Most of America is pretty tame these days. Riding down the interstate (or major highways), nothing much changes but the scenery. It’s a big old dose of a homogenous MacMerica, with different bit players as scenes ‘change.’ The people you talk to along the road seem to fall into the same general groups they do anywhere. All the MacDonald’s and Love’s truck stops look pretty much the same.
Of course, it’s a bit better if you get onto the side roads. Still, despite the news crowing about how terrible everything is here, in general traveling through the U.S. is pretty darn safe…almost boringly safe. Oh sure, you may run across the occasional bear or mountain lion, but they typically want to be around humans as little as you want to be around them. Chances are, they won’t maul you or eat, if you display a little common sense and caution.
There are no more banditos or robbers, outlaws or renegades (at least not so’s you’d notice), and a rider can generally go and camp almost anywhere, and be relatively safe.
Yep, there ain’t a ton of danger in America these days, despite the Chicken Little, fear-spewing, lugubrious babblings of the major news outlets. There’s not a ton of adventure, either, unless you are really out looking for it.
Well, the Wild West is not gone entirely. Wild, wide open spaces still exist. There are still a few places left you may ride into, but might not ride out of. Now there’s some adventure for you – old fashioned, unprocessed adventure. Some of those places (like Detroit, Chicago, or parts of some inner cities) just ain’t that cool to go to, offering nothing to do that’s any different from Elsewhere, USA.
Yet, there is still one place left where a rider can still find the last of the wild frontier…the U.S.-Mexican border. In some places, the road follows the Rio Grande Del Norte, known to the English as the Rio Grande, and to the Mexicans as the Rio Bravo. In other places, the only delineation of the border is the dirt road itself, un-fenced on either side. As you get closer to cities, the amount (and heights) of the wall sections increase.
Some places, you can ride right along the fence. In others, the road goes roughly parallel, but more or less north of the border. The more you insist on riding on asphalt, the further you must get from the border. To ride on the real cool roads, you must be comfortable on unimproved dirt roads.
The upcoming months are the last opportunity to experience these unfenced, untrammeled sections of the border, to see the mildly fenced sections before the whole area becomes militarized, patrolled, and verboten to ride on. This is the last opportunity to live the Wild West, while the final remnants of it still exist.
Here, one can run across illegal immigrants and border patrol, ‘coyotes’ and militia. Both activists and extremists frequent this wild stretch of our country’s southern side. The cartels control much of the territory, on both sides. Ruthless and opportunistic, extreme poverty or extreme greed reduce interactions to the gritty essentials of survival. Out there, many would gladly kill you for those nice boots you wear. Cartel members might kill you just for the fun of it, and police might arrest you, just on the suspicion of being suspicious.
As a mostly-Irish rider, I stick out like a sore thumb. My shining eyes and friendly smile might not matter out there. Neither might any amount of arms I could bring with me; I’m guaranteed to be out-gunned, no matter what I might bring.
It’s a sketchy old world out there, that’s for sure.
Googling the endpoints of the route, it says 1,555 miles, taking an estimated 22 hours and 32 minutes., by their more northerly, Interstate-based route (and riding straight through, hell-bent for leather like most Americans do). My route is a bit more southern, following the southernmost roads shown on Google maps. The route is generally (east to west, as I intend to travel it):
TX Hwy 2 from Playa Bagdad, TX (south of Padre Island) to Brownsville. TX Hwy 281 to Hidalgo, 83 to Laredo, Islitas Rd to Eagle Pass, 277 to Del Rio, 90 to Marfa, south leg 118 to Terlingua and back (east side of Big Bend National Park), 67 to Ojinaga and back (west side Big Bend), 90 to Van Horn, I-10 frontage to Esperanza, 20 to El Paso. NM Hwy 273 to Santa Teresa, 136 (S) to 9. 9 to 80 (s). 80 to South Bisbee. 92 to Sierra Vista. 90 to Whetstone. AZ Hwy 82 to Nogales, I-19 to Tucson. 86 to Why. Leg south on 85 and back (Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, 85 to Gila Bend, I-8 to Boulevard, CA Hwy 94 to Rancho San Diego. The route passes nine border patrol sectors.
It’s an explorer’s dream, and adventurer’s dream, an anarchist’s dream. It’s the front line and focal point of what’s become a battleground – the open back door of the United States. Not only is one liable to encounter illegal aliens from Mexico and Central America, but also from North Africa, Southeast Asia, and China. It’s ‘west of the Pecos, where there ain’t no law’. It’s wild and wooly. It’s as real as it gets. I like that.
The border states I intend to cross are divided in their desire to secure the border. Arizona and Texas seem to want to secure theirs, New Mexico appears neutral, and California seems to want an open border (and has instructed its law enforcement agencies not to cooperate with federal agencies in border security or immigrant-control issues). In all of the states, opposing groups try to aid and abet the illegals, while others try to monitor and turn illegals in to the Border Patrol.
Here is where our national division crystallizes. Here is where both our imminent civil war and the ongoing international war are to be fought (are being fought)…on the home front. At first glance, the border might seem wild, remote, and devoid of life, human or otherwise (in most places). But it is patrolled by drones and airplanes, monitored by infrared and vibration sensors, and scanned by satellites and surveillance systems. It is traveled by drug smugglers, foreign spies, asylum seekers, illegal workers, and no one knows who else.
Camping outside is a little more problematic than in the rest of the United States. There are potential, objective hazards associated with camping down there. The wilderness is virtually filled with extremely dangerous, crafty and murderous beasts. We call them humans. Thousands of illegal immigrants, drug smugglers, and bandits sneak across the border and through surrounding country every day. It is a steady stream that is only growing, encouraged by each success, each piece of legislation encouraging illegal immigration.
Whether you see any of this stream as you ride down the road is unknown, which I why I am going. I presume most of the travel occurs at night. I’ll have to ride down there to find out, to get even a partial glimpse. Still, it is better than depending on an untrustworthy and biased media to tell me what’s going on. It’s better than watching the news pass me by, instead of being out living history. It’s better to know than to wonder.
The smallest disaster when on the road could be fatal. The desert is harsh and unforgiving. So are the people who inhabit or pass through it. The sun is relentless, as is the law. The heat is oppressive and tangible, as is the cartel presence. It’s serious business out there. Human life is cheap, and extremely fragile out here.
So why would any sane person want to go there? Precisely because of those hazards, and those wild qualities. In our super-safe, seat belt-clad, helmeted and hyper-insured world, this is a chance to experience life in the raw, without Kevlar cladding or collision bags. You can’t play it safe, err on the side of probability, or play a safe hand out here. Some hate it. I like it.
Of course, a good knowledge of Spanish is essential. I must make a serious effort to improve my Spanish in the time between now and then (May to November). A bit of research and preparation might help, as well. I had even considered getting in touch with various authorities, to ‘get the status briefing’ on the areas I will travel through, and to introduce myself ahead of time (could save big trouble later, a simple hello now). But it’s not really my style to make a lot of preparations. I’m the type that likes to just go and find out, discover the reality along the way.
Whether the reputed (actual? obvious?) war is official or not, this is a war zone of a sort. As such, it most likely behooves me to do a little pre-convoy route reconnaissance; poring over maps and routes, distances between gas stations, etc. and a bit of logistics, as well. In many ways, it takes away a bit of the fun and unknown nature of the route to do all this prep, so I’ll reconsider carefully before going much further. I like the unknown.
Either way, it seems like it will prove to be an epic journey, a glimpse into that moment in history. I’m not sure if I’ll end up having any riding companions. Going alone is much more dangerous, but I don’t mind, if that’s how it pans out.
The point is, there is raw adventure waiting out there. There is a chance to see a portion of Wild America before it is fenced off. There is a chance to see something that is rapidly going away. There’s a chance to experience it.
Of course, the reservations are…it’s dangerous. It’s hot. It might be uncomfortable. If my twenty five year old bike broke down out there, I’d be truly fucked, and with a capital ‘F’. So many reservations…if you wanna look for them. So many reasons NOT to go, if you just consider it for a minute.
Yet there it lies…fifteen hundred some odd miles of land, just waiting. A series of roads I know absolutely nothing about (except some sections around El Paso). Just waiting…
pictures (c) by Life, or Time, or some big media and randomly pasted in without permission (which is probably OK with their army of lawyers, since no one reads these things, lol). I’ll maybe have some cool pix of my own for future blogs on this subject, if I take the time.
Tales of a Lone Wolf 