Article suitable for older students

Reimagining La Ruta de Cortés

20th Nov 2022

Mexicolore contributor Charles Lynch

We warmly thank Charles Lynch for this evocative article based on his first-hand experience of cycling the entire ‘Route of Cortés’. Charles (aka Bike Gringo) is a photographer, author and self-supported bicycle adventurist who has toured extensively both in the Yucatan and mainland Mexico. He and his wife, Ursula, reside in Colorado, USA. Charles welcomes reader comments, especially from those who have experience bicycling all or part of La Ruta de Cortés, with the hope of one day creating an official map. He can be reached at: cplynch63@gmail.com.

Like all good adventures this particular one started in my imagination. I had been researching a route for another bicycle adventure to the Yucatan when I stumbled upon a reference to Bernal del Castillo’s first-hand account, The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico. Although I didn’t then realize that the manuscript contained numerous discrepancies and fabrications, the story itself was fascinating. This was a piece of history I had heard of but really knew nothing about. As my research broadened, I began focusing on the actual route Cortés and his acquisitive soldiers of fortune traveled in 1519 to reach the wealthy inland Aztec trading capital of Tenochtitlan. Was such a route still in existence and if so, had anyone ever attempted to retrace it?

I could find no detailed map of La Ruta de Cortés in any of my research so I stitched together my own route by flagging all the towns and cities most historians agree the expedition passed through. Then, I simply began my journey by asking directions from locals, much the same way Cortés did 500 years ago.
La Ruta de Cortés follows well maintained paved roads and could be undertaken by most any mode of transportation.

It seemed to me, though, that this mountainous, 400 mile trail could best be appreciated from the seat of a touring bicycle, mirroring a time when the pace of discovery was far more deliberate and physically challenging. I pitched the idea to my trusty riding buddy, MIke, suggesting that we both might make a bit of history ourselves since I could find no record of anyone ever bicycling the entire route from start to finish.

After flying into Veracruz and re-assembling our bikes in a downtown hotel, we boarded a northbound bus to our starting point in the small sea-side town of Villa Rica de la Veracruz. This is where Cortés launched his expedition, erecting a small base camp atop an escarpment overlooking a shimmering, blue bay. Much like the trail we’re about to follow, however, the ruins lay unmarked and in obscurity with only a gnarled fig tree standing as a lone sentinel.

Making our way into Cempoala, the first large town Cortés encountered, we befriend Stephen, a local rider who offers to lead us through secondary back roads paralleling the clear, cold waters of the Actopan river. This watercourse must have been a god-send, keeping the men and horses of the Cortés expedition cool and hydrated as they struggled upward in suffocating tropical heat. Stephan’s bike is meticulously maintained and he proudly sports a blue bike jersey with the name “Brooklyn’’ emblazoned across the front. My own family has deep roots embedded in this very region of New York but my attempt to convey this to Stephan falls short. As an experienced but unemployed welder, he must supplement his income by working in the local sugarcane factory for a mere twelve dollars a day. He surely has more pressing issues on his mind.

Stephen returns to Cempoala the next day, leaving Mike and I to slowly negotiate our way through a rich tapestry of sugarcane fields and produce farms. The riding hasn’t been too tough thus far until we reach a busy highway junction crowded with heavy car and truck traffic headed toward the Veracruz capital city of Xalapa. The climbing now begins in earnest as we labor up steep road grades in uncomfortably tight and dangerous quarters. Looking up, we can’t help but notice a towering statue of the Virgin Mary perched on the mountainside above us. A few moments later we pedal past a full-sized replica of an ancient Olmec head. We wonder if we’re hallucinating. Can there be two more striking and dissonant metaphors?

Xalapa is a beautiful and vibrant city, home to the renowned Museo de Antropología where we spend half the day inspecting its large collection of Olmec and Totonac antiquities. On the way back to our hotel we’re stopped on a street corner by a man who’s anxious to air his opinion of former US president Donald Trump who surely didn’t warm any hearts on this side of the border.

Over the next two days, we pass through the fragrant coffee town of Coatepec and into the cobblestone streets of Xico where we must pay a cab driver to lead us to a mountain retreat that would have otherwise been impossible to find on our own. Our host points to a short-cut across the steep valley from our cabin where Mike and I are forced to shoulder our heavily loaded bikes up a series of steep cement stairways the next morning. Faced with a network of remote dirt farm and ranch roads with only the massive Perote volcano serving as a general landmark, we wonder about the wisdom of our short-cut.

We’re now hopelessly lost but brief encounters throughout the day with coffee bean pickers, sheep herders on horseback and tiny mountain schools filled with bright, happy, faces help soften the edges of our worrisome predicament. Like all near disasters, this event later becomes one of the most memorable sections of the route. By sheer luck, we surreptitiously emerge from this bucolic countryside late in the afternoon and rejoin the main highway.

We crawl into quaint Ixhuacan on empty stomachs just before dark, finding lodging at Paso de Cortés Hotel, one of the few visual acknowledgements of this enigmatic trail we’ve encountered so far. Another day of thigh busting road grades await us the following morning before we finally top-out at a 9,500 foot pass and begin a long descent into the bustling cattle town of Perote. After six days of continual climbing in wet, suffocating coastal heat, we enter a summer climate not unlike that of my home state of Colorado.

Most of the town names we’ve biked through (Coatepec, Altotonga, Tezuitlan, Tecoac, etc) spring from the endemic Nahuatl language spoken long before the arrival of Cortés. The people of Tenochtitlan, in fact, referred to themselves not as Aztecs but as “Mexica”, the namesake of modern day Mexico City.
Biking sparsely traveled secondary roads from Cuyoaco, we continue to witness a way of life that looks to have remained unchanged for hundreds of years. Farmers labor behind horse drawn plows, vaqueros drive small herds of cattle and women still haul heavy loads of cooking fuel on their backs. Few tourists, it seems, ever bother to visit this peaceful and fascinating part of Mexico.

Our road takes a sudden and dramatic plunge into a steep valley of municipalities that eventually lead us into Ixtacamaxtitlan. Crumbling Spanish cathedrals and outlying indigenous ruins attest to its ancient history. It was here that Cortés was reminded of Moctezuma’s treachery, suggesting that once Cortés entered Tenochtitlan, he would never leave alive. It would be the treachery of Cortés, however, that would ultimately prove to be of far greater danger to the Mexica emperor.

Thundering explosions, mimicking the violent Spanish siege of Cholula, greet us as we enter this holy city in the midst of a celebration. Processions of colorfully costumed celebrants gather in the town square beneath the imposing Tlachihualtepetl pyramid, the largest by volume in the world. Later in the day, I climb to the cathedral perched on its top to gain a better view of the smoldering Popocatepetl volcano, the flanks of which Mike and I will be climbing the next morning.

The 4,000 foot ascent up the steeply graded dirt and sand road of the Paso de Cortés is the toughest section of trail we’ve faced yet. In the quiet solitude of the surrounding pine forests, I begin to imagine hearing the heavy footsteps of hundreds of Spanish soldiers, snorting horses, clanging metal and the cloud of dust kicked up by thousands of allied Tlaxcalan warriors. The spectacle must have struck fear and wonder into all who witnessed it.

We reach the cool, misty pass late in the afternoon and enjoy a hard earned, forty-five minute descent into Amecameca. Mike must catch a bus to Mexico City due to time constraints but I continue to negotiate the final 50 miles of La Ruta de Cortés through sprawling, smog-choked suburbs before entering the heart of Mexico City.
Considering the sensationalized press Mexico often receives, many people back home ask if the potential danger of our enterprise outweighed the reward. But in twenty years of bike travel throughout much of Mexico, I’ve never once experienced even the slightest hint of violence. On the contrary, people have been unfailingly friendly, helpful and openly proud of their heritage.

It’s hard to say if Mike and I are the very first to bike the Route of Cortés. Somehow the name, La Ruta de Cortés now seems a bit out of context, giving the impression that Cortés forged his own path to Tenochtitlan. But central Mexico was home to millions of people inhabiting towns and cities with established roads and infrastructure. The Cortés expedition would never have had a chance of succeeding without these towns and the alliances he formed with them.

Tenochtitlan was once the largest and most sophisticated city in the world, surpassing even Paris and Constantinople in its wealth and splendor. This clash of intercontinental cultures was, of course, inevitable but the sheer brutality of the invasion and the conflicting narratives that followed have left Mexico with a deeply divided and contentious past. In conquering Tenochtitlan the Spanish inherited the spoils of a vast and powerful trading empire which ultimately gave rise to the prosperous Mexico City we know today. In its aftermath, however, one can’t help but contemplate what once was and what might have been.

It has been said that “forgiveness means letting go of all hope of having a better past” and I often reflect on that sentiment when trying to imagine the powerful emotions of awe and amazement the Spaniards experienced when first gazing down upon the glittering jewel of Tenochtitlan from high upon the flanks of the smoldering Popocatepetl volcano; it was, perhaps the modern day equivalent of discovering life on another planet. It was this same sensation of wonderment that I hoped to partially recapture through the slow and steady pace of self supported bicycle travel. At times we came close when getting lost in the solitude of quiet country back roads and climbing the steep, remote slopes of Popocatepetl. Moments like those certainly provided brief insights but our ten day adventure fell short of deeper exploration and the many hidden ruins known only to locals - the perfect excuse for a return trip.