š²š½ TepoztlĆ”n - āEstĆ”s Lejos, Amigo!ā - 10.13.2025
āIād like to invoke the Native American Navajo because their word for road is used as a verb. Their whole relationship to road has to do with how you travel it, who you are traveling it with, what the environment might be, where youāre headed, in what direction, the weather and so on.ā
- Anne Waldman
I found myself in Toluca once againā¦ for this and thatā¦ a book fair and for La Feria del AlfeƱique. Candy and culture. Itās a rich experience but my time in that city is beginning to wear on me and itās time to step away.
Instead of returning to Mexico City I decided to take the back road to TepoztlƔn. A Pueblo mƔgico south of CDMX surrounded by glorious nature and has the PirƔmide de Tepozteco, an Aztec temple on top of a steep mountain peak overlooking the town.
I receive various warnings about places and routesā¦ and I take the warnings seriously and make sure I get approval, āThat should be fineā¦ but donāt go near Ajusco! Two people have disappeared. It was on the news.ā Itās trueā¦ two different recent occasionsā¦ hikersā¦ Mexican Nationalsā¦ have disappeared. Narco activity is a real thing here.
I had a full tank of gas, snacks, water, two toll tags, cash, and I know a handful of curse words in Spanishā¦ I have grizzly bear spray (from my Montana adventure that I store next to my seat in case pinche ICE agents) and a hockey stick. I feel equipped enough.
My first stop was Tenego De Artistaā¦ because it was pointed out for having good barbacoa. I had been through before on a Malinalco adventure with GildaMonster. But when I arrived in was a mess. Torn up streets, road blocks, chaosā¦ it had a sketchy vibeā¦ I could feel itā¦ something was off.
I can walk into unknown places with a childlike curiosity ā¦ but I do have a system; spatial awarenessā¦ environmental awarenessā¦ and intuition. And I listen to my gutā¦ if something doesnāt feel rightā¦ I moveā¦ and keep moving until I feel safe.
It was 9:00 am on Saturday morning and Tenago de Artista was chaoticā¦ too many people out for that timeā¦ and my intuition was sparked, I didnāt need barbacoaā¦ so I left the way I came to move on.
I would eventually have that same intuitive feeling three more times on my route to TepoztlĆ”nā¦ and began to question my choices.
I had hit a toll highway, and the attendant asked meā¦ noā¦ told meā¦ āYouāre going to Santiago?ā
I nodded, āSiiiiā and she gave me a side-eye look as I drove off. (My gut: whatās that about?). The toll highway is niceā¦ lined with recent blooms of wildflowers, little traffic, no potholes. I had missed the ramp exit to Santiago, Google Maps gets confused, and Iām already confused, and then I hit another toll stop. I can see cars stopped and not proceeding and others turning around. As I pull up a guard walks up to my door, a relatively young Mexican woman, and begins to give me a barrage of warnings and this and thatā¦ and I can only understand portions of what she was sayingā¦ but proceeding forward was not likely gonna happen. In my perfect and limited baby Spanish, I explained I missed my turn and I was going to Santiago and could I turn around here? She approved and in Mexican fashionā¦ whistled directions at me as I backed up. And now Iām back on my route. (My gut: whatās that all about?)
You really need to be aware of your route if you use Googleā¦ it will send you places that have roadsā¦ but itās not the best or the safest way to goā¦ or even open.
My route put me through some small towns and hooked up with the main road down the line and that was fine with me. I turned off on a small road that was to take me through the small village of Ahuatencoā¦ I drove by a sign that said ābarbacoa.ā Iām starving! I stopped, backed up. Yelled ādos tacos de maciza para llevar!ā And the people looked at me like they had never seen a white monkey driving a car from the State of New Mexico, but happily proceeded to dish it up. Two tacos handed through my window, 55 pesosā¦ ābuen dia!ā Smiles from the peoples and more looks like (what was that?!?).
At that momentā¦ all was right in the world. I had real barbacoa, from a rural town, by my sideā¦ and then boom! Roadblock! Or what looked like a roadblock. The road was flooded out. And in the distance, I could see a group of men pushing a tuk-tuk through the mud. For a second I thought, I could blast the Subaru past it and carry on. And then I wondered if itās a black water flood and no one wants that. And if I do get stuck I am fucked. No cell service at this place, and my tacos are getting cold, and Iām getting the āfinal destinationā visionsā¦ and time to turn around. I see a taxi turning around ahead and I think he has no time for this bullshit and heāll know the way out. And I follow him. And the road is sketchy, steep, bumpyā¦ but eventually throws us out on the main road. Sighhhh. (My gut: what is going on today?)
The road was a bit backed upā¦ heavy tractor-trailers and such, inching up the hill. Iām eating my tacos while I driveā¦ not so safe but I feel I should keep moving. A few motorcyclists ride by my driver's side windowā¦ and one guy slows down (and usually when something like that happens while Iām in my car itās someone barking curse word at me.) and the guy yells through his helmet, āestĆ”s lejos, amigo!!!ā (You are far, dude!), gives me a thumbs up in his mirror and I return a thumbs (with a barbacoa taco in hand) with some feel-good grins.
And to myself I thought, āyepā¦ indeedā¦ I am farā¦ā and then I thought, and in an imaginary reply to the biker, āIāve been fartherā¦ā When I think about that and share my experiences with othersā¦ I always return to one story. My second trip to Central America. Guatemalaā¦ I was in a junker rental car, at remote hot springs outside of Xela. It was dusk, and I had finished soaking, and walked to my car to find it blocked in by a small truck. There was a crescent shape gathering of indigenous mountain people around me and the carā¦ giggling at the white monkeyā¦ and I thought this, āyouāre deep in it nowā¦ this is what you wanted, this is what you asked for. And no one knows where you areā¦ā and that was a mixture of feeling very vulnerable and very exhilarated. Cool stuffā¦
Soā¦ there it is, āEstĆ”s Lejos, Amigo!ā And nowā¦ I have a working title for my GenX version hack of āOnTheRoadāā¦ Latin America seriesā¦ youāll be able to purchase the publication in all 31 states in Mexico, and you can also find it on the burn/banned pile in the United States.
My nervous system settled quicklyā¦ I was driving on a winding road through a nature area. Mountains and lakes and treesā¦ and for a momentā¦ it feels like Coloradoā¦ and I forget where I am.
I made it to TepoztlĆ”nā¦ strangely and slightly disappointed I didnāt get to discharge my bear spray (just like in Montana ā¹ļøš«š»). The town is adorbsā¦ and I do my thingā¦ walk aroundā¦ collect picturesā¦ having snacks and coffeeā¦ practicing my excelente espaƱol. And life is adventure.
Thee thing to do in TepoztlĆ”n is to climb to the pyramid. Iām in shapeā¦ enoughā¦ but itās steep with slippery rocks and stairs and I totally picked (and knew it) the absolute busiest time and day to do it. Despite the large number of people on the trail the scenery is spectacular. The climb is something around 78 flights of stairs (according to my technology) and somewhat of a rock scramble in places. It took an hour and a half to reach the top and my shirt was soaked with sweat. I knew my legs would be aching the next day but I put that far from my mindā¦ because itās like a pilgrimage for the Mexican people. You do it. Because. I looked around and I see a 4-1/2 foot tall abuelita with a cane at the topā¦ and then several. Little children. All of them made this haul to the topā¦ and thenā¦ you must returnā¦ to the bottom. With noodle legs, slippery rocks, dodging abuelitas with canes, the occasional street dogā¦
And again, āā¦Their whole relationship to road has to do with how you travel it, who you are traveling it with, what the environment might be, where youāre headed, in what direction, the weather and so on.ā
Two days later I had to run down my six flights of stairs at my CDMX apartment to deal with an incident and thought my gotdamn calves were going to explode. I felt it. I felt the PirĆ”mide de Tepozteco. I felt āthe roadā in my legs. I felt āthe roadā as a verb. And it all felt like I earned my painā¦ and that felt goodā¦ and it felt right.
#theroadfeelslikeburning
#whatisthatallabout?
#onamissionwithintuition
I will spontaneously arrive in San Francisco, California in a couple of days for some restorative reasonsā¦ if you want to hear the full story in person with sound effects and waving hand gestures. Iām easy to find.
