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Galeana -- Real -- General Z: March, 2018

Zaragoza to Galeana

From El Salto we turned around, retraced our steps to La Escondida, then continued north on Route 2. It was good riding in the cool late afternoon light, a narrow road with quite a few twists and turns up around San Juanito de Solis and Poblano, and for a good stretch we saw more livestock on the road than vehicles. In places it reminded me of arid mountainous northern New Mexico or southern Colorado, where I had travelled some a few years back. Some of the southern routes in Rich Gibbens' book come along this road, and I saw quite a few intriguing looking dirt roads shooting off east into the mountains. It feels so tempting to turn and explore just for a few minutes when you see a road like that, but... another day, another trip, another ride.

At one point I stopped to get a picture of the clouds kind of foaming over the side of the low mountains ahead of me. (The picture is below -- but it looked a lot cooler in real life). In the picture you can see a motorcycle coming toward me -- that's Jim, who turned around to check on me when I faded out of the pack. He was always keeping an eye on the rookie to make sure he got back in one piece. I really appreciated that about him.

We got back to Galeana about an hour before dark. I have to say the comfortable, affordable Hotel Magdalena felt like home. The people there are friendly -- there was a girl who helped behind the desk and also played a couple songs for us on her guitar. She had a pretty voice.

Jim and I sat on the green steel benches in the square outside the Magdalena and talked about different things. The hotel, a police station, a pharmacy, a market, a church, and a few other restaurants and stores all faced the square. The square was peaceful, clean and well maintained, with a few vendor carts, some ornate victorian lampposts that looked like gas lamps, a gazebo and various trees -- palm, oak, pine, and pencil pine, trunks painted in calcium hydroxide. Even at its busiest there was a sense of serenity and somnolence in this windy valley under high mountains. In the evening teens would come out to talk and flirt and get an ice cream. Elderly men would trudge across the stone and call out a hearty greeting to one another, then shake hands. People walked around and talked to each other, rather than staying indoors glued to the internet or a giant screen TV. The town had employed a number of people to clean the square, and they did a good job. Occasionally a police officer could be seen walking around, enough to know there was law and order, but a discreet presence. It seemed like there was a place for everyone here on the square. The town had a heart. “This is something we’ve lost,” Jim said. I agreed.

Around this time I was getting text messages from friends in various parts of the US, who had heard there was someone in Austin leaving package bombs in mailboxes and on doorsteps. Was I OK? Had I heard about it? Did I know those neighborhoods? I had to tell them I was far away from all that, but I'd be coming back soon.
 

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Thursday, March 15: Back to the Border

This day was pretty much the reverse of Sunday’s ride in: Galeana to Rayones on dirt, then the paved mountain road to Montemorelos, and finally northeast to the border. It was my third time on the Galeana-Rayones dirt road but I still enjoyed it. Another fine day for riding. This time I stopped to take more pictures.

The higher portions of the paved Rayones-Montemorelos road, those cliffside s-turns where I’d seen a lot of bikers the previous Sunday, were scarved in clouds. We could see them up above above us for a while, and then suddenly we were inside them with about 20 feet of visibility, slowing down to a jogging pace. We got pretty stretched out here, but we all met up at the turn-off to Montemorelos.

I believe it was on the highway north of Montemorelos when we got pulled over by soldiers at a checkpoint. Matt was in front and an officer started barking questions at him pretty quickly -- where were you, what were you doing, what was the purpose of your visit? Matt didn’t have much Spanish. Jim suggested quietly that I move up and talk to the officer, but I let it lay. Matt just repeated something along the lines of “moto, tourista, viaje, montanas,” and made earnest and honest-looking gestures to every question they asked. Sometimes the less said the better. They realized there wasn’t much point in asking more, looked over the bikes but didn’t check our bags, and waved us through.

We were getting close to border now. I don’t know about other riders, but I really, really, really hate dropping my bike. And as we approached Reynosa I was feeling pretty proud of myself for not having dropped the Strom once in Mexico. I’d made it through quite a few miles of dirt without laying it down. We stopped to gas up and get a snack. The bikes were parked, engines off, on a slight incline and I was just rolling mine around to get it pointed in the right direction, and suddenly … it was going over in slow-motion and it was past the point where I could right it. No harm to the bike, but my pride took a hit. The guys all had a good laugh. George and Matt had helmet cams that captured pretty much everything, and generously offered to post the video and distribute it through motorcycle sites.
 

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Back in the USA!

The border crossing went easily; we cancelled our TVIPS on the Mexican side, then checked back into the U.S.A with no hassles, Jim sweetening up the female customs officer by calling her “Senorita.” We cruised through Mission, TX, trying to find the Clarion Inn and Suites where George and Matt had left their trailer, got turned around in a wealthy neighborhood of modern Spanish-style haciendas, each looking exactly like the next, sitting on perfectly manicured emerald-green lawns with wide clean sidewalks and pricey German cars in the driveways. After the grit and the mutts, the crumbling concrete and stone, the corrugated roofs and narrow cobblestone streets of Mexico, it felt weirdly sterile, uniform and replicated, almost a hall of mirrors.

When we found the Clarion, Jim went and got us a few beers and I renounced my renunciation of alcohol that I’d made back at Real de Catorce a day and a half before. We leaned back against our bikes and drank one and talked about the trip, then talked about doing another next year.

A picture of Jim and me is below. He’s the 6’8” guy with the neck tattoos on the left. I’m the skinny guy with the awesome hair on the right. Jim finished his beer and we said our goodbyes before he headed to his home nearby. He’s a man who knows when a day cannot be improved upon.

I maintain that the most dangerous part of the trip -- or at least the most worried about my safety I ever felt -- was the ride on I-35 back home the next day. There was a nasty accident south of San Antonio, and from there on it was wall-to-wall traffic all the way through Austin, with speeds going up to 80 then suddenly slowing to a stop. When I am on my Strom on the highway, surrounded by 1/2 ton pickups and 18-wheelers, I sometimes get that minnow-among-sharks feeling. It’s not enough to ride well -- you have to watch out for other people’s mistakes. It was a relief to get home, dehydrated, exhausted, but happy to see my family.

On Wednesday March 21st, the Austin Bomber blew himself up not more than a mile-and-half from my home in Round Rock. It made me think more about the question of violence. The roads felt quiet and safe in Mexico. So did the towns. The cartels had never appeared. But that is not to say they are not there. I’ve read enough to know that the cartel violence is real, brutal, systemic and ongoing.

Maybe we were just lucky. I do feel, however, that the advice given to me by other riders about Mexico was good: ride during the day, ride with your buddies, have a plan, don’t go out carousing in unfamiliar places late at night, and you should not have any issues. Life involves risk. But perhaps the biggest risk is living an overly cautious and sheltered life and never seeing the world. As a friend of mine likes to say, Guy who dies with the most stories wins.

I hear a sound, a swelling of mariachi trumpets and violins resolving in their final, conclusive chord. It is the end of my ride report! Big thanks to everyone involved in this trip, and thanks for the those who were patient enough to read the RR. See you out on the road.
 

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But you left out the part about Jim dropping his bike right before that last photo?!

great read man, you write well, maybe sobriety and Japanese bikes fit you better haha

George and I had fun and have already been discussing doing something similar again.

Hanging out with you and Jim was a highlight of our trip, and helped us ease into a "first South of the border" experience with ease and confidence. I thank you both for that.

-Matt
 
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I'm enjoying your RR. It's important to start off on the right foot in Mexico and I was glad to help. Your descriptions of the places and people of Mexico are the reasons my wife and I like to travel there so much. Our new Mississippi friends definitely added the comic relief and were great riding companions. Yeah, I did my only drop in the parking lot of the hotel. Great time, looking forward to another trip with "the crew". Vaya con Dios, amigo.
 
Great RR, ax. Your humor, humility, & photos made for a good recap. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to join you for the ride, but glad that you took the time to capture descriptions of the experience in a manner that so many readers can enjoy. Your write up reminded me of the awe & elation I felt throughout my own discovery of Galeana, GZ, El Salto, & R14 on last fall’s epic MexTrek journey. Those are magical roads, places, & people best encountered astride two wheels and among friends. Hope we can connect for a return south o’ the border sometime or on the roads around Austin.
 
Matt -- thanks for chiming in, it was great riding with you guys, as I think I've already described. Hope we can do it again.

Jim -- I appreciate all you did before and during the trip, which wouldn't have happened if you hadn't thrown your hat in the ring back in January. Talk to you soon!

BrotherWolf -- thanks for your kind comments. Yeah, let's take a ride some time, either local or international!
 
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