Running out of magic…

This is the first time I’m writing & sharing pretty much live in the moment. As I’ve got some sweltering downtime to kill in a little Mexican town…

Let me take you back two nights ago, I am just about to land into Los mochis, a coastal plain town in the North of Mexico and Sinaloa region en-route to my UTMB race in Chihuahua - Famous for the legendary Rarámuri long distance runners & the little yappy dogs.

The lights have already dimmed in the cabin for our descent. I have a window seat, so I’m watching the stars get further away as we get closer to the ground.

The airport is small; there are none of the normal bells and whistles, like lights before you hit the runway.

Possibly why as we come to touch down, metres away from the ground, engines kick in and the plane ascends back into the sky.

An anxiety first kicks in…. ‘Why?’

We climb, start to turn at a steeeeep angle.

I understand about every 10th word of Spanish from the announcement that comes through. I hear “normal” said ALOT. Can’t work out if that’s reassuring or not.

We come back around, and we go again. Descend. This time the anxiety on landing is slightly higher for obvious reasons.

But we do land. people clap. Probably out of thanks we didn’t do another pass and didn’t die. Who knows. I never will. I didn’t clap; I wanted to reserve my judgement of the why before I gave that sort of praise.

Is this a sign of things to come here in Sinaloa?

Los Mochis airport is teeny tiny. I whizz through security (virtually isn’t any) and pickup my bag from the one belt.

Find the taxi hole in the wall (No buses running at this time) and mumble my way through a sentence of where I am going to in broken Spanish to the lady in the hole.  

Hand over my money and get my little ticket. I hold on to this ticket and immediately send the info. over to my parents – I have a subconscious kicking in here, I have read and looked at on government info. about late night car rides in this part of Mexico. whether that info. is reality or not, remains to be.

However, flat capped Gabriel leads me to his car.

He and I have a disjointed hour-and-a-half conversation in Spanish, where my thoughts of security were turned down to a bubble rather than a boil.

 First stop (which did jump the heart rate a little, because you never know), he buys one cigarette as a treat for the return journey home. In between that and him urinating what felt like the middle of a pitch-black highway we make our way towards my destination.

Traditional Mexican music plays through the taxi. It smells a little like sick that’s been covered up with gone off Febreeze. However, the steady movement, tinge of latin music in my ears and maybe even the bad cocktail of smells has me nodding off.  

I awake now and again by a speedbump or a swerve – Got to give it to him, even without streetlights, Gabriel knew almost every pothole.

En-route he also rang his ‘amor’ to let her know we had a long drive ahead (maybe my Spanish isn’t too bad after all, I can eavesdrop a little now).  How did I know it was his love? He’d named her ‘amor’ in his phone – Gabriel’s cute.

He told me I was going to be the last trip of the day and because it was a long one he wasn’t expecting, with an hour-and-a-half drive back home from dropping me off, he could take the next morning off.

With a little ciggy in his pocket as a nice little treat for the return home, he was a happy man.

We pull through a sleepy town, get to my hotel. Even in the dark you can see the yellow and blue of the building. Looks great.

I ring the buzzer and a groggy me and a groggy receptionist say hola, the rest is a bit blurry as I stumble behind him under lots of exposed wooden beams, through archways and tiled floors to my bed – fall and pass out.

And so, I wake up in the morning in El Fuerte, a sleepy little Mexican town – one of 177 government designated Pueblos Mágicos (magical towns).

I wander around and am overly excited about colourful bits of paper fluttering in the hot sun, creating shadows on the floor –traditional Mexican bunting really gets me.

The central plaza is muy bonita and I make my way to a mirador, little museum and the public civic offices, just because it looks nice. I get a few funny looks, but also some smiles and one guy shows me a little lookout with a good view of the plaza.

But the brazing heat gets to me. I am sweating buckets. It’s 34 degrees C, but a feels like 37 – 34 was MORE than enough thanks!

So, I head back to hotel El Fuerte for shade.

I read and sleep outside in a little courtyard. I woke from a deep sleep in that melting sun lying next to by what can’t really be described as a pool, but a hole with water in it dressed very beautifully.

Later that night, something special, when I say something special, I mean kinda nice and cheesy – What do you do when you want to immerse, pay homage and are quite bored?….

Go visit Zorro’s birthplace of course.

Which is also conveniently 150 metres from my hotel. Which also conveniently has a cheesy zorro show on (when enough people turn up).

  So I got to meet Zorro and got to dance with Zorro’s lady - thank god for those salsa lessons in Guatemala.

Fully hydrated from the bebida sin alcohol (none for me. I have a big race to run in a few days remember). I stroll the 2 minutes to my yellow and blue hotel.

As soon as I step through the door. The guy at reception tells me some soul-destroying news…

He has heard the train, the ‘Chepe express’ I was due to get and the only direct route to the mountain town of Creel where I was staying for my race. might be cancelled.

So, recap…

I am in sleepy magic town. Which is magically in the middle of nowhere(ish) I kind of exhausted what to see, in a day.

I am 2 hours from the airport. Which has both limited flights and transport to it.

There is one direct route to get me to my race and that has been cancelled.

Breathe deep.

As I am breathing deep, I see two other people looking slightly concerned.  

The only other two people in this gigante hotel. Julie and John. Not only were they getting the train, they are supposed to be running the same race as me too.

Serendipity.

We spend hours looking for solutions and none are forthcoming. We even look at private airfields.

So, to say the least a bit dejected and very tired. I turn in ready to decide tomorrow – There was no option tonight.

I wake up around 5am, not able to sleep. More research. More logistics to investigate.

The only real viable option I can find involves a bus, two flights, another bus then another bus - which would be cutting it fine to make the race, hoping also every part of the puzzle didn’t get cancelled or delayed even slightly and that’s on top of what would be a 3:30am wake up to get set for the race AND an extra £800!

I’m not sure my Run with the Rarámuri is meant to be. Running out of options.

I’ve booked the next flight I could to Guadalajara, in order to decide what to do next.

Can I still make the race??? At least I am giving myself the best shot being in a bigger city and hub.

Further to this and adding insult to injury, the place I was supposed to be renting in San Pancho for my volunteering just messaged to say that they could no longer rent out as they took some more lucrative bookings - wonderful.

So I am simultaneously writing, alongside trying to find somewhere to stay for the next few months.

Anyway, here I am, writing this in what doesn’t feel totally magical anymore – but another story to add to the pile, with I am sure the charm of this place to remain and the angst disappearing over time.

Am I confident something will work out? Yes.

Am I confident it will be my first plan? No.

Just like the pilot, pulled up to go back around - Control the controllable.

I’ll let you know how it all goes…..