The (moderately) long way down

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The last 24 hours have just been a complete sensory overload for me. I crossed the Mexican border around noon on October 8th. But I should back up a little first and talk about how I got here.

With Erin leaving to play Volleyball at World Master's in Sydney, Australia, I decided to make another epic trip on my motorcycle. I originally thought it would be exciting to ride to a warmer clime during our Saskatchewan autumn. I looked at Vegas on the map as a possible destination. Then I noticed something else: Mexico was right there, just an inch and a half south of Vegas. It would be silly for me not to go.

So, as I always do, I began to search online to oversaturate my brain with information pertaining to Mexico. I ordered maps and the Lonely Planet guide and phrase book. I bought Spanish lesson CDs on Ebay. Finally, I hammered out a rough plan for a route. It involved getting to Texas as fast as possible and then following the Gulf coast south for a while.

I left Saskatoon on October 3rd, one day after my original plan called for. Rain was the culprit for that delay. As I left the house, I wished Erin a great trip and adventure of her own. She seemed very anxious about traveling by herself, but I know she will be fine. I also realized how lucky I was to have found someone who accepts my quasi obsessive need to be on the road. She doesn't necessarily like it all the time, but I think she tolerates the fact that it is part of who I am.

As I reached the border crossing into North Dakota, I had plugged in my jacket and turned up the heat on my handgrips. The US customs officer offered some friendly advice upon learning that I was headed south of south of the border. "Don't tell them what you do for a living" he said. This would be the first of dozens of unsollicited pieces of advice given to me by Americans. Prior to actually entering Mexico, I was offered dire warnings of kidnappings, killings, shootout, warlords, official corruption and other general unpleasantness. None of the dispensers of advice had actually ever been to Mexico (or left the USA for that matter I suspect) but me pointing that out seemed to have no effect on them telling me that I would be a fool to go to Mexico. I must admit, for an hour or so, the day I was to cross, I actually considered the validity of their warnings. Then I spoke to a man at a gas station, a man with Mexican plates on his car, who told me that the part of Mexico I was going to had some very nice people in it and that I would have no problems as long as I didn't drive at night (this relates more to animals on the roadway than it does to banditos and war lords).

I drove through South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, the Oklahoma panhandle and Texas. My plan to camp was foiled by the lack of a middle ground temperature. It was either too cold or too hot. But as I headed south, hotel prices continued to drop, to a mere $40.00 in Texas. I also got some new tires for the V-Strom in Texas. I had ordered them ahead of time and walked into Central Texas Motorsports in Georgetown at 3 PM, hoping to set up an installation appointment for the following day, At 4:20 PM, I rode away with new tires. The cost:$45. Back home, I would have had to book with the dealership a month in advance for the simple procedure and they would have easily relieved me of $100. That's why I want nothing to do with Custom cycle.

After spending the night in the border city of Brownsville, I fuelled up the bike and filled the jerry can and exchanged $300US into Pesos and headed to the border. The neighborhood I drove through just before the border may as well have been Mexico. The currency exchange office was staffed by a woman who spoke only Spanish, the first test of my ability to communicate basic ideas in Espanol.

I crossed the International bridge, paid the $2.50 toll and drove onto Mexican soil. I knew that I needed a tourist permit to import myself as well as a vehicle importation permit, so I was looking for either the Migracion office or Aduana (customs). I was flagged down by a group of men in white shirt wearing laminated photo ID badges. I spoke to Roberto (Bob to the Americanos) who is a "tourist helper" and will guide you through the whole process in exchange for a tip. He even offered to escort me to the highway with his own car but I declined preferring the free help of the Garmin GPS.

Turns out the process was exactly as I had read online. I had made all of my own photocopies (passport, registration, driver's licence) to the great dismay of the copy guy. I filled out my tarjeta de turista (tourist permit) which is required by anyone traveling more than 30 km into the country. Then I went over to the vehicle importation window and obtained my temporary permit and sticker. I was now free and clear to enter Mexico. I tipped Roberto and the security guard who had watched over my bike while I was inside and headed south through Matamorous.

I was immediately taken aback by the chaotic state of things along the main street. My mind wandered back to riding through Istanbul and Ankara with Erin with a few notable differences: although chaotic, the traffic volume did not compare to Turkey. Also, the cars in Mexico were completely mechanically unfit, the air smelled of foul exhaust and few cars had functional lights to speak of.

Once outside the city, traffic flowed and became sparse. The highway was single lane heading south along the Gulf, although the shoulder was used as a lane for allowing others to pass. As in Turkey, the painted lines on the roadway mean about as much as the presence of oncoming traffic when passing, so it is up to you to move aside when an oncoming vehicle encroaches into your lane. There's a lot of trust there...

After driving 30 km or so, I came to a customs checkpoint. This was the border into the REAL Mexico. The officer checked my VIN against the one on my permit and sent me on my way.

I stopped for fuel when my gauge showed half. There is only one brand of gas in Mexico, it is government owned Pemex. Fuel seems to be about the same price as it is in the US. Did I mention that in Texas it was $2.29/gallon, that's 60.2 cents US per litre! Again, I was able to let the attendant know what I needed in Spanish. I was getting cocky.

I had originally thought about driving to Tampico, but as I had left later in the day, and all the riding was wearing on me, I decided to stop in La Pesca, about 250 km short of Tampico. La Pesca is a weekend holiday spot for folks from Monterrey and Matamouros and was practically deserted on this Thursday. I settled on a hotel based on looks alone, Hotel El Paraiso. I was charged 400 pesos (about $40US) which may have been a bit much but I thought it was not worth expending the energy for 5 or 10 dollars. The room is quite nice but the TV shows only the channel that the owners happen to be watching. They seem to like a lot of soap opera style shows.

The owner's son in law is about 25 years old and works as a maintenance man at the hotel. He grew up in the US so he speaks English, he chatted with me. He explained that he came back to Mexico after being deported from the US after his second term of incarceration. Seemed nice enough though.

I had skipped lunch in the frenzy and fear of entering a new country, so I set out to find some food. If you have not figured it out, the name of the town I was in (La Pesca) means "fishing". So it would be a challenge finding something I liked that was also open. I stopped in at a place with a sign that said "Pizzas" . Noticed Texas plates on the truck in the driveway and a large affable non-mexican looking man came out to greet me. Habla Ingles? I asked. "Sure do" he replied. Johnny is an Italian-American who hails from Louisiana and married a Honduran woman. They have both been living in Mexico for 15 years and run a little restaurant that only opens on vweekends. I gotta tell you though, the Louisiann'Italian accent this guy had was awesome. Couldn't help me with supper but gave me some great tips for my trip.

I eventually did find a restaurant that was open and had "hamburgesa's" on the menu. It did the trick. 50 pesos for a burger, fries and a coke, about $5.00US.

It was getting dark as I rode the 5 km or so back to the hotel. I rode down La Pesca's main drag which seemed to have come to life as the sun went down. People were hanging out, Taquerias stands were now open for business and kids were playing soccer in the street. The heat must keep everyone away during the day.

Friday I rode south to Tampico, crossing the Tropic of Cancer and stopping for the obligatory photo with the sign. Every kilometre I covered represented a new record for the furthest south I had been on the planet!

People continue to be fairly friendly, I get the sense that they are curious about me but don't dare try to talk to me. I did drive through a military checkpoint and was approached by a group of soldiers who were more curious about the bike than whether I was smuggling anything across Mexico. One even tried out the few words of english he knew asking where I was going. The concept of not having a destination is not for everyone, so I just answered Tampico. I guess ultimately my destination is Saskatoon...

Today was another scorcher, high 30's I would guess. By the time I pulled into the hotel in Tampico, I seriously needed to cool off in the pool. As I type, I am starving and contemplating getting some food. I'll check in again in a few days...

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