Danny Beer - From the city of angels to the land of fire. Danny Beer, gringo on tour

They don’t give you any more buckets full of ice. You order your beers one by one. You get drunk. You go back to the hotel. You stay one more day. Sunday is uneventful. You sit in cafes reading books and chat to an American guy looking at buying property here. He says you were lucky nothing bad happened. Perhaps you should be a little more careful next time.

You have nightmares about fixing flat tires. You wake early. The bed feels good. You get up late. It is after one by the time you get going. You head south out of town. Up and down the little hills. Then the hills get bigger. No matter. It rains. You get wet. It stops raining. You are still wet. Wet with rain. Wet with sweat.

Traffic is light. In fact it is idyllic. All day traffic is minimal and courteous. But of course that one asshole bus driver does have to appear and try to run you off the road despite the rest of the road being open. But after dealing with a hundred such assholes each day a single cunt is of no bother.

Some dogs run out to attack. Usually in Mexico dogs stop the chase after the second shout. They all seem to ignore the first. You stop for a break at a roadside stop. Three dogs come out to attack. You swing at them. You’re not welcome here. You go up the road and eat where you are welcome.

Tomatlan seems to be today’s destination. But will you make it before dark. You eat dinner at a restaurant. Thunder calls out. It will rain. Tonight. In one hour? Two? Is it enough to find a place to stay? Back on the bike a gang of dogs attack. You shout and swing you whip at them veering all over the road. They don’t give up easy and you are glad no other traffic is about.

You pass through a town about twenty km from Tomatlan. It is on dusk. You find a hotel. The price is about right so you call it a day.

You leave town without breakfast hoping to find something further up. There are restaurants but you pass on them and soon it is time for lunch and you are hungry and you need food. You stop and get a bite to eat. The front tire hits a pot hole and punctures.

The day is fine. There are hills but they aren’t too bad. There aren’t any dogs out attacking you today except for a small gang towards evening. It rains all day. Just a drizzle and it feels good. But around dinner time it gets heavy and you wear your coat. Kilometer markers count downwards. Closer and closer you go. You haven’t really eaten all day and with less than twenty km to go you feel fatigued. No more water. No food. You press on.

One last hill to climb and then down, down, down for the last few km to town. You head into Melaque and find a place to stay. It seems nice here. You are close to the beach and it isn’t so touristy, more like San Blas.

It is nice here in Melaque and not as touristy as it’s supposed to be. Well, like San Blas the hotels are here. It just aint tourist season though. A day on the beach sounds nice but not if it’s going to rain all day. So you head off. The rain’s not bad. You feel good about life.

For the third day in a row you wear your coat. Traffic is heavier today but wide shoulders more than compensate. Soon the road follows along the coast and you ride up on the esplanade towards Manzanillo. The road turns abruptly inland and uphill. Signs indicate also. Ahead there is remnants of a road. But you can see many buildings and cars driving about. So you continue along the seaside and it does hook up with the Manzanillo road.

You chat to some surfers you saw earlier. And again when you see them further ahead. Before Manzanillo is the new town where it all happens. They also have a Burger King so you stop inside for an early dinner to get your fix of foreign food. You continue on to the old town where it looks much more Mexican and much less touristy than its northern counterpart.

You continue on. Perhaps now is the time to call it a day. You head out and when the time comes to choose between the toll road and the highway you choose the highway. Well, traffic is light and you should find a town up ahead with a hotel and a bed. A sign indicates a hotel on a beach another ten km further. Surely that must be on the highway.

You choose wrong. Another road connects onto the highway and traffic increases. There are no shoulders and trucks heave along. One truck forces you off the road. All the day’s happiness disappears in a flash. An insect flies into your eye. Two more follow suit. It gets dark. There is no hotel. You chose the wrong road.

By the time you adjust the lights it is only about twenty km to Tecapan, the next town on your map. But with only thirteen km to go you pass through a small nondescript town. It has a hotel. You get a room. It is overpriced for what it is but it has a bed and beats heading on. For what was planned to be an easy day you sure knocked up the kilometers.

You awake to the sounds of loud awful music next door and even louder banging from outside. Two trucks are outside. Evidently there owners have decided that two meters from your front door is best for fixing their tires. And of course the music needs to be loud to hear it above the noise of all the banging. This is the least value for money hotel you’ve stayed in so far. Yes, it is even worse than the one with the eight cockroaches.

In town another hotel exists. Too late now. The road continues as it did yesterday, ie narrow and full of asshole truck drivers, for just a few more kilometers. Where yesterday the scenery around the lake was nice you now ride through an evidently poorer barrio. You join up onto the freeway and enjoy a nice wide shoulder. A few more opportunities of accommodation present themselves. Too late now.

Except for Tecoman you enjoy forty km of nice wide shoulder. The traffic is heavy but it feels good to be riding. The road narrows but that’s okay because it also coincides with a reduction in traffic. In particular a reduction in trucks.

You spot a large hairy tarantula crossing the road. You ride on to St Juan de Lima, a nice little beach resort area. There isn’t anyone here. It’s off season. You find a cheap hotel and relax for the rest of the day. You’re out of pesos and there aren’t any ATMs about. No breakfast for you tomorrow.

You skip breakfast. You are out of pesos and the next bank machine is sixty km away at Maurita. Land around here doesn’t like to stay flat. There are always hills to climb. But with the ascents come the descents and they are always fun. Two towns lie before Maurita. Both have accommodation but neither have a bank machine. You find the town. It’s small. Just a beach community really. No paved roads and certainly no bank machine.

You do have some US dollars though. You exchange five dollars and buy some lunch. And away you go.

For more than forty km there is nothing but tarmac. The scenery is quite nice. The road winds around and around, skirting the Pacific. At around six o’clock you do a quick calculation. Two hours of sunlight left. And at least forty km until the next known town, Campos, with a bank machine no doubt. You’re almost out of water. You’ve only eaten two hotcakes all day. The road has many ascents and is bound to have more. Time to push on.