A quick getaway week to—once again—Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

After Barcelona and Panama and with two major races on the East Coast coming up you would have thought I'd spend a few extra days at home. But then I found a heck of a deal for a condo in Puerto Vallarta for a mere 7,500 RCI timeshare points (my annual allotment is 20,000), and what's the cost of yet another plane ticket when you're chasing AA's Loyalty Points? With the Ritchey cleaned up, packed, and ready to go it was all a no-brainer: PVR, here I come!

I had been to Puerto Vallarta about a year-and-a-half ago, when I had rented a rather costly Airbnb on the north coast of the Bahia Banderas, in Bucerias. This time I was located just a hop and a skip away from PVR's lively malecón toward the south end of the bay. During my earlier stay I had ridden all the way down here just once because of the distance, so I was looking forward to exploring new territory.

Using RCI timeshare points is always fraught with ending up with one problem or another. The reviews for the Buganvilias Resort had forewarned me that RCI guests are second-class citizens when compared to owners of condos in this resort, and so I had sent off a friendly email beforehand trying to avert issues. The promised balcony never materialized, and like so many other people before me had experienced my three-room condo looked upon an empty gravel beach that is a nightly hangout for homeless people and young hooligans. But when I didn't look straight down but horizontally I saw the beautiful south coastline and the swells of the Pacific rolling in.

Trash, shady elements, and nightly police visits in front of my window
at the posh RCI resort

This view of the ocean was not the only plus of my digs: It was the sound of the waves! Even with the windows closed (and thus the AC running) there was the powerful sound of the swell, and most nights I actually kept the window in my bedroom open (using the curtains as a mosquito netting) and the crashing waves drowned out any partying sounds from the locals or the occasional cop sirens. So, it was the usual story: Make the best of what you've got, and if it's good, make it even better.

My daily routine—having opted out of an all inclusive package—consisted of being woken up by the swell, stumbling into the large kitchen to start the coffee, and checking messages in regard to the upcoming races. (I was on mountain time while the respective race directors were two hours ahead of me.) Shower, drink a second cup of coffee, and then fix chorizo, eggs, veggies, and loads of cilantro for a yummy breakfast, with a side of fresh mango and even tuna, as the fruit of cactus are called.

By the time I had read the online paper and cleaned the dishes it was time to kit up and head out the door. For six days, I went for daily rides that I had mapped out on Locus the night before. The distance varied between about 30 to 42 miles. Three of my rides led along the one-and-only south-bound road, MEX 200, while the others led northward into the alluvial plains as well as toward the tourist destinations around Nuevo Vallarta.

The contrast couldn't be more stark between heading south versus north

Quite frankly, the riding wasn't great. I covered 201 miles on those six days, but there were lots of overlaps, thanks to the dearth of rideable roads. Going south, there's just the aforementioned MEX 200, no other roads or even goat paths. You ride 11 miles south, along the coast, and then turn inland toward the mountains. On my first day of riding I did just that. After a sustained 5-mile climb at 6% to 9% I was done for the day. After turning away from the coast the temperature had suddenly soared (not that I had!) and I knew it was time to pack it in and turn around.

In a tiny roadside restaurant in the small hamlet of Cabo Corrientes I stopped for a cold beer and experienced the maybe most significant moment of the trip. When I settled, all hot, sweaty and a bit shaky, into my straight-back wooden stool and tried to stretch my legs out I could tell there was something under the table—quite likely a bag or a large dog or something. It took me about five minutes to compose myself and finally lift up the vinyl tablecloth and look below. And there she was, the sweetest little 5-year-old girl you can imagine, lying on the concrete and peacefully sleeping. Somehow this girl made the world around me stop and gave me this deep sense of happiness.

I did the south shore ride three times, but I knew better than to again turn inland for that infernally hot climb to, well, nowhere. Instead I twice visited the small fishing village of Boca Tomatlán, the spot where the Rio Horcones empties into the Pacific. This sleepy town has a few beach-side restaurants, and I enjoyed my first ceviche de marlin ever. Very tasty stuff! I was surprised by the dryness of the meat, which had almost a smoky flavor. 

It was easy to simply watch the coming and going of the small water taxis that serve homes and small settlements not accessible via road. There was a certain laid-back business in Boca Tomatlán, in a very Mexican way. On my final visit I spent quality time watching the pelicans and seagulls waiting for a few morsels from fishermen cleaning out their catch. A few cold beers helped while away my time before heading back on the undulating but well-paved road back to Puerto Vallarta.

Each of the rides south involved at least 1,800 feet of climbing while the first one came close to 3,000 feet. To break things up I alternated between "hilly" and "flat" rides, going north of the downtown area into the arid alluvial plain of the Rio Ameca, which separates Jalisco to the south from Nayarit to the north. Because of the sprawling nature of this river, which floods when tropical storms bring heavy rain but otherwise is not much of a river at all, there are almost no permanent bridges connecting the two states. One of them is the large bridge (actually, two of them, Ameca 1 and Ameca 2) close to the Pacific that carries all of MEX 200's north-south traffic; the other one is located about 15 miles inland, and I have never seen it because of the distance. In between these two permanent bridges there are some makeshift crossovers that, undoubtedly, get washed away when the rio floods. The roads in this entire area are dirt, used by beat-up trucks, run-down cars, and caballeros on horses. 

During my visit in late 2021 I had ridden some of the roads on the north side of the river, and on one of my rides this time around I was determined (and lucky enough) to connect via one of the makeshift bridges to that area and then continue back to the coast and use the Ameca bridge to get back to Puerto Vallarta. It was just a hunch that there might be a way to cross over as the map did not show any bridge but there were indications that something might exist. Ah, the beauty of exploration! It was the longest ride of the entire trip at 42 miles, at least eight of which were on rough gravel. Like so many of my rides it ended up in a brewpub with a few cold IPAs.

One of my rides to the north took me to Nuevo Vallarta, which is mostly composed of large hotels (Vidanta, Riu, etc.) as well as gated communities of posh vacation homes. Because this area is right off the Pacific there are some lagoons and connecting channels so that some folks can park their motor yachts right in front of their home. Not too shabby! And neither is the large country club with its manicured greens, well-trimmed plants, small lakes with water features, and multi-million dollar mansions. There may be a few Mexican fat cats who own property here, but I would bet that plenty of Californians (and other US Americans) have parked their money here as well. Riding in Nuevo Vallarta is easy and safe, with little traffic (watch out for the joggers!) and plenty of shade from the trees overhanging the smoothly asphalted boulevards with a median that features a bike path for the residents. It's quite a different Mexico from the one that exists just three miles to the east.

The average speed of my rides barely exceeded 11 mph. That may seem really slow (which, under normal circumstances, it is) but consider that riding here often requires navigating through neighborhoods, incessant slowing down for speed bumps, taking pictures, and road surfaces that at times are worse than what you'd find in Paris-Roubaix. It's rare that one can ride for a few miles without any worries, just happily clicking along at 16 mph. But these rides are not about speed, of course. They're simply a way to get to see things that elude the average tourist.

Bike lane. Seriously.

And there are lots of them—the average tourists—in Puerto Vallarta. PVR airport brings them in by the planeload, and the cruise ship terminal is located right across the street from the Puerto Vallarta Mall and another large shopping center. Walmart and Sam's Club are undoubtedly frequented heavily by the large contingent of US expats, and Office Depot, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Domino's, and all of those other bastions of north-American commerce are well represented. Are we in Miami? Cancun? Las Vegas? Could be anywhere, and Hard Rock and Señor Frogs have multiple outlets, too.

Since I had not purchased an outrageously expensive all-inclusive package I left the resort for dinner in the evenings. (Thanks to an extensive breakfast I usually didn't need a lunch or would just treat myself to a ceviche or similar on a few occasions.) I alternated between brewpubs and traditional restaurants (Mexican, Italian, and Cuban). Puerto Vallarta has a number of microbreweries, and two of them were within easy walking distance. Los Quartos stands out, not necessarily for it's beer but the amazing ceviche that Hugo—the burly man behind the counter—prepared for me, and Carlos, the only other customer that evening in this tiny pub. We had an interesting conversation, as happens so often in brewpubs. 

The food at the more traditional restaurants was good, not stellar, and in my book overpriced. $30 for a Mexican combination plate and a crappy margarita? This is Mexico,  not California. Oh, I forgot, maybe it is California... My pizza was probably the best of all the dinners, with a crust to kill for. All the restaurants were right on the malecon, so people watching was inclusive. 

One can eat cheaper, of course. But after a long day on the bike and a lengthy walk for food I didn't feel like standing in the street at a makeshift taco stand and gobbling down al pastor from a plastic plate. 

The malecón is truly a wonderful place to spend time. During the day it is moderately busy with tourists going for a stroll, having a drink, or simply looking at all the artwork. But as soon as day turns into evening, the number of people doubles, no, quadruples, and life suddenly takes on a different dimension. The balloon sellers are out in force, street vendors hawk all kind of wares, mariachi roam and will play for a few bills. 

Even a group of Voladores de Papantla have found a permanent exile from their original village on the gulf coast. Google this impressive ceremony and you will find out that the "fliers" climb a 100-foot-tall pole to a platform where they tie themselves up with long ropes. The platform starts to rotate (thanks to an ingenious way of winding the ropes around the pole) and the fliers hurl themselves off the platform, gradually sinking lower and lower until they finally reach the ground. And all the while, hanging upside down, one of the voladores plays an ancient song on a flute.

A week in a place like this is just right—not too long, yet not too short. Having the resort pool after the rides certainly was nice, and being close enough to the malecón to spend an hour or two people watching was also preferable to the Airbnb where I had stayed last time. The number of routes to ride was a bit more limited, but the fishing village of Boca Tomatlán and its pelicans made up for that, as did the ride along the coast with some breathtaking views.

Would I recommend Puerto Vallarta as a destination? That really depends on what you're after. Just as Cancun's Riviera Maya is just an extension of Miami Beach or Padre Island during spring break, so is the Riviera Nayarit nothing but a stretch of huge hotels, inaccessible beaches (unless you are a guest of one of those resorts), and overpriced restaurants. But the same is true for so many other tourist destinations these days, and different folks have different visions of what the perfect vacation should look like. I still have fond memories of my trips to Oaxaca and Morelia that involved both the bike as well as great food and a cultural component that appeared more genuine than what Puerto Vallarta has to offer.

Regardless, I  enjoyed my quick getaway to the Pacific coast of Mexico, and who knows what Mexican destination will present itself in the future. It's a large country with so many different places that still beckon. 

Jürgen