South of the Border

Laredo, TX, USA – Sabinas Hidalgo, Nuevo León, MX

Wow. That was a full day. 

Some nerves. Some drama and some emotions. Lots of biking. Lots of reality. Lots of food. Some drama. Some new friends. And an all around amazing day. 

I didn’t feel great yesterday and I woke up this morning feeling a little “thick.” 

Dr. Liu was all over it; as she put it: “What are we going to do? Sit around the hotel all day?” 

She gave me Tylenol before I even got out of bed. As usual, her treatment seemed to work just fine. (But, as we agreed later, it was probably not a real illness so much as a manifestation of anxiety for what the day would bring.)

We packed up the bikes – which was itself a little stressful, because – with all the extra water and food – they felt as big and cumbersome as the 18-wheelers that we’ve been biking with. We ate breakfast, we both went to the bathroom a few times, and then we headed to the international bridge. No, not the one over Main Street in Hayward or at Mt. Telemark Village. That bridge is so 2,000 miles ago . . . No, this was the bridge over the Rio Grande. Laredo, Texas on one side. Nuevo Laredo, Mexico on the other.

After a little confusion on where we were supposed to go with our bikes we ended up talking to an official type guy – still American. He told us where to go, and went on to tell us that he goes to Mexico for business on a regular basis and drinks the water in Mexico and has never had a problem. 

Diana and I are both pretty jacked up at this point, and as we head over the bridge I tell Diana that I’m going to drink the water too. 

Now, don’t freak out. I ended up coming to my senses soon thereafter – once we were clear of all this border stuff. Point is that the world has built up traveling in Mexico as so dangerous that it’s difficult to keep your cool when you’re entering. Especially after having 2,300 miles to contemplate it all . . .

Okay, now we’re across the bridge . . . and . . . wait . . . Is that it? People are just walking right into Nuevo Laredo. 

Isn’t anyone going to check our passport? Maybe our cool Passport Cards that are made just for the purpose of going to Mexico and Canada? Nope. We’re in Mexico and no one appears to care.

But Diana is having none of this. She’s been following the blog of this young man who is trying to set the record for fastest trip from north to south through the Americas – and he talked about the importance of having your passport stamped so that the next country – in this case Guatemala – will let you through without charging you. 

She asks, and we eventually find a door that is basically unmarked. Diana goes in and I watch the bikes. 

Upon entering, a man who Diana would later recount was “a total asshole” says, “You want a travel visa?” 

“No, we don’t need a visa, we just want our passport stamped.”

”750 pesos. You have a credit card?”

”We just want our passport stamped.”

Scoffs and walks away. 

Nice customer service . . .

Diana comes back out and relates that this guy wants 750 pesos to stamp our passport. I’m still very much on edge, and worked up about the idea that we’re going to get shaken down in Nuevo Laredo in exactly this type of fashion.

”They’re just trying to scam us,” I say.

”But Bondo (the young guy on the record-breaking trip) says we need it or we won’t get across the border into Guatemala.” 

We’ll skip some of the ensuing details – but I look it up and can find nothing about this requirement. I argue that if the Guatemalans want to shake us down for more money when we get there we should just pay then. Otherwise they’ll just find something else to shake us down for and we end up paying twice. But, really, all my arguments amount to more manifestations of my anxiety in this moment. 

Both of us are pretty on edge and we end up calling a friend, Susan, who has traveled extensively in Central America. 

End result? We just push on with no stamp.

Nuevo Laredo? We really didn’t see too much of it. What we did see was ROUGH. Lots of trash everywhere. People who look like they are definitely trying to scratch out a life. I guess I would describe much of it as abject poverty.

We are still on edge – worried about cartels and shakedowns type stuff. Eager to get out of Dodge and away from the border . . .

Once we start biking we accomplish this pretty quick. Now we’re on Libre (Free) 85 – as opposed to the parallel Cuota (toll) 85 – which is a divided highway with a higher speed limit, multiple lanes and a smaller shoulder. 

Next anxiety . . . Will there be any services once we get out of Nuevo Laredo? Or are Google and our Monterrey contact correct in asserting that there is a 70 mile stretch with no water or food? 

We agreed last night that, just in case, I would buy some tacos or something for lunch before we are too far out of Nuevo Laredo – because if there truly are no services there is no way I’m going to make it 70 miles without lunch . . . (Remember, we have lots of water and stuff for an emergency dinner packed – just in case.)

We end up stopping at a food truck and buying two burritos for $10. I’m pretty happy that we’ve made our first Mexican purchase – and it seems to be a bargain (even if it was probably the Gringo rate . . .)

It’s only about 10:15 at this point – so even I’m not that hungry. We push on – and sure enough the road gets pretty lonely. Like really lonely. Like a John Wayne western type lonely. It’s just John Wayne and his horse for like two weeks. And all he has is this one little canteen. (I can never figure out how they survived with those things. What did they fit? Like 10 ounces of water? And the cowboys always seemed to have moonshine in them anyway . . .). 

We’re biking along like this for a few hours before I finally call a stop where there’s a little extra gravel on the side of the road. I have to eat. 

Let’s just say that the state/province (?) that Nuevo Laredo is in apparently doesn’t have an Adopt-a-Highway program. I know I made fun of Southern Arkansas on the same score. But – when it comes to trash along the highway – Arkansans are total amateurs. Pop cans. Pop bottles. Trash bags. Insulation. Pieces of furniture. Parts of houses. Cars. Tires. This highway has it all. And it’s everywhere. 

But whatever. We enjoy a nice burrito lunch. It turns out helmets and panniers make good chairs when you’re in a pinch . . .

Five or ten miles later we see that there actually are services along this road. 

I don’t know how Google missed this . . .

Having just eaten we aren’t super hungry – but I have a Coke and Diana has . . .

Well, this is more of a story that Diana-afficianados might enjoy . . .

If you know Diana well you know that decisions as to what to eat or drink are never straightforward. “Hmm, I could have this. Or maybe that. Or, I don’t know, what’s this one?”

There’s one drink cooler in this place – it’s not exactly Kwik Trip. There are like eleven sodas in the whole cooler – and maybe a few beers (cervezas . . .  you see, I’m learning . . .). But, of course, Diana has no interest in beer so, again, there are about eleven sodas to choose from. 

But Diana, being Diana, opens the cooler like five times, grabs a drink, looks it over. Puts it back. Grabs another. 

Until the proprietor – an unsmiling woman if ever there was one – snaps something in Spanish. I have no idea of the individual words. But the meaning was VERY clear: “I have 13 cents to my name, and you just let $7 worth of cold air out of the cooler. Stop doing that!”

Only slightly chagrined, Diana goes back one more time and finds a Fresca. Which she buys. 

Afterward, Diana blamed the unsmiling woman. “If she would just clean the glass better you could see what was in there and you wouldn’t need to open the door so many times . . .” 

Uh-huh. 

Turned out that the unsmiling place was just the first of a whole bunch of such stores/restaurants/homes that lined the highway at this point in the road. I told Diana that apparently this is the Mexican version of a big truck stop. 

It’s a different world.

A few hours later (we went a long way today) I need my second lunch. We’ve been going gradually uphill for miles now – which is fine – except this particular coal train needs to be fed . . .

We stop at another place. As we pull up I see that there’s a pig wandering around and I get a quick video for your enjoyment:

Turns out that the proprietor here is very nice, very smiley, and a good cook to boot. Angela. 

Despite some significant language barriers, we manage to trade stories about our children – Angela has a 25 year old daughter, and we tell her as best we can about where we are from and where we are going. So nice. So friendly. We give her a big hug before we go . . .

We also meet a horse named America (who, when I first saw it, had his head in the house) – with another quick video for your amusement:

The landscape changes as we go up. By the end of the day it’s downright green – with puddles in the ditches and real grass growing. Maybe the first time we’ve seen that since, hmm, Illinois?

And there are mountains in the distance. We’ll see more of them tomorrow – as we’re heading to Monterrey – which is itself at 1,700’ and is surrounded by 7,000’+ tall mountains. 

Confession. I always thought of Mexico as just a geographic extension of the dry, tumbleweed world that I think of when I think of West Texas or New Mexico. I think there is some of that – but it seems like the reality is more rain, more green, more mountains, and more beauty. 

And the people? Lots more toot-toots from people who seem genuinely excited to see visitors in Mexico. And when we go through towns we’re getting thumbs up from strangers. Notwithstanding the unsmiling proprietor and the “asshole” at the visa place, so far the people of Mexico are amazing.

One last thing . . . 

Last night I sent a note to Hannah, an American woman living in Monterrey who hosts bikers through Warm Showers. She called this afternoon. According to Hannah we need a tourist visa or the Mexicans might themselves might turn us back. 

This seems seriously crazy. We’ve never heard of this before. The guy Diana talked to could have said so. And when I researched countries that we would need visas for there was nothing about this. You need a visa if you plan to stay in Mexico more than six months. Umm. Not us.

Current plan . . . Get to Monterrey and figure out what to do next. Friend Susan did some research and there is an immigration office there. Other choices: have someone drive us back to the border and do it over again. Press on and hope for the best . . .

Can’t anything ever be simple? 

Maybe not. But – while a big, crazy day – it sure was fun. 

So that’s Mexico – Day One. 

Wow.