Road ramblings...

As you can see in this picture, the rear end of the HOG is overloaded.
Including my weight, the bike is over it’s “book” weight capacity by about 20%. As you can guess, it handles differently. None of the weight moves with me, it’s all dead weight. It makes the front end light and really nervous. I have known this since leaving Denver a few weeks ago. I recognized that I just wasn’t going to be able to push it. No problem.
Until I get a few hours north of the Guatemala border. I came across the most beautiful, freshly blacktopped, sea level jungle road that climbed to a beautiful pine forest, into the mountains at about 7000 ft. (according to the Garmin) The road was filled with switchbacks and wide fast sweepers with just enough traffic to make it even more of a challenge and to my #1 on the best road ever ridden list. My jaws are still aching from smiling so wide.
Here is a section of the road: Just as I was coming into the last sweeper, I hit the only damn two inch deep, three by three foot patch of scratch in the last fifty miles dead center with my front wheel, coming into the turn about 70mph. All hell broke loose, but for some reason, and fortunately, I became really calm. (Must be from all the years in Social Services). I backed off the throttle just a bit, grabbed the tank with my knees, looked immediately in my bouncing mirrors, looked for a line to take, and fought like hell with the front end to keep from bouncing and wobbling completely out of control.
There are no cages in the mirrors, which is a good thing, because it’s certain the HOG is going to come out of the turn too wide. We are definitely going to go off the road. If I can keep it from going more than a couple of feet off the road, which is about all there is before a drop off into a culvert, am thinking we will make it through the turn. So willing there to be no sand in the patches of grass along side the road, I fight the HOG from going over too far. Using every inch of the space, and dancing on the drop off line for a good twenty feet the HOG finally calms down, and we make it through. Sweet. Maybe am getting old, but these moments are better than, ahh never mind. You wont read that here…Lavanderia
Sometimes good things come in the smallest of packages. For instance, what is it about freshly done laundry, still warm from the dryer, that just does you good? It's along the same lines as chocolate chip cookies in the oven but with out the sugary sweetner. I am not real sure what it is but I am here to bear witness that Mexico has the perfect recipe. It’s a combination of neat folds in all the right places, a clean and easy scent, and most importantly, the effort they put into it. Every time I have had my clothes laundered in Mexico, they ask if I have any special instructions at drop-off. At pick up they tell me what was or wasn’t working with a particular piece of cloth and offer to do more. When I picked up my laundry tonight, they were upset they couldn’t completely remove an oil stain on the knee of my jeans. They wanted to do one more thing but would have to keep my pantelones ‘till the morning. Looking at the pants, I couldn’t see a thing and said, No, pero muchas, muchas gracias para tu trabajo. She then went on to tightly wrap them all up in a nice hot little bundle and I was on my way. These folks are serious about taking care of textiles.
Pollo.
It’s just chicken up North. You pick it up from the store, throw it on the grill, or fry it, bake it, barbeque it, roast it, broil it, and it all comes out pretty good. It’s not glamorous but it works. You cant go wrong with a meal that includes chicken.
In Mexico, specifically in the south, chicken has glamour. They raise them to be the best of the best and they offer them up on a plate demonstrating it. Again, there must be some kind of special secret to how they prepare them but you wont be able to get enough of it.
Pushing limits, and now Mexican Chicken and Mexican Laundry are three of my favorite things.
Paz.