South Of The Border And More: 2/8/15 Crossing Over

No potable water or reliable internet on this trip. We made do with bottled agua, but satellite that may only work in the bar after 8 o'clock is not conducive to blogging, so I'm getting started a little late. Sorry for the delay! So ...

They let us in !

Our eclectic group of 2 Mexican guides, 2 Canadians, one Idahoan and two Flatlanders from New Jersey kicked our stands up in Nogales at 8:30 and 37 degrees. Even Siri said "Brrr!" The bikes we rode toward the border were also diverse. Alberto, our lead guide, rode a BMW, the Canadians, Roland and Lori rode Victories, Geoff, the Idahoan, sported a KLR and we were the only Harley cruisers. Chicon, our tail man, brought up the rear in the chase vehicle.

At the border crossing we were made immediately aware of the importance of having Spanish speaking guides. The hoops we needed to jump through required translation at all turns. Every document created had to be copied by an independent contractor for several pesos. The whole process took about an hour and then we shot into the Sonoran Desert.

After working our way through the jumble of poverty that washes up at the border, the sere austerity of the desert welcomed us to Mexico. Numerous named bridges crossed over dry river beds and our early morning chaps and leather jackets soon came off. We stopped in Santa Aña for our first taste of authentic Mexican food, unlike none that I've ever tasted. As we ate, curious children looked in awe at our guarded bikes.

Wheels to the wind, we roared into the desert for a grueling four hour ride. Paltry cacti provided the only green in a huge expanse of dust and rock. Dead coyotes along the road gave proof that there were indeed animals here. The temperature rose to the mid nineties and our winter white skin sizzled in the hot Mexican sun.

Hermosillo, the largest town so far, gave us a quick lesson in the optionality of all road signs. Tractor trailers, pickups hauling children in the back and cars of all ages and degrees of disrepair bullied us as we tried to keep our group intact and not hit the many stray dogs wandering in the streets. Alto means stop, but translates loosely here to pause briefly. The crazy and colorful cacophony of this city opened the door even further for us into the Mexican experience.

Just as the heat threatened to wick away our positivity, cool breezes and oddly shaped mountains renewed our spirit of adventure. Water the color of finely polished turquoise brought immediate relief from the heat as we slid into Guaymas and twisted around mountains known as the Goat Teats that fell into the Sea of Cortez. We dismounted and climbed to the lookout where wind and salt cleared the dust from our eyes. Only moments away waited cool comfort in our San Carlos seafront resort.

The contrasts of the day reaffirm our conviction that Mexico will excite and enchant us continually. Wild to mild, we are ready for more.