Mazatlan

A few months back I went to Mazatlan. It's a city in Mexico on the state of Sinaloa on the Pacific coast. It's across for the tip of the Baja penninsula. We went there for a vacation about a month after spring break ended, so it wouldn't be too crowded. It wasn't.

I rented a mountain bike while I was there at Mr. Kelly's bike shop. Right after I rented it I decided to ride around the city and sight see.

My friend Mark said that Mazatlan was the real Mexico, not like Cancun or other areas that were set up for tourists. If you are the typical tourist, you can see the real Mexico on your bus ride from the airport usually, and that's about it.

The ride was going to take me to a big cathedral. You could see it across the bay, but rather than ride with the busses and pumonias (dune buggy taxis), it sounded like more fun to ride through the neighborhoods to get there.

Up into the city the houses where all made of concrete and were brightly painted deep blue, golden yellow, and where small. Riding by a school I saw children playing in white shirts. The girls had plaid skirts and the boys dark pants, just like Catholic schools here in St. Louis.

There was trash everywhere, mostly plastic drink containers and food wrappers. The sounds were mostly the roar of busses and cars mixed with the radio playing music. The music sounded like a mix of country, mariachi band horns, and a lot of ballads. It seemed pretty repetitive, just like all pop music.

The plan was to zig zag on the back streets. Up one, over two, up one over three and make my way to the church. After about a half hour I was completely lost. I actually had a compass, but it was not helping much.

Somehow I crossed a railroad track and got on to some dirt roads. The houses were a little more run down. It was late morning, so I wasn't too worried about getting hassled. If I did, I don't know any Spanish, so it would have been like talking to a dog.

Now it was getting pretty interesting. Lost in Mexico on a mountain bike. Two old men were working a a junky truck. A couple of chickens running down the street, then a skinny cow with huge horns. Some guy driving a snack truck, sort of like an ice cream truck down the street with a huge speaker on the roof talking and talking.

I jumped the tracks again and got off into no streets. The next thing I remember was going for a main road, any main road because that would lead somewhere. I finally hit one and had the choice of going left or right. I thought left headed back into the city. About a mile down some confused looking ladies (not as confused as me) pointed me back the other way.

It was the middle of the day and I'm riding down one of the busiest streets in town through stop and go traffic. It was scary and fun. I figured everybody is just trying to get where they are going. In a few miles I saw a bus station we visited earlier. Jeez, where am I?

Somehow I get the the Mercado and see the church. I blasted up hill to get to it. Nothing to see really. Grafitti painted with trash all around, oh well.

Lost again. I'm tring to find the main road along the beach. Next to park I see some gringo looking couple and ask directions. The guys gives me weird look and asks if I've been drinking. The lady acts like she feels sorry for me. Finally they tell me I'm only a few blocks from the beach front.

At that point, I'm dying of thirst. No water to start with, and I've been riding for a few hours. An old man with a soda stand is there, so buy an orange. It's in a glass bottle, so I figure he needs it back and I swig the whole thing in a few seconds. He gets a big laugh out of seeing me do this for some reason. I say gracias and ride on.

Finally I hit the beach road. It's the busiest street in town, but it goes back to the hotel, to I'm riding it no matter what. Jacking the mountain bike hard I'm almost pacing the cars and busses. Buzzing along the trash lined streets on a mission, up over bridge I'm almost back.

A couple hours later we are at the pool drinking margaritas being tourists again. A magnificent sunset overtakes us and the day ends with a blissful feeling. The bike is stored in the front of the hotel for the "for real" mountain biking trip the next day.

Stix Tribute

Daddys Cookin had been laying kind a low. We picked up a gig once every couple of months and that's about it. Danny called and said he and Rob were going to go to a tribute to one of their old drummers, Stix Maxwell. Stix had died in his late 50s and all of his friends were going to have a party to celebrate his life. Danny and Rob had Stix in their old band called the Scam band back in the 80s and hadn't been in touch.

I drove over to Belleville not knowing what to expect. I found the place, a nice irish bar and went around back to park. It was in the old part of Belleville and looked to be a nice area. I started to walk in the door and didn't make it inside. There was a lady laying on the floor with a group of people hovering over her. It must have just happened because they were trying to decide whether or not to call an ambulance. It didn't seem righ to step over her to get in, so I kind of hung out around the door and offered to help. It turns out she had epilepsy and had had a seizure. Finally an ambulance did come. She was expected to recover, so the party just went on. The sad thing, was that she was the wife of the guy who organized the whole thing, so now he had to miss it.

The place was packed. After a few minutes we recruited a drummer and took the stage. We had a good set, but somehow during one of the songs I stretched a string on my guitar and it jumped out of the bridge into the next slot, leaving me with a dead string. I was tring to play lead and it was freaking me out for a while 'cause I coundn't figure out what was wrong.

I didn't know anybody there. We got a nice reception from the crowd. Quite a few people came up during the break to say they enjoyed it.

The next band, I think they were called the Yellow Dog Band, came up and did a nice job on some sixties rock. They got better the longer they played. Toward the end of their set they got into some music by the Band and just brought the house down. I was singing along with every one and you could see it was a genuine highlight for everybody.

A little girl sang Amazing Grace. She was so brave. Then, our drummer (who normally is a front man) grabbed the mike and said Saints in F. I wasn't sure what he meant. Finally I figured out he meant, "When the Saints Go Marching In". It was the perfect follow up to Amazing Grace. The whole bar joined in the fun and a big group of them started marching in a line, just like down in New Orleans.

Just like that it was over. I carried the guitar out to the Jeep. It was hot. A while later I was home barbecuing in the back yard. I never did learn all that much about Stix, but everything I heard about him was good. I hope my friends can do the same for me after I kick the bucket.