As promised (to whom, I’m not sure), herein find Part 2! Part 1 is filed away over there.

After our Cruz de la Peña S24O and sunrise, Vaughn and I bid our fellow coffee outsiders farewell, then threw ourselves enthusiastically into an honest-to-goodness hike-a-bike, leading us back up amongst the ferns, oaks and madrones at 3100m and more.

This next segment of our tour in the Sierra de Juaréz included a pushing up a singletrack connector to Ixtepeji, riding a few gratifying flowy trails, grabbing some lunch at the community restaurant, then pushing on to Nueva Zoquiapam, along a forest road I hadn’t ridden for some time. I was under the impression (or rather, the illusion?) that there was a centro ecoturístico there, and wanted to check it out as part of a potential Ruta Sierra de Juaréz staging point.

Vaughn’s Tumbleweed Prospector, impeccably dressed in BXB, Carradice, Rockgeist, and Makeshifter clothing.

Slack is the new tight.

A small sub-segment involved briefly hopping onto a trail called Vacaciones, albeit in reverse, in an area popular with the enduro mountain bike shuttling brigade. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before we had to step aside for a posse of riders who came blazing past with waves and hollers. Only one yelled accusingly, in what sounded like a German accent, “Zis is a DOWNHILL trail! You have to pay to ride this!”

ZIS IS A DOWNHILL TRAIL, VAUGHN!!!

I felt a little bad that we’d interrupted their flow state (for all of a nanosecond), but his priceless reaction at least gave us reason to chortle. I expect it will become a catchphrase we’ll lean into during rides to come. For instance, I’m looking forward to deploying it when I next catch Vaughn tackling inappropriate terrain on his old Ritchey/Fisher Montare, as he often does.

Speaking of Vaughn’s quite lovely 1980s Montare, here it is in Colorado, some months back. Although it comes complete with an old school dropper, I’ve never seen him use it.

Anyway… we somehow managed to eek some fun out of the trails despite our non-DH bikes, although we did pick and choose those with more flow, given our non-helmeted-attire (sorry Emma!)

Sorry Emma! (Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4)

When it comes to tortillas, sharing is caring, Vaughn.

Dangerous living over, the community restaurant in Ixtepeji plied us with eggs and hot chocolate (such perfect pairing), and off we rode towards Nuevo Zoquiapam. In the past, I’ve had a slightly mixed vibe in the NZ Zone, especially compared to Ixtepeji, which is very much set up for visitors, both national and international. But having spotted a sign on the highway pointing to a centro ecoturistíco a couple of week’s back, I figured there must be an official place to camp, one in which we’d be welcome.

“Eat your trout and keep rolling.”

Take me to your leader!

F1.2 and be there (photographer’s joke)

With this in mind and after an epic forest road descent, we dropped down into the village and swung by the municipio to check in, as is recommended in the Oaxacan sierras, where communities are close knit and often subject to their own ‘usos and costumbres‘. There, we got chatting to two policemen, and experienced a distinctly odd exchange that we termed Good Cop Bad Cop. Initially, Bad Cop quizzed us, somewhat suspiciously, on 1/ whether we were packing any drugs in our bike bags and 2/ if we were carrying a camera. Deflecting his questions, we asked instead about a centro ecoturístico where we could stay, but apparently the only one they knew of was the one we’d just been to in Ixtepeji, all the way back up the mountain. Then we asked about a trout restaurant, as these can act as good unofficial camping spots.

While Bad Cop confirmed its existence, he said, in not so many words: “Eat your trout and keep rolling.” He told us to stay on the main dirt road, and made somewhat complicated hand gestures and tangled finger signs that seemed to suggest someone might shoot at us otherwise.

His buddy, Good Cop, was thankfully much warmer in character. Apparently yes, we might well be able to stay at the trout farm that night, and at the very least, we could be sure of a good meal. But still, the general atmosphere felt off, so we hurried onwards. Clouds gathered, the sky darkened, and rain started to fall, creating an undercurrent of malaise, compounded by the suspenseful music that happened to be emitting from my JBL 5 speaker…

Imagine this, to dramatic film music.

Thankfully, Truchas Yoo Leezy welcome us in, with open arms (and trout).

That Vaughn, he’s a ‘trout guy’.

Will purr for trout.

Triptych animal crew. Pato y gato y pavo.

Everything you need in a camp spot and nothing more.

Never was there a friendlier trucheria than Yoo Leezy, or one with a better name.

Sure enough, there was indeed a trout farm (actually, not just one, but two), and as luck would have it, the one closest to the road was open, and its employees were a delight. What’s more, if we wanted to camp, all we had to do was have a meal (much to Vaughn’s delight, having proclaimed himself a ‘trout guy’), and we could do so for free.

While our Municipio experience had been a little oddball and unnerving, here it was distinctly relaxed bohemian, in the most unassuming and eclectic of ways. There was a kitty cat called Muñequa (doll) to keep us company and purr for trout bones, a duck (that had apparently flown in one day and decided to stay), along with two peacocks that the owners had bought in San Agustín Etla (because, I guess that’s where peacocks are bought and sold).

We thus pitched the Ultamid beside a children’s climbing frame, on a patch of grass that I’m sure Huesos would have loved to roll around on. Not only that, but I ordered myself a mezcal, and Vaughn knocked back a couple of beers, to allay any residual angst. And the meal? Suffice to say, the Trucha Asada con Ajo y Salsa Casera did not disappoint.

Essential Oaxacan bikepacking vocabulary: to our left I present a ‘terracería’. And our right, a ‘carretera artesanal.’

Full extension (1 of a series of 1)

Vaughn’s first ever memela experience, duly documented.

The next morning, we rode back up into the mountains, a climb of some 1500m. First it was unpaved, and then we turned onto a road that had recently been concreted – called a carretera artesanal, a type of road that’s increasingly popular here, made piece by piece, using locally sourced river stones. No matter, now that I’m considering an on road/off road idea for a tour of these Sierras (more on that here), I’m reframing that as a positive! Besides, at least this style of road isn’t asphalt, it’s pleasant under a knobbly tyre, and true to the handmade nature of its name, there’s even the occasional animal motif! Similarly, we passed through a town portal with some especially trippy murals, also made from river stones.

If I can’t have dirt, give me artisanal concrete…

We are all interconnected. Second best mural ever? (see below)

The climb – a further 1000m after the turnoff – came and went, and we stopped for coffee at highest point, marked by three crosses and a half-built church. There, a merry band of enduro riders piled out of a minivan, music blaring, drinks drunken, plant aroma aroming. Low and behold, it was our friends from Vacaciones! To give them credit, they seemed delighted to see us, genuinely stoked that we were pedalling through the mountains and riding trails on bikepacking setups. A rider from Boulder, Colorado, pressed a beer into Vaughn hands, and then they all dived down one of the trails (presumably, a “DOWNHILL TRAIL”) to continue their revelry.

Tools of the caffeinating trade.

Our initial plan was to hit CaSa, the 19th century textile factory turned art gallery in San Agustín Etla, designed by Francisco Toledo, one of Mexico’s key contemporary artists. But time wasn’t on our side, so instead we resupplied on avocados and mangos and cut cross the valley, with the intention of camping in a place Emma and I had scoped out when we first devised the Vuelta de Santiago Apoala. And what a spot it was, especially given our arrival at golden hour. Vaughn once worked for Rivendell Bicycle Works, a company that I admire greatly. We agreed that the vibe there was ‘Walnut Creek-esque’, which is where Riv riders ride, ramble, and overnight. I did too once, way back when… for a blast from the past, see this post, and this one, from my visit to the Bay Area and Shell Ridge in 2013!

Carretera artesanal photoshoot.

I’m not one to resist a splash of colour against which to lean my bike. Thankfully, Oaxaca provides.

Concha shelf.

Quesillo Heart. Best Mural Ever? (see above).

Had we somehow been teleported to Walnut Creek, or the Bay Area?

Another morning, another coffee, another smile.

With the hard work largely wrapped up for the trip, all that was left was a relaxing morning cruise back into town, tracing a dirt road that rolled up and down a series of dry, golden grassed ridges that span the Etla valley like bony fingers. Until, at least, we dived back into the chaos and frenzy of traffic feeding into town, wiggling in amongst cars, trucks, buses, and moto taxis.

In turn, this culminated in the fabled ‘running the gauntlet’, a challenge Emma and I set ourselves, in order to time a particular road into Centro with all the traffic lights. For complete green light synchronicity, such a challenge requires a perfect balance of aerobic, out-of-the-saddle speed, along with deft and courageous bike handling. Making the Sign of the Bike for safe passage from the God of Bad Driving is recommended!

Shopping for Cacaouettes Con Chili.

I’m thinking poster size for these ones.

Rivendell Reader, Oaxaca Edition.

So freakin’ stoked for that end of ride mango paleta.

Thanks for all the fun, laughter, and catch phrases, Vaughn!

Gauntlet survived, we picked up mango paletas to commemorate the beginning of the mango season, and pedalled over to El Volador, where we slugged down some iced coffee with Emma. Job done!

THE ROUTE

This includes our sunrise S24O, see Part 1 for more details there.

That’s it for now. Thanks for reading and any questions, fire away!