I met a few good people at the hostel in Guadalajara; a few Americans, a couple Mexicans, and of course those two Swiss girls I met at the other hostel. We all went out that night to a club/bar type of place with loud music and flashing lights. I ended up meeting a beautiful Mexican girl (Bianca), which inevitably led to an extra two days in Guadalajara that I hadn't planned.

In the morning I picked up Cricket, the bike. The guys at the shop did a good job on him. I got brand new tires, oil change, and they even cleaned him. Not an easy task considering how dirty and sticky it was with bugs.

I walked around the town for a bit to see the sights and later met up with Bianca for dinner in the city of Tlaquepaque, a rustic place with a relaxed atmosphere. On Thursday Bianca took the day off to show me more of the city, so I spent a wonderful day with her.

Friday I had to go. I left in the morning with Mexico City as my destination. It's supposed to be about a 7 hour drive. About 2 hours into the trip I stopped at a roadside restaurant only to realize that I lost the only credit card that I know the pin number to. I had 250 pesos (25 bucks) with me and I spent about 80 on the lunch.

In Mexico they have the Autopistas, and the Libre highways. Libre's are free, but are very bumpy potholed roads. Autopistas are a lot faster and nicer but you have to pay about 2 pesos per mile, which turns out to be a shitload if you travel long distances like me. So about every fifty miles or so they had tollbooths and about every 150 miles they have a decent gas station; and it seems only half of the gas stations take credit cards. I went about 40 miles on empty hoping that if I got to a gas station it would take my card. Luckily for me I pulled into a credit card accepted station just as Cricket sputtered on an empty tank.

One of the tollbooths took my credit card just fine. Another didn't. This one wanted to charge me 88 pesos; I only had 70 by this time. He told me to pull over to the side of the lane and wait. I waited about a minute. I took off without paying, fed up with the inconsistent tollbooth credit card accessibilities.

I really wasn't worried about a cop pulling me over or getting my license plate tagged. I had only seen one cop on these roads in ten days and the tin saddlebags half hide my license plate. I made it to the next tollbooth just fine, only 33 pesos for this one. I made it to Mexico City with only 2 pesos in my pocket.

Mexico City is hell to drive in. I spent 3 hours in afternoon traffic just to get into the center of town. I had to stop off at an Internet café to check where my hostel was located. It was only 2 miles away but I still spent an hour getting there.

When I first walked into the hostel I could tell right away it was a party place. There was a bar with loud music, couches, dim lights, and many people my age. I felt like a hardass walking in with all my motorcycle gear and luggage. It's a shame that my gear is so uncomfortable for everyday use or else I would just wear it everywhere I go.

There were a large number of stunning girls from a University near Vera Cruz who were staying at the hostel for the night. They all went to school for fashion design and modeling and they had a large competition the next day; doing the catwalk and showing off their designs. So basically, what I'm trying to get at is that this is the dream hostel.

In the evening the bar area of the hostel was very lively and one of the models invited me to Salsa dance with her. I don't know how to Salsa. Well, quite frankly I don't know how to dance, but I wasn't going to throw away this opportunity to learn. If I had some pesos I would have bought a few beers (or ten) before saying yes, but the bar didn't take credit cards. So I was stuck making an ass of myself while soberly knowing I was making an ass of myself. With alcohol I would at least have an excuse. I was told I dance quite well but I think she was just being polite.