Basaseachi

I was the last to leave the carpark at Basaseachi Falls after a snack and drink. I decided to ride to a town called Moris which was on the other side of the National Park. I rode into Basaseachi township and watched the comings and goings of life there for half an hour. 

As usual the bike garnered a lot of interest, most from a distance. People still waved and smiled if I initiated it. I asked about hotels and was told there was one just up the road in the direction I was heading. I stopped in there on the way but no-one answered so I continued to Moris. I found the turnoff and was pleased to see that it was paved and in good condition. The first ten kilometres were great with a lot of new road construction in the last couple of kilometres.

It was about sixty kilometres to the town so when the road turned abruptly to dirt, rocky dirt, I thought I would see how it goes. 

I travelled about ten kilometres along the road that was climbing steadily into the mountains. I was surrounded by forest. It was tough going on the bike. The ground was full of rocks sticking up and it wasn’t possible to get any speed up to glide over them. 

It took a while to cover the ten kilometres and I started considering time because I have to return this way as Moris was at the end of the road. It was approaching 4pm and I decided that it would be close to dark when I arrived at Moris and I had no information on whether there was accommodation there. I decided against it and turned back to get a hotel near Basaseachi. By the time I arrived back near the township the light was starting to disappear and I was glad I had made the decision not to continue. I stopped at a pizza place and enjoyed some tacos...Pizzas and More...I took more!

I asked if they could recommend a hotel and they pointed me towards one about a kilometre away. I rode to the motel, which had a dingy look to it and a rough gnarly driveway to get to it. The manager was in a little hut separately sitting in the front of the barren grounds. A young man came out and looked at me without smiling and looked at the bike. I asked how much for a room for the night.

‘Cinquos Cientos’

‘Can you repeat that more slowly?’

‘Cinquos Cientos’.

I held up five fingers and said, ‘Five Hundred? For that?’

‘Si’.

 This was the first time, maybe the second after my insurance, that I had experienced the so-called ‘Gringo Tax’ - the heavily over-inflated price for a dodgy product or service. I had rejected 400 Pesos previously at an upmarket hotel and this was a very poor looking motel with the highest price yet.

 I just smiled, put on my helmet, and mumbled to myself something like, ‘No wonder it’s empty’, and rode off. I found another motel not far away. It was a more professional looking outfit but the room was pretty basic, yet for 300 Pesos - approximately $23 – I took it. It had a good driveway in comparison but the approach was a bit rough.