It is said
that the area around the border is the most dangerous, and it so happens that our route
takes us a fair few hundred miles along the frontier before we can turn south into the
heart of Mexico. Our first stop was in the town of St. Louis where we found a cheap hotel
with a cheap owner, who would try and rip us off at any opportunity, wrong changing us or
demanding deposits for the key and then not being there to return it on our departure. I
shared my bed with a colony of ants and I felt dirtier after my shower than when I got in.
We felt a lot more comfortable once we rode out into the desert the following morning,
glad to put distance between us and that rather seedy town. We cleared one police check
without any problems and began to feel more excited than nervous. It feels much more like
an adventure now that we are south of the States. Here we communicate in another language.
There is a feeling that anything can happen at any time. We tried our hand at a bit of
desert riding, but sank into the sand a meter from the tarmac, due to the weight of our
bikes. We had to push each other out. It was extremely hot, which makes any physical
activity very hard work. We reached Sonoyta which is, in fact, another border town. This
is where we turn south and into the real Mexico. We got 40 miles before we hit a
police/customs check where they pointed out that we didn't have tourist permits or papers
for the bikes. We had not been offered any of these at our crossing and said as much. We
would have to get them and were turned back to Sonoyta. It was getting late so we slept
out in the desert, on my insistence. It was a beautiful clear, warm night. We found a
track that led away from the road and into the desert for about a mile or so. I cooked up
some beans and some tortillas; round flat bread, a sort of flour pancake, and we threw our
sleeping bags down on the sand, under the brilliant sky, counting shooting-stars and
satellites. Apart from a few coyotes, the night was peaceful and restful.
Acquiring all the papers we needed proved very simple and we were soon on our way once more. The next few days took us off the main roads and onto the dirt tracks that wind through the country, connecting tiny villages which scrape an existence from the dry land. The last few years have been a lot drier than usual, making life very hard for these county folk. We see evidence of it by the side of every road we travel; dried and ruined corn and wheat. The rivers and streams are but sandy tracks meandering through the useless earth. The horrible irony is that the whole south of the country has been hit by floods. There, whole provinces are covered in water, ruining crops, killing livestock, burying houses and claiming lives. The locals here are proud and resilient though. They talk with pride of their Indian roots and still keep some of their traditions, even though they are strict practising Catholics. In one tiny village we ended up sleeping in the scruffy yard of the chief of police. He was actually the only policeman, and had been awarded the post because he owned the only shop and was therefore considered the most responsible. He was very hospitable and became chattier and chattier the more he drank. But we finally tired of his droning and headed out into the village to seek more sober entertainment. We ended up playing football with the town lads. We were both dressed in full motorcycle garb, and before long could hardly walk for the blisters caused by our boots. We settled down for the night at the respectable hour of eleven, expecting a good night's sleep. The cockerels started up at about 4am and didn't let up until we left at 8am.
We started to climb out of the desert and into
the hills. The temperature dropped and the road became lined with pine. Their smell in the
cool air and the good tarmac road winding through the hills filled us with a feeling of
great joy and we sped along whooping at each other and thoroughly enjoying the feeling of
freedom that only this kind of journey can inspire. In the small town of Yecora, Luke
developed bike trouble and we found a truck to take it to the next big town seven hours
on. We have been here for the last week sorting out his bike and mine. After the fall,
mine had developed a worrying clicking sound from the front of the engine. Due to the
nature of the problem, I was forced to seek help a little further along the highway in the
capital of this state, Chihuahua. It turned out to be a loose timing chain which, along
with the pannier and the snapped head-frame, have all been fixed. I have put on new tyres
and the bike is handling and sounding just as sweet as when it was new. Alex and Pedro,
the two brothers who have been working on my bike, wouldn't hear of my staying in a hotel
and invited me to stay with Alex and his wife and four kids. They wouldn't let me pay for
anything. They fed me and completed all the work on the bike for free. I ended up paying
only for the tyres. It is the first time that I have encountered this level of openness
and generosity here, but I have a feeling that it won't be the last. The further south me
move, the friendlier the people seem to be. It is also interesting that, once they
discover that we are not North Americans, they are friendlier still. There is a certain
amount of resentment of how much the US culture has influenced Mexican life, and everyone
keeps telling us how much nicer it gets the further south one goes.
Luke and I have taken advantage of our time to make
friends and get out and enjoy the night-life. There is a fun night club which we could
barely squeeze into as it is the only one in town, but the highlight of our stay has been
the 'baile'. Baile means dance and it involves a large live band. There can have been no
less than a thousand people there. You have to dance with a partner and it helps to know
how. Inevitably, we ended up watching as all the local men, every one of them dressed like
cowboys, swirled their ladies around with perfect dexterity. It was fun all the same, and
we made plenty of friends. The cowboy outfits amused me though. I saw more hats there than
on my whole trip through the States.
Luke had his motorcycle clothing stolen from the
back of the truck that brought him and his bike from Yecora. We are trying to find
something to replace them. Once we do it will be on the bikes and heading south once more.
I am a little behind schedule and it would be good to make up some time. I certainly
wouldn't like to rush any of this once in a lifetime trip, but I am anxious to push on.
There is much to see.
