Living off the bare necessities and feeling on top of the world.
© Eva Boynton

How Mexican Toll Roads Change Perspective

There are two main roads weaving through Mexico: the calle libre (free road) and the autopista (toll road). When four friends and I, all engaged in adventure cycling, biked through Mexico, our choice in road shaped the future.

We chose the toll road. Not only did it develop our appreciation of the survival essentials, but it also irrevocably changed our perspective.

.A toll road has different meaning to a car driver than to an adventure cyclist.
© iStock / aidaricci

Toll roads are government-owned roads that require payment (free for bicycles!) for maintenance efforts. They are:

• a direct path from one big city to another
• time-savers—15 to 30 miles shorter than free roads
• built to offer beautiful views from bridges, smoother pavement, and a spacious shoulder for cycling

But beware! With these welcoming attributes comes a set of challenges for the adventure cyclist. The fast track means a lack of off ramps and, therefore, a lack of resources.

Few and far between are signs of places to find water and food on the toll road.
© Eva Boynton

Toll roads, by design, bypass the smaller towns along free roads where food, water, and shelter are plentiful. They teach, through trial and error, the three survival essentials of choosing to travel on the toll road.

Survival Essential #1: Water

The first question for survival on a bicycle is: “How much water can you carry?”

We may crawl like snails, but carrying an extra liter or two is worth the weight.
© Eva Boynton

Our team of cyclists learned the answer the hard way.

After a 4-hour-climb in the mountains of Guerrero, Mexico, our crew stopped to fix a flat tube. When we reached for water to hydrate, we realized our bottles were empty. The midday heat was kicking in, and there was no water resource in sight.

While most of us morosely shook the last drops of water onto our tongues, my friend grabbed his empty bottles and started waving them like a madman at cars zooming by.

Although big trucks are normally intimidating with their size and roar,
this 18-wheeler became our best friend.
© iStock / vitpho

In an act of both desperation and creativity, we followed his lead. After many cars zoomed by, our 18-wheeler salvation arrived. A cargo truck rumbled toward us and slowed with a crunch-screech of breaks.

Catching up with our empty bottles in hand, we jogged underneath the passenger’s window. A pair of hands tossed out a gallon of water. We shrieked, “Muchas gracias!”, and the anonymous driver and truck rolled into the distance.

Pure joy and appreciation for a garrafón de agua 
© Eva Boynton

Although water may be an obvious survival essential, our toll road environment changed our perspective. Water became a precious commodity due to rare access and the physical need from cycling for 6 or 7 hours a day.

When we were gifted water from a truck driver or passerby, we became giddy children opening presents on Christmas day. The value of things we carried changed. Excess items (like clothes, even electronics) were left behind and replaced with the weight of water.

Survival Essential #2: Shade

We found ourselves in a desert of sun, and shade became an essential during the hottest hours of the day.

At the mercy of the weather and climate, we began to form a daily routine, where the break in the middle of the day was the perfect time to find our shade “oasis”:

• 8:00 am: Hit the road
• 2:00 pm: Find shade
• 4:00 pm: Continue cycling
• 6:00 or 7:00 pm: Look for a place to camp

What was our cue to look for shade? When we heard the sizzle of our backs frying like eggs or felt the salty sweat roll down our faces.

The first of many naps in the shade on our toll road adventures
© Eva Boynton

Sometimes, we began to see mirages. The shadow of a small tree became an umbrella planted in the white sand with a beach chair awaiting beneath. We stopped there.

We were not particular, learning to love shade in all its shapes and sizes.
© Eva Boynton

While resting near an overpass, I looked over to see our teammate Gaby fast asleep on a comfortable bed of cement. A memory foam mattress would not have given her better sleep or a softer surface.

Shade can make even the hardest surface seem soft.
© Eva Boynton

Our second survival essential was surely shade. We took it wherever we could find it. At midday, drivers looking out their car windows spotted five cyclists curled up in the toll road’s shady places and knew not to disturb.

Survival Essential #3: A Place to Camp

As the sun began to sink behind the mountains, exhaustion crept into our legs. We kept our eyes peeled for a place to stop, cook, and sleep.

Luxurious toll road camping: finding shelter underneath a tree and out of sight from the highway.
© Eva Boynton

We began to have an eye for finding the “perfect” place to camp. A space with flat ground, enough room for three tents and perhaps a tree for rain cover. For an extra 10 points, the perfect spot was hidden from the view of traffic (avoiding car lights and any interested passersby).

Simple, but perfect for us. 

Our horizons of mobility were widened as camping on the side of the autopista became routine.
© Gabriela Díaz Cortez

Our perspective on the perfect place to sleep changed when towns and hostels were nowhere in sight. Along the Mexican toll roads, a dirt turnout was often the only option for setting up camp. But because we carried our homes with us, the perfect place to sleep became less about the amenities and more about the freedom to stop and sleep anywhere we chose.

Appreciating the Small Things

Our time on the toll road was full of challenges that developed an appreciation for the smallest things. “Mi amor!” (My love!), I would shout in excitement for a patch of shade, a forgotten bottle of water, the beginning of a downhill, or a surprise snack at the bottom of my front basket.

The small things became essential items of value.
© Eva Boynton

Oh, I see how traveling by bicycle on Mexican toll roads changed my view of what is essential—a cell phone or computer could not provide us the shade, a place to camp, or water to drink, the things that really mattered.

Things we took for granted, seemingly small, were now at the forefront of our attention. They were not only survival essentials, but the simple essentials.

The toll road may offer challenges, but the change in perspective is worth the ride.
© Gabriela Díaz Cortez

In the end, when pedaling up to a fork in the road, a decision arises: autopista or calle libre? For adventure cycling, I recommend trying the autopista (toll road) at least once for the experience of learning your own survival essentials and perhaps a change in perspective.

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