Khach Me If You Can

A critical lesson recently taught to me by the School of Hard Knocks on a recent trip to Sinaloa, Mexico. Poor route research and planning combined is a lackadaisical complacency built up over years of riding safe cycling-friendly areas of the globe landed me in a frightening situation and taught me this all to important lesson for future adventures. Research your routes ahead of time for even if the destinations are considered safe, the no man’s land in between may be a very different story.

A Checked Bag of Awesome

When I travel my checked bag is my bikebox. All of my clothes, toiletries, and “normal” items are haphazardly crammed into a backpack and my beloved road bike travels in the belly of the plane, across numerous conveyor belts and luggage carts to meet me at my destination. If my bikebox were to be a freshly detailed luxury vehicle you could check for dust with a white glove, then my backpack is a 93 Honda civic with balled up clothes and fast food wrappers coating the floor with the occasional mystery fry between the seat cushions.

The reason for this is simply, well, bikes are awesome and I love them. More so than the joy of cycling itself, I’ve found it’s the purest way to explore a new place. To see destinations and all the new space between those destinations from the saddle utilizing each of your senses is unique and special to the bicycle. So when it was time to travel to Mazatlán, Mexico I booked a ticket on American Airlines and prepared to explore on the steed. (At the time of writing this American still considers a bikebox a standard checked bag with no added fee.)

Route Research 101

My first step in researching a new location is usually searching “(location) road cycling”. The lack of search results should have been the first warning. However, sometimes in foreign countries the English search results are hard to come by if that location is not known as a premier cycling destinations, so it wasn’t enough to write off Mazatlán. I found plenty of mention of the cycling path along the Malecόn in the tourist area that appeared to be popular for cruise ship passengers to casually spin down on rented beach cruisers.

Safe? Sure.

Dreadfully boring? You bet.

As I continued to search I found mentions of cycling day tours our of local bike shops; however, nothing seemed to be hitting within the last few years… another bad sign.

Finally I had a Eureka moment when I stumbled across the GFNY Mazatlan page and discovered the race is held once a year in the area along with a page showing the associated race routes. Surely this meant there must be some good riding to be had. Oddly enough, I noticed the route for the race had changed from past years favoring multiple laps along the coast as opposed to a long loop into the nearby mountains and countryside.

As I always do I search for local bike shops in the area. Seeing what appeared to be a strong cycling community as indicated by the number of bike shops in the area strengthened my confidence further. This just might be a diamond in the rough!

In the weeks leading up to the trip I tried to put together some Strava routes. Heavy heat map shading along the bike path as expected, but the lack of traffic into the hills and routes I hoped to explore was a bit disheartening. I decided the best course of action would be to arrive and ride into a couple local bike shops once I had assembled my Emonda to have a chat with the locals.

A West Coast Gem

Mazatlán is known for is beautiful coastline and beaches, historical downtown, first class sport fishing, water sports, and a recent influx of resort development.

The tourist areas, Zona Dorada and El Centro, are known to be incredibly safe and an impressive presence of tourism police keep it so. Despite the development it remains authentically Mexican without the excessive and often gaudy international business influence that an area such as Cancun provides.

I want to stress the point that Mazatlán is incredibly beautiful and safe. No one should be deterred from visiting the city as a result of the story and tips I’m about to discuss.

Mazatlán resides in the state of Sinaloa. After that statement you may immediately sense a rather large elephant in the room. The same elephant that is the reason for the United States slapping a level 4 do not travel advisory on Mazatlán, the highest level the government will assign. Outside of Mazatlán, Sinaloa is an area high at risk for kidnapping and violent crimes and is linked to the Sinaloa cartel, likely the most active drug cartel in Mexico. This kind of activity and reputation is bad for business so any indication of it is scrubbed from the tourist areas within Mazatlán, which I will reiterate… I felt extremely safe in.

However, venturing out on a solo bike ride is an entirely different matter.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Bike Shop

The morning after checking in I assembled my bike and took a ride to a couple highly rated bike shops within a couple miles of the hotel. I showed the route I had created to each shop owner to ask if it was a common route, and more importantly if it was a safe route.

Each replied hesitantly that yes it was safe, but with a recommendation to go with a group. I took this to mean it’s always best to cycle with a group, but that the route was otherwise safe. Each route seemed to have plenty of small towns and tourist waypoints along the way to support the safety of the route. I’ve ridden in other areas of Mexico before and never felt unsafe, so it seemed that I would get to explore the surrounding areas as I had hoped, from my saddle without a care in the world.

At this time I would raise an important point that came to me in hindsight. There is a strong incentive in tourist areas to avoid or dispel rumors that an area is unsafe. No one will outright say that an area is unsafe because, again, it’s bad for business. The postcards of suntanned tourists sipping margaritas is the approved PR. This is the same reason it is difficult to find local reports of violent crime in areas such as Tulum or Cancun despite the fact that they do occur somewhat regularly.

Destination: Quelite

I was browsing tourism pamphlets in the hotel one morning and found a brochure for a charming Mexico town named El Quelite. A quick internet search told me the town was 25 miles away. Perfect!

That afternoon I donned my lyrca and headed out North of Mazatlán along the coast for about 5 miles before taking a turn to ride to East away from Cerritos, an area filled with condos that appeared to be popular with blue haired expats and several public beaches.

I passed a dilapidated, yet somehow still open, water park followed by a series of construction zones for new condos to cater to foreign snowbirds. So far, so good.

A couple miles further inland and all signs of development had disappeared. The highway remained heavily trafficked with taxi cabs shuttling too and from the Mazatlán airport and tourist traffic. The highway had a marked cycling lane and signage making me feel comfortable despite being the only person outside of a vehicle I had seen since the coast.

After passing the turn all the taxis were opting for towards the Mazatlán airport, most vehicle traffic disappeared. The cycle lane was still present, but dodging trash and broken glass was becoming a common occurrence. There were no structures to be seen. Without the sea breeze the temperature climbed to 104 degrees and the only sites were the pronounced rib cages of starving cattle trying to track down any remaining nutrients in the scorched landscape.

I saw a motorcycle on the side of the road with a backpack on the ground beside it. As I approached a shirtless man ran out of the bushes aggressively screaming at me and chasing me. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out why as I pushed extra watts into my pedals to put distance between us as quickly as possible. This was the my first indication that perhaps I was somewhere a foreigner shouldn’t be alone.

Feeling a bit uneasy I continued onward in the cycle lane. No use spoiling a day in the saddle on account of one lunatic right?

At the end of the road I was on my Wahoo directed me to turn left to head to Quelite. The cycle lane disappeared and there was not much shoulder on the road, but it seemed quiet so I stubbornly and foolishly pressed onward.

Trust Your Senses

Almost immediately after turning onto the new road it felt like every cell in my body was overcome with a feeling of unease. There were no cyclists, no pedestrians, no taxis, not even a home or business to be seen anywhere. Just the lonely road, heaps of trash, and dried out scrub.

My GPS told me I was a couple miles from an intersection and about 8 miles from Quelite. I could be at the destination soon, but worried about backtracking on this route even if I made it. As I began to debate turning back the ride took a very sketchy turn.

2 compact vehicles flew up behind me then backed off a bit before hammering the gas and buzzing me within a couple feet in excess of 100 mph.

Motorcycle’s with masked riders would slow down and stare at me before riding off, sometimes coming back for a second investigation.

Every individual I saw appeared to give me a scowl and seemed to be contemplating what to do with this crazy gringo on a bicycle.

I’ve been in countless sketchy situations in my travels from natural disasters to political insurrections; however this was the first time I felt the danger was actually being directed AT me and I began to panic a bit.

At that exact moment as I was preparing to turn around I felt it.. the feeling of a carbon rim riding directly on the pavement. My rear tire had punctured at the worst possible moment.

Pump Pump Pump it Up

I had brought 2 spares and a handpump with me. Now on the side of this awful road with my bike in pieces and wearing head-to-toe lyrca I felt like an absolute sitting duck. I changed my tube and began furiously pumping it up, which soon becomes more exhausting than the ride itself. As a pump many vehicles stop and stare at me without saying a word and then speed off. I felt as it I was going to be, at best, robbed at any moment.

My heart rate was above threshold as I began to panic a bit. I rest my wheel on the ground for more leverage as the tedious hand pumping got more and more difficult as the pressure in the wheel climbed. Then suddenly the force when I pushed the pump in disappeared.

PSSSSSSSSTTTTT

The valve stem had snapped right off of the tube from the force of the hand pump. The last 15 minutes of work were ruined as I now needed to start over with my final tube.

The Right Bar at the Right Time

As I got to work on my final tube I was able to squeak a call through the airwaves over one fleeting bar of service to my girlfriend, Alex, back at the resort. I dropped my location and asked for a cab to be sent and then willed my cramping arms to continue pumping.

Once the tire got to 60 psi I threw it back on the bike hopeful there wouldn’t be a low pressure pinch flat as I tried to get off this dreaded road closer to the tourist zone. I was redlining my power output just trying to get to safety as soon as possible.

I turned back onto the road with the cycle path and began to feel a bit relieved. About another mile down the road a white sedan pulled up and stopped. Alex was peaking out the window with one of the bellboys from the hotel. Apparently no cabs were available and when the bellboy found out where I was he was a bit alarmed and offered to come get me.

After I got in the car the first thing he asked me, “Why would you go there? It is not safe.”

I supposed I should have had a chat with him on my way out in the morning…

Better Late Than Never

Once back at the hotel I decided to research the exact roads I was on a bit more. This is when all the information piled in that would have kept me far clear of them.

Outside of the tourist area, the roads from Culiacan heading South are known for robberies and kidnapping. People are advised to never travel at night and only stop in certain specific areas for fuel and supplies… and that’s if you’re in a car.

News stories of travelers executed at night time along these highways began to pop up. One google search for the “Highway of Death” likely would have persuaded me to leave my bike back in Boston from the get-go.

One should never have valuables on them in these areas, or maybe I should say one should never be ON a valuable, like say a fancy carbon road bike.

At least I knew my sixth sense was in tune when I immediately felt something was off on my journey. I’ve ridden in all kinds of cities and countries, including some of the slums of South America, this was the first time I felt I was in imminent danger.

I breathed a sigh of relief that now that the ordeal was over and headed down to the pool for a margarita. I would be sticking close to the Malecόn from now on.

The Right Way to Cycle Mazatlán

The cycling in Mazatlán is not good by any means, BUT if I were to travel again I still would bring the bike again because, well… any cycling is better than no cycling.

If you do ride Mazatlán I recommend sticking to the Malecόn to the lighthouse. There’s a designated bike lane for about 7 miles and a short punchy climb with some great views at the light house that offers plenty of fun.

The Hero of The Story

I need to give a huge thank you to my amazing girlfriend Alex who dropped what she was doing and found a ride to come get me by sweet talking the bellboy into assisting without knowing a lick of Spanish. She deals with my crazy stubborn cycling antics all of the time and is always my guardian angel if things were to take a turn, as she more than proved on this particular ride.

I would say it won’t happen again, but…..