks at the Casa de los Tesores Hotel cost three-four times as much as our rooms. This final splurge served as farewell party for the group, and therefore justified the expense.
Along with the "special" drink of the house that I ordered, came a paper telling the story of its history - written in Spanish. Frenchie had also ordered the same, unusual concoction of fruit juices and liquors. As we sat and read our separate papers, I struggled to translate. Frenchie offered to help. Reading from his own version, he really impressed the group with his command of the Spanish language; it's amazing what two weeks in Mexico can do!
Some of the group began to doubt the story, certain that Frenchie was making it up, but Brad helped to translate when Frenchie was stumped by a word or two, and the two of them were pretty convincing. Frenchie finally handed me the paper; his version was written in English! The joke was on me this time.
Since this was the off-season, we had the lovely plaza dining area all to ourselves, with our own strolling guitarist/singer for entertainment. It was both a happy and sad occasion for all who had shared such an exciting trip and were soon to see it end.
SOMEWHERE IN MEXICO
Fourteen Daily Episodes
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| Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day
6 | Day 7
Day 8 | Day 9 | Day
10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14
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