Still Alive Tour IV

Day 5: 375 miles

Today was our day to head back to the USA. We caught one last sunrise over the Sea of Cortez.

Simply beautiful.

We spent some time hanging out on the beach, and had a leisurely breakfast. For some reason I was drawn to the pancakes, they really hit the spot, and the coffee in this restaurant was delicious.
An older couple came in, carrying a blanket, and a morbidly obese Pomeranian, wearing a "service dog" vest. They sat her on a blanket covered chair, where she looked over the edge of the table, begging for food, and gasping for air.
At first we were making jokes, trying to guess what her "service" was; food tester, left over disposal, gas detector, seat warmer, napkin... Then we thought, maybe it's something real, like; epilepsy, heart attack, or PT SD. You just never know. One thing was certain, they had to quit feeding that dog so damn much.

After breakfast, we wandered back out to the beach for a little bit. Bill brought us some bottles of water to fill our hydration packs with, and we slowly started to pack our things.

With the bikes all loaded, and protective gear in place, we said our manly "I'm hugging you but hitting you" goodbyes. Then rode to the Pemex, to fill our tanks.
Bill and Sunny stayed an extra night, as it would only take one day for them to get home. And, the flight plan was already filed and approved.

The construction areas were much less chaotic, and better groomed for traffic. We made good time. The last military check point loomed in the distance, as we pulled up, they separated us. This time it was Todt's turn. they emptied his bags, and left him completely disorganized. Exasperated, he finally just shoved everything into his panniers, and forced the lids closed. Yes, I laughed at him, he knew he deserved it.

Rolling into the small town, with the speed bump, we passed a large box-truck. Its back wheels were in the ditch, and its front were dangling four feet in the air. Wonder what the story was behind that.

It was time to stop, get off the bike, and have some caffeine. We went into a store, when we came out, our bikes were covered with flies. It was almost spooky, and kind of gross. They were feasting on the dead bugs splattered all over the front of our bikes.

Riding away, I was surprised by how long they hung on.

We retraced our route to Mexicali, and back to the border. But when we got there, we only found the way in. So, we backtracked till we saw a line of cars sitting behind a concrete barrier. We had to travel several blocks before we found the beginning. Then, battling our way through traffic, we were in line, just as a bunch of cars came in behind us. We were locked in, and it looked like we were going to be there a while.

Just then, someone stopped and yelled something at us, in Spanish. The guy next to us said, "She says that 'motorcycles have a special lane'. But, it's on the other side of the barrier." Then another person told us, and another, and another. You get the picture. But we were stuck, there was no way to get out.

A dude on an old Yamaha stopped to tell us about it, we told him we knew, now, but we couldn't get out. He shook his head and rode away. A few minutes later, he came back, on foot. He said there was a break in the wall ahead, and we could fit through it.

Over the next 40 minutes, as we inched forward, the friendly biker kept coming back and checking on us. Then we saw the break, it was about 6 inches wider than our bikes, and opened onto a sidewalk marked "MEDICAL ONLY". He said, "it's okay, just follow it down, and I'll meet you at the other end."

The cars around us helped to make room, so we could get the right angle to fit through. We rode the sidewalk, dodging around the vendors that walk the line of cars selling their wares.

(We saw everything from food and drink, to velvet Last Suppers, to a puppy.)

When we dropped off the curb at the end of the sidewalk, there was our guy, he said, "follow me" and we did. He was weaving through cars, jumping from one line to the next, and greeting the border patrol agents by name. At the front of the line, there was, indeed, a motorcycle only line, but it was closed. The agents waved us in ahead of the cars, and our new friend went up to the check in first.

We never saw him again, I really wanted to thank him, bikers are just great people.

The entry was quick and painless. We were glad to be home.

See the story continue, next time. See you soon...