Scary Carretera to Zipolite

A good night sleep makes all the difference between a great or mediocre day so all weekend plans are dependent on when my eyes open without the insistent nagging from the voice alarm woman. A late morning just means smaller activities. Last Sunday I woke comfortably before dawn. The night before I’d thought about running the scooter down to Zipolite with my boogie board and the idea still sounded good so I ate quickly and got out the door just as it was turning light.
I’d had a terrifying ride on that road before, on a day trip to San Augustin, and I was counting on the early hour to cut down the traffic this time. It worked. Anyone wanting to make a run from Crucecita to Zipolite or Mazunte, all you have to do is get out early. Once you pass the airport, things are saner any time of day.
The entire trip took about an hour and 15 minutes with 3 stops to let the engine cool.
This was my first stop. I heard what sounded like the rumble of thunder but kept going. It could have been anything.

Zipolite has a new park area with a beach style gazebo.

The place was deserted.

Just a couple of cool dogs near Lola’s.

The water was high and rough for my cautious tastes. I wonder if that isn’t a seasonal thing. I made a beeline for this beach last year at this time when I returned from Korea and it was the same.
It’s been a while since I played in the waves and I was out there long enough to get a good burn on my back. Idiot. Even water proof sun screen needs frequent applications in the Pacific Ocean. A lifelong burner should be able tor emember that.
A big wave sweeping up to the restaurants with a current that insistently pulled me towards some rocks was my signal to pack it in. That much wave play gives a boy an appetite and I almost swallowed a substantial meal whole at Shambhala. The rumbling I’d heard earlier had been thunder. Clouds over the mountains were looking serious. It was time to go. I still don’t have a helmet and rain drops have a nasty slap when the scooter's in motion.
My muffler had come apart and the bike blatted so loud it wasn’t worth trying to listen to the MP3 player. At least there was plenty of warning of my approach at tight bends for any children chasing balls on to the road. I got caught in some rain but raced away from it and kept those clouds behind me. No coffee breaks for the machine this time. I made it home alive with an hour to spare before sundown.
I had such a great day and that was all on less than one tank of gas. I went to fill it on Monday, figuring it had to be as dry as William Burroughs, but I could have run it back and forth to UMAR all week.