At once the trail lurched steeply upward. Although the burdens were heavy, they were inspired. They had finally found mutual relief from the near constant sickness that plagued them for several days prior. Trading off packs now and then they climbed upward through banana and orange groves for several hours. The heat soon became intense and the 100oz camelback they shared rapidly began to dwindle. More hours had passed when they ran into a group of three men working in the fields picking coffee beans. “ Ayautla?” they ask, gesturing to the trail disappearing into the hillside above.
“ Si, Ayautla arriba”, replied one of the men pointing towards the top of the mountain. This gave the cavers a renewed hope. They had guessed the distance from the river to Ayautla to be only a few kilometers but it seemed as if they had already traveled 7 or 8 possibly more. Now the two men looked towards the long ridge before them and joked about it being a false summit. Still sweltering but realizing the need to ration their precious supply of water they began to count off gulps. More hours passed. The summit turned out to indeed be a false summit. It was in truth the lowest edge of a long ridge climbing ever skyward. The two were now looking down on what they once perceived as the top. The sun sank low in the western sky as the last of their water was consumed. Their once crisp pace had now turned into a slow, painful trudge. They had hiked the entire day and still no sign of town. The day was turning to dusk as the cavers came upon a small thatch house. They ask the man coming outside to investigate the reason why his dogs were barking for directions to a spring so they could get a drink of water. The farmer stepped back into his home and returned with a full pitcher of water. They drank it all then the man graciously supplied them with more. A woman soon appeared from inside the dirt- floored castle and offered some tamales that the cavers politely but hungrily ingested as well. The woman cleared a table inside and began preparing coffee. The cavers related their river journey from Quiotepec the hike up the mountain and their quest for the trail to Ayautla. The Mixtec man explained that the pair was about a half hour from San Isadoro and about an hour from San Juan Coatzospan. San Juan was a town that the cavers had passed through on several occasions including just 4 days before riding in the back of a truck towards the rafting adventure. San Juan is a lone Mixtec town surrounded on all sides by the Mazetecs. It is set high on the southwest flank of the Cerro Rabon. From there it is a short 20-minute drive on the federal highway down the mountain to Ayautla. As total darkness set in the cavers inquired about a place to sleep. Once more the man’s generosity came through. They offered 50 pesos but the man initially declined payment. Only after much insistence from the cavers the following morning did he accept their offer to show gratitude for his kindness. The pair once again set off on foot and two hours later they finally reached the highway. Soon after they caught a ride on a gas truck down the mountain to la casa de Enrique.
“ Well son, that’s the cost of exploration”. Bill stone
There were a few days to kill before the Proyecto Cerro Rabon was scheduled to start. The hot showers, cold beer, and a last minute shopping spree formed the battle cry.
Street grunting (caver slang for buying meals from street vendors) kept
one caver full while the other went back into vomit mode. While heading
back to Ayautla the following afternoon the boys to decided to take a
30 minute detour down a dirt and gravel road for one last dunk in the
river. While driving across the shifting river cobble along the river’s
shore the front sway bar broke free from its mount on the frame. It then
swung 
under the belly of the burro and snapped the passenger tie rod
end. If it would have happened on the highway it could have been deadly.
Normally this should have spelled big trouble for the two gringos. After
all they were 10 or 12 kilometers from a paved road and the nearest town
with an auto parts store of any kind was a couple hours drive down the
highway. This was compounded by the fact it was Sunday afternoon and
all the shops would be closed. Again luck prevailed in the form of a
young gentleman by the name of Santos. First he helped pull the broken
parts. Then he drove to Jalapa de Diaz to look up a friend of his who
was a welder. Returning to their broken burro with the repaired part
he reassembled the suspension and they were back in business in less
than two hours at a cost of around $20 US. They made it back to casa
de Enrique as darkness fell and were greeted by the smiling faces of
the Poles. The team was assembled and all that was standing between their
group and their destiny was to receive permission from the town.
