Jan. 6/7 – Los Mochis to Guadalajara

From the hitchhiker’s perspective, Mexican authority figures hardly resemble their American counterparts. Down here, when a cop sees you shacked up in the back of a pickup truck, he says hello. And when you pull up to military checkpoints in the same fashion, the soldiers simply wave you along.

During the long and exhausting 24-hour, 900-km journey from Los Mochis to Guadalajara, my lucky charms were gas station security guards. When the first one approached me near the pumps outside La Cruz, I froze – after all, it wasn’t long ago that the American versions were asking me to vacate the property. But not here. Within 10 minutes, he and the PEMEX workers had found me a ride south with Rodrigo and Leon.

The same held true two hours later in Mazatlan. When Rodrigo and Leon hopped out of their rig to find me a new lift, one of the first guys they asked was the station’s security guard. Soon enough, Robert and I were cruising south through the night.

This journey had actually begun a day earlier, with a ferry ride from La Paz (Baja California) to Topolobambo (mainland Mexico). As I disembarked, Luis was there to greet me. He couldn’t host me, but was willing to drive me 30 km into Los Mochis to grab a bite and drop me off at a hotel.

But having already had an expensive day, I waffled on spending big for nine hours in a hotel. Across the street, Enrique and Jose were sitting out on their terrace. With a knock on the gate and an offer of 50 pesos (about $4), I had a home for the evening. And in the morning, Enrique and I continued chatting over a breakfast of eggs and tacos.

My next few hours were plagued with bad decisions. After hitching a ride with a coach bus outside of Los Mochis (a first for me), I was dropped off deep inside the Culiacan city centre. When I impulsively boarded a city bus back to the outskirts, I was taken in the wrong direction. By the time I reached a PEMEX just south of town, I was frustrated, exhausted, and almost certain I wouldn’t be reaching Guadalajara.

Within an hour, I had climbed in with the Campeno family for an 80-km lift south. They were en route home after dropping their daughter off at school in Culiacan. Trino, the father, gave me a running tutorial of the sights we passed, while Erick, his 12-year-old son, quizzed me about Canada and shared his candy. By the time they dropped me in La Cruz, it was darkness.

Rodrigo and Leon provided the next tutorial: Mexican cumbia music. They dumped me outside Mazatlan (they were preparing for an all-night journey inland with the help of some unidentified stimulant), but not before securing me that ride with Robert.

We stopped quickly at a roadside stop to change a tire and catch a bite before setting out around 9 p.m. Riding with Robert was informative: at 53, he’d driven big rigs to every corner of the country. He spent the next few hours discussing everything from the varied geography of the country to the state of government corruption in Mexico.

By 12:30 a.m., Robert needed a break. He pulled over and crawled to his bed in the back, while I sprawled across the front seats for one of the more uncomfortable naps I can remember. When he woke up two hours later, I took over the for a bit more sleep.
Robert roused me as dawn broke: he was turning east, while I still had to go 130 km south – a point that had obviously been lost in translation. I cursed my luck. I was exhausted. It had been foolish to think I could cover so much ground so quickly.

But half an hour later, I had found a ride all the way to Guadalajara, with Felipe and Aurelio, the self-proclaimed handsomest man in Guadalajara.

Robert had been right about the countryside: it was gorgeous. As we meandered up and down the lush and tree-lined mountain range, I felt light years away from the Baja California desert that I’d left only days earlier.

Soon enough, we’d reached Guadalajara. Aurelio and Felipe drove me right up to a bus stop that would take me downtown. Before driving off, Aurelio reminded me once again to warn all the Canadian women he’d be visiting me in Toronto soon.

Suddenly feeling energized (only on adrenaline), I headed into town to find Raziel’s place.