A Long Ride

Elena and I are both huge fans of the movie "Grumpy Old Men," so when I noticed Wabasha was right across the Mississippi river from our route, we decided to take a little side trip. I crossed the bridge, took a couple of wrong turns out of town and from the back seat came a pitch-perfect Walter Matthau impression: "you SCHMUCK!"

Unfortunately, the only part of the movie actually filmed in town was the steeple. The houses and other scenes were filmed all over the region. Oh well - it was still fun to see, and it's actually a beautiful little town along the river.

Almost as soon as we rode into Wisconsin, the landscape changed from flat cornfields to short, steep hills and dairy farms. When I was planning the route the evening before, Ed told me that this area is unglaciated land - it was never scraped flat by the glaciers. All the farms I saw were very small operations, with a collection of buildings and a few small fields with maybe 20-50 cows. Riding through Chaseburg, a town near the Mississippi river, we saw a Amish farmer and his son riding a buggy through town. It's nice to see that family farms and old traditions are surviving intact in some parts of the country.

Illinois is one of the few states with no helmet law, and just about everyone rides with no safety gear at all. No gloves, boots or leathers, but I guess if you don't care enough to cover your head, why care about your hands, feet or skin?



The ones that disturb me are guys like this. Young, riding a brand new sportbike (if you look closely, it still has temporary tags) that costs nearly ten thousand dollars, and no one is responsible enough to make him spend $100 on a basic helmet so he'll survive the inevitable crash.

We spent almost a week staying with family and friends, relaxing, hiking and just enjoying not being on the bike. We rode from southern Alabama almost straight North, staying several days with my sister's family, then continuing through Tennessee and Kentucky before stopping in Illinois to visit friends.

Haley and Ethan, my niece and nephew, are both talented musicians. I used my laptop to record them playing bluegrass with their father... keep in mind Ethan is eight years old and has just recently started playing the violin!



We rode north through Tennessee trying to use small roads, but it was impossible, and I gave up and got on the interstate. I did the same thing in 2004 trying to head southwest through the state. Either I have terrible luck or Tennessee roads are disjointed, clogged with sprawl, and too short. You might have to take six different roads to get ten miles. Western Kentucky was a little better, and as soon as we crossed into Illinois, the square grid of midwest farm roads took over and we headed toward Roanoke on the small roads I prefer.



We just met Ed and Lynn, but they welcomed us into their beautiful home and spoiled us rotten with gourmet meals and a jacuzzi to relax our muscles. Thank you!

New Orleans French Quarter balconies by night....



...and by day.



The nightlife is great fun, but daytime in the tourist areas is far too much like Disneyland, complete with rides and tacky souvenirs. I did really enjoy some of the sarcastic Katrina t-shirts for sale: there's "N.O.P.D. - Not Our Problem Dude" and "F.E.M.A. - Fix Everything My Ass." I'll also definitely purchase the Times Picayune's Katrina photography book - what I saw browsing in the store was very powerful.



The highlight of the city had to be Cafe du Monde. It's the only tourist attraction that lived up to the hype. The cafe au lait and beignets were excellent. And yes, there really are beignets underneath all that powdered sugar!

It's been almost two years since Hurricanes Katrina and Rita destroyed much of the Gulf Coast, and there are still many areas that look like disaster zones. There is a lot of rebuilding, and it typically looks like this: a bare foundation from the old house, a trailer for temporary living quarters, and a new home being built on stilts right next to the old one.



There are many homes and businesses that aren't being rebuilt, however. I can't count how many thousands of empty foundations I saw... just front steps leading to nothing.



It seems crazy to rebuild in the same spot, knowing that a bad hurricane season would start the cycle all over again, but I can definitely understand the allure of the area. The wildlife in the area is like nothing I've seen before. We came across these odd birds in a mangrove forest... after looking them up, I believe they are Roseate Spoonbills.



A turtle sunning itself under the tree where I stopped to take a nap (too many bugs biting, so I took a photo and kept going).



And finally, a picture of Elena and I after I took a half hour nap on the beach and woke up ready to ride another few hours.

Everything in Houston is named after a Bush family member. The airport, roads, buildings, streets... even the dog park is named after Millie Bush. But as with just about everything we saw in Houston, the park was beautiful, clean and well-maintained.



We stayed with our friends Bret and Aimee, and they gave us the grand tour of Houston, showing us the best sights and restaurants around town, then treating us to an Astros game on our last night. Thanks guys!

The Desert Air Motel in Sanderson, Texas, treats motorcyclists very well. There are motorcycle magazines in the rooms and nice chairs on the porch to admire the sunset while you read them. When I came out in the morning, there were "Biker Buckets" waiting for me and Andy, the guy next door on the BMW RT 1200. The bucket contained lots of clean rags, spray and wipe polish/wax, and Windex, and there was a hose if you really want to do the job well. The FJR left sparkling... thanks!

We crossed the border at Ojinaga into Presidio, Texas. On the ride through the last 50 miles of Mexico, we lingered, taking extra photos and sighing. Mexico is great, and it was hard to leave. Presidio isn't bad, but immediately we missed Mexico. Where are all the people? Who turned the colors off? What's this white bread and sugar? You call these tortillas?

The next morning we rode along the Rio Grande into Big Bend National Park. The first few miles were about what I expected: high desert, which is always beautiful, but not much out there. Then the mountains came into view, and I understood immediately why it's a national park.



Inside the Chisos Mountain Basin might be the most beautiful place I've ever seen in my life. There are all the desert plants: cacti, yucca, creosote and ocotillo, plus typical mountain trees like Douglas fir, Aspen and Cypress, all set in a bowl-shaped mountain range.

We were stopped at four or five Border Patrol checkpoints on the roads in from the border. They're all very polite, but extremely thorough, checking with mirrors under cars and looking through car interiors. A few days earlier I had been talking to Cesar from Guaymas about his travels on "el otro lado" (the U.S., literally "the other side") so the checkpoints were a chance to talk to a Border Patrolman doing all he can to keep guys like Cesar out.

This is Nola, a Tarahumara girl, carrying her younger brother Reyo. I bought a small basket from her, similar to the one Reyo is holding, for 15 pesos. I'm glad that the Tarahumara have preserved a lot of their traditions, but I can't help but wonder if Nola would be better off in school. It's Friday morning and I can hear carefree kids playing at the schoolhouse, while Nola has the responsibility to care for her brother and provide for her family.



The Copper Canyon, actually a series of six immense canyons, is where almost all of the Tarahumara live. We took the "Chepe" train from Creel to Divisadero, then hiked along the excellent ridge trail. We were told by the conductor that the views from the train past Divisadero are much better, but it was as far as we could go in an out-and-back day trip. If I had a dual-sport motorcycle, I'd ride the dirt tracks down into the canyon, but the FJR can barely handle a gravel road.



Back in Creel, there was a Mother's Day fiesta and concert, with what looked like the entire town in attendance. There were prizes for the mothers, great live Norteño music and dancing. Only the women and children danced, and a couple of elderly men later on. There's a definite macho cowboy culture here in Chihuahua state. I was never treated unfriendly, but the men were aloof, with none of the wide grins and back-slapping openness I experienced in Baja or Sonora. The contrast between the proud cowboys and shy natives is striking. I can't think of anywhere else in the world I've been where kids from the same age group are so completely different.

We were in Santa Rosalia for the ferry to Guaymas, on the Mexican mainland. Right out of the port we saw dolphins, jumping one after the other. Jaime, a fisherman on his way to see his brother in Guaymas, was an excellent guide, pointing out manta rays, flying fish and even whales! It's very late in the year for whales, but we saw at least 15, some only a line of spouts on the horizon, but a few passing very close to the ferry. Here's two that came very close.



The ferry was very slow, so slow that sometimes it felt like we had stopped. The trip takes ten or so hours, so I napped, talked with the other passengers, and, when I was very bored, took photographs of the boat's wake.







Guaymas is a beautiful port and a not so beautiful city. The drivers were the most aggressive I've ever seen, not giving an inch. If I rode even slightly to one side of my lane, I'd have a smoke-belching bus or truck pull right next to me, shoving me between the lanes. Not fun, and a shock after the clean air, beauty and tranquility of the ferry ride.

We got into Santa Rosalia in the afternoon after a leisurely ride from Guerrero Negro. The town doesn't look like much on the way in, with lots of dust and abandoned mining equipment, but up close it's got a lot of charm and history. The town is built around a square and a church designed by Gustav Eiffel.

Walking through the town Monday evening, we saw people going to a church service, teens doing dance practice, a basketball game in the gym, kids playing everywhere, people sitting on benches smiling and talking. It felt wonderful to be in such a friendly, familial place, and made us realize how sterile and lonely the atmosphere can be in U.S. cities.



The dinner we had in the restaurant next to the Hotel Real was incredibly good and criminally cheap. We paid about $12 for two grilled fish dinners, complete with sides and tortillas, plus two Pacifico beers for me and an orange soda for Elena.

By the way, this is probably the last food shot I'll post. I managed to pick up some kind of stomach bug and I have been pretty much on a Gatorade diet for the last 24 hours.

We stopped in San Ignacio for lunch, and managed to find the best fish tacos I've ever tasted. We turned off Highway 1 toward Laguna San Ignacio, the famous whale birthing area. The whales have already migrated north for the year, but we still wanted to see the area, and we were in no rush. I passed a couple of restaurants and when I saw the taco stand I told Elena "this looks like the place." It was the perfect little spot, with wide shady palm fronds, a cool breeze off the lagoon and wonderful food.

I've seen more shapes, sizes and varieties of cactus these last few days than I knew existed. There are thick forests of them for miles and miles along the roads. At first I stopped and took several photos every hour or so, but after the millionth cactus plant, they all start blending together.

We're in Ensenada on Cinco de Mayo, so I expected noise, but this is ridiculous. It's past midnight, there's an ear-splitting advertisement playing on loop from a car across the street with huge horn-shaped loudspeakers strapped to its roof. It's been there since this afternoon, playing the same 15 second loop over and over for hours.

The people in the room next door are playing a Mexican variety show at top volume. There's an American couple fighting in a room down the hall, screaming at each other, which we can hear clearly through the paper-thin walls and doors. Several car alarms are going off every minute or two. Cars are revving and honking on the road. Sirens are screaming. ¡Ay, caramba!

I managed to completely screw up the border crossing. I parked the FJR in a lot near the "items to declare" area, and went looking for the place to buy tourist cards and a temporary vehicle import permit. I was given directions "two blocks down," out of the border area and into Tijuana. Elena and I decided to leave the FJR in the lot and go get the paperwork on foot - big mistake!

The paperwork was easy, and we walked back to where the bike was parked, but there was no way to get back. The parking lot was on the U.S. side of the border! We ended up walking over the bridge, walking with thousands of other people in the line for immigration back to the United States, then crossing back over the bridge on the U.S. side to the bike and finally into Mexico. Leave it to me to do three border crossings instead of one.

And that wasn't the end of the excitement. South of Tijuana on the toll road to Ensenada we saw a huge group of police in the opposite lane chasing a red pickup truck. It was a high-speed freeway chase! The truck tried getting away in the dirt along the road, then veered back on the road, bouncing everywhere, almost right at us. I hit the gas to get ahead of the impact just as he ran into the center divider, smashing the truck to a stop. There were about 15-20 police trucks and cars all around him instantly, and we just kept going... welcome to Mexico!

After a long break, I'm going back on the road tomorrow, riding counter-clockwise across northern Mexico and the southern U.S., then looping back through the midwest and mountain states. The Mexico portion is only about one fourth of the trip, but it's taking up all my time. I've been reading up on vehicle permits, tourist cards, insurance requirements and ferry schedules.



This time I'll be riding with Elena, her first truly long ride on the back seat (although she has been to Colorado and back with me, so she's not really a rookie). The last big decision is whether to carry camping equipment. I love to camp, and it seems like a crime to cross the Rockies without a tent, but I still can't quite fit everything in. We're going to try to pack everything on the bike tonight, so we'll know soon enough.

One more day of work and preparation, then a short ride to Santa Barbara Friday night for a last goodbye party with friends, then over the border just in time for Cinco de Mayo!