Hell’s Half Acre

Last night we headed into Saltillo historic center and I, personally, was rather dissapointed. The cathedral is quite pretty, but for me, nothing can top the parroquia at Dolores. Anyway, we walked around a bit but the feeling was somewhat disquieting. In Dolores, I felt quite invisible; even though we’re the guera family and the kids call attention, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Perhaps because Dolores gets so many tourists (mostly Mexican) they are used to so many new faces, even though it is a small town. I dunno. Anyway, the Church’s book describes Saltillo as quite colonial but after spending so much time in the state of Guanajuato, the “colonial” aspect of Saltillo was completely lost on me. I was ready to head straight to the border this morning, but Jamie had other ideas.

He decided he wanted to go for a bike ride; the drive through the mountains yesterday had
whet his appetite for climbing. In the Guia Roji, I found some roads which led to the “Horsetail Falls” (Salto Cola de Caballo) and decided to drive Jamie there (as we weren’t sure exactly HOW
to get there - even with the map; we’ve learned that the Guia Roji cannot be 100% believed) and he’d ride back to Saltillo. Looking at the map, we could see that we would be going into the Sierra Madre, but without topography, we weren’t sure how mountainous it would be. It looked to be only about 40 miles and we expected a short afternoon. We climbed out of the Saltillo valley (I’m sure it isn’t called that, but I don’t know the valley name) and out into a rural wonderland.

The hills were carpeted with long green grass, countless apple and membrillo orchards, grazing
sheep, cows, horses and burros, and enormous ranchos. We were in a wide high valley and the mountains gently stretched out surrounding us. We quickly made the town of Los Lirios, a tiny, quaint agricultural town. Jamie was itching to ride but everyone was so awed by the beauty of the mountainsides that all we could do was to drive, slack-jawed and drooling. Passing San Juan
Bautista (or something) and San Isidrio, we started climbing. The road regularly became blocked with debris; branches, trees, rocks, boulders; and we gingerly edged around it; sometimes close enough to cliffside that the kids were genuinely scared. We were now deep into the Sierra Potrero de Abrego and could see the towering cliffs and peaks of the Sierra Madre Oriental. We were so regularly down to one lane (due to debris, we found out later, from Emily; that hurricane really made her strength felt all over Mexico) that we were crawling along. I took pictures; there were so few cars on the road (we saw one car and one truck transporting people the entire route) that I was able to stop in the road and take pictures. Pictures, however, simply do not do the grandeur justice.

Two hours after we started, we finally made the town of Laguna de Sanchez and found that the
road to the Salto was under water (yes, Emily) and four-wheel-drive only. We stopped at the house of an apple and membrillo wine maker; tasted the wine, let the kids roam and chatted. We bought the membrillo wine. They also offered mezcal, but the wine was strong enough. We got quite a history of the area and the destruction of Emily and an offer to spend the night. Jamie was itching to ride though, so he took off and I spent more time chatting and then took
the kids for a walk. We spent 2 hours walking around the area and talking to people. Hiking, talking and walking. We finally headed down the road to pick up Jamie and I was astounded to be riding the brakes while downshifted into FIRST gear! The grades were simply amazing. The kids were sure that Jamie would be just around the next corner as it was “impossible” to ride the grades. The drive back was just as spectacular as the ride out; the eastern side of the ridge (and heading into the depths of the Sierra Madre) is sharp, craggy mountains, while the west side of the ridge is gentle slopes and lush valleys. We found Jamie in Los Lirios; he had crossed the Sierra Potrero de Abrego and was completely spent. Joy does not begin to convey his emotions; he had realized a dream. Some of the climbs (in grade) were similar to Alp du Huez (sp?) in France and he was living a dream.

We do not want to leave (sound familiar?) and Jamie is almost in tears thinking of tearing himself away. We’ll be here for a few more days; rolling the bones on what the Aduana will accept when we hit the border. (did you really think I could pass up a chance to post a Talavera picture? :))