Mexico, Day 1

Greetings, from San Cristobal de las Casas!

I've been on a whirlwind tour of Mexico so far. I'm not sure the funds will stretch me as far as I wanted to go, but what I've seen has been worth every last dime spent on gas, motels, carne asada, and highway tolls!

From my travel journal/diary:

Saturday, November 15, 2014,

Somewhere in the Sonoran Desert, south of the Arizona border.

Yesterday, I finally took the plunge and entered Mexico—twice.

I rode through the border and—not really being familiar with the procedure, cruised through the “nothing to declare” lanes, thinking I would run into an immigration officer or station. Nope.

Next thing I knew, I was trawling the streets of Tijuana, looking for “Immigration and Customs”. Then I was lost.

Rather than try to find a work-around, I decided it would be easier as a do-over.

So I returned to the U.S., and re-entered Mexico. This time I went to the “something to declare” section and found one-stop shopping for my visa, and temporary vehicle import permit.

The rest of the day was riding. Only stopping for gas, and only eating Cliff bars, 10 of which I had brought with me.

Got lost once, but was quickly turned around at the nearest Pemex—Mexico's federal gas station that is seriously as ubiquitous as Starbucks in America. Usually, there are two stations within line of sight in any given town.

I dropped into the Sonoran Desert. A fun drop; down winding canyon roads with too-fast driving Mexican semi-trucks (I have seen three jack-knifed and overturned semi-trailers since the week I entered Mexico).

And then, I felt at home. I had not realized before now how familiar the Sonoran feels to me. I know it like a family member; its ticks and quirks—where its true beauty lies.

Nov 15, 2014 6:58PM

A photo posted by @curtislong on Nov 11, 2014 at 6:12pm PST

I can't figure out if this is the sunset or sunrise for that campsite. Let's just call it the sunset. The date stamps don't seem to be accurate [edit: upon further review, this is definitely the sunrise. I took pictures of the sunset on my camera, this is from my cellphone.]

At dusk I found a good spot to camp.

No sooner had I hid the bike behind a tree, and down an access road to a radio tower, played guitar a little, then gone to sleep, I was awoken by a big-sounding truck crunching gravel and shifting gears. It stopped right on the other side of my tree. My mind made up the worst scenarios.

I was about one mile or less from the border (it was only 100 meters away to my left for much of the ride that day),and I feared the men were up to something bad.

Another truck arrived, then another. I didn't know how long I had been sleeping, but it was dark, and as they arrived, their lights shone on the tree, a thin mesquite type of tree, and I was sure they could see me, but they didn't act like they did.

I put on my boots and quietly covered the bike as best I could with my camo poncho. The truck idled loudly and covered my noise.

Then, I waited.

The big truck was a tanker, carrying what, I don't know. The men, about 5 of them I'd guess, had headlamps on, and after pumping some of their cargo into a container in the smaller truck, they took pictures with cell phones. I'm guessing it was for record keeping.

The big truck stayed put and the little truck ferried its mysterious cargo (fuel, water?) back and forth 3 times to the top of the hill with the radio towers.

I could see the headlights push away the darkness in diagonal lines up the switchbacks. As the truck corkscrewed its way up the winding, steep road, it passed out of my line of sight, but I could see the headlights shine like a lighthouse beacon, stretching out from the hill, hailing and warning.

There was no moon yet, but the stars were bright.

I kept the driver of the big truck silent company.

My anxiety—which had had my heart pounding so hard I could hear the thumping in my head—diminished with time, as they hadn't seemed to notice me, or didn't seem to care if they had.

Two hours later, after their three trips to the top, the crew left. I had a chance to look at the time during this event, and it had only been 8PM when it started, so it wasn't the dark of night clandestine mission I had imagined it to be when I had been woken.

I went back to sleep, though not as deeply as I had been.

I woke to sounds of the highway (a quarter mile away) all night, and to my dreams.

I dreamt I was riding my moto and I kept dropping it (and picking it up).

I dreamt my helmet was too small and was making me go bald (something I had worried about that day).

I dreamt I was popping wheelies by accident, surprising myself each time.

And I dreamt of the former lover of Me.

I awoke for the final time to a spectacular sunrise: delicate oranges and hues of red lit the pale pink crags, frail light-yellow grasses seemed to float on the parched sand.

I ate a Cliff bar, reminding myself that Jesus said something to the effect of, “man cannot live on Cliff bars alone,” and determined to eat some good local food later in the afternoon. Then I mounted up for the ride into Sonoyta, some 150 kilometers away.

The sunrise and the radio tower hill after a hard night's sleep.

~*~

That's it for now.

I do want to say, despite this talk of danger and what not, those are mostly fears and thoughts that I brought with me to Mexico, and not what I am taking away from it. Please stay tuned to see how the trip has influenced my perspective so far, and of course, the journey is ongoing, so who knows what is yet to come. Much has already occurred since that first night!

I want to specially acknowledge the financial contributions from Alexandre Nguyen, Manny Rangel, Michael Pang, my mom, and my aunt Julie, as well as Kate Phillips and Ian Wheatland for helping make these words and pictures possible! I think that's everyone, but please let me know if you donated and I missed you. I want to show my gratitude!