Heroic Nogales a Guaymas

May 3rd, 2016

Crossing into Mexico was relatively straight forward.  I hadn’t done much homework regarding up-to-date requirements for visas and so forth, and was a little apprehensive of  how post 911 world changes had affected Mexico- it’s been nearly 15 years since I’ve been down here.   One Spanish lady as far back as Nephi, of all places, warned that a visa needed to be obtained well in advance.  Hmm.  At the crossing, the border guards weren’t too concerned and it took a couple of attempts to explain to them I was going farther than the “frontera” , i.e. border towns.  They finally directed me to the adjacent immigration office.   When I began explaining my plans in very poor Spanish, the uniformed lady helping me began to shake her head.  My heart sank.  But then as she shook it she said “no problema, puedes ir (you can go)” or something like that.  Off I went.   Then a guard caught up to me after a hundred feet or so and told me to come back in.  My heart sank.  A collection of folks were by then standing around me, none spoke English, but I understood that they thought I said Wallmart, not Guatamala.  More sinking.  But it was OK, I just had to throw down $40 American for a 6 month visa, half of which I may get back when I leave.  She filled out two lines on postcard-sized form, I signed it and once again, off I went.   With that, it would appear that getting into Mexico is easier now than when I was last here.   In previous trips there has always been a sort of second border you crossed 30 or 40 miles into the country and that’s where you were asked specific questions on where you were going and for how long.   I’ve passed no such station thus far (~300 miles).

Navigating Mexican (Heroic) Nogales wasn’t fun, but taco stands and restaurants with Wi-Fi were plentiful.  As I was leaving town the wind had really picked up as well as the truck traffic.  Shoulder became nonexistent.  The wind and semi blasts made keeping the bike in a straight line almost impossible and excessive weaving……..well, I don’t even want to think about that.   Next hotel I passed I checked in to and stayed in a very clean room for about $35.

Next morning in diminished wind and much lighter traffic I started.   Several small towns are found over the next 50 or so miles so I was able to restaurant hop and keep the gross vehicle weight down.   After the town of Santa Anna though, there is a hundred mile stretch that appeared to have no services at all.  It was difficult to get info from the locals because they just didn’t understand what I was asking.  Their reply would always be that Hermosillo was the next town, but what I was interested in is where I would find the next water.   So, I pretty much planned for the worst, but did find gas stations with attached 7-eleven-type stores every 30 miles or so.

After the hotel at the outskirts of H. Nogales I took two nights to get to Hermosillo.  Did one 72 mile day and one 83.   I was pretty worked after the latter, but the miles were reasonably easy- a light headwind in places but fairly flat.   The road shoulders for the most part were very good, but in some places where there was construction going on, they could be unnerving.  On one stretch of non-existent shoulder that had an undermined, vertical drop off for ten feet, I transferred to the construction side.   It was a  Sunday, no one was working, and I had two lanes and a shoulder of freshly laid concrete all to myself for a few miles.

The campsites for this leg were good if  a bit prickly.   But the animal della dia would have to go to the ant (hormiga!).  E.O. Wilson would of had a heyday.  I doubt he’s ever seen this many of them at one time.  And one type of the little buggers really stood out.  I probably should have pitched the tent, but this one little bastard was so small he would have walked right through the netting.   They didn’t bite, but they stank.  They’d go right to any food source and the phormic acid trails had a definite odor to it that wasn’t pleasant.   After the 83 mile day it was all I could do to lay the tarp and pad out under the shade of a paloverdi and take a nap.  Within minutes I was woken up by masses of them- and no nests/hills in site.  But, thanks to my friend Brad in Flagstaff, I had a solution.   He recommended that I get a lavender concentrate at a health food store for defense against bed bugs once in Central America, which I did.   I splashed a few drops of that around on the tarp and it really works.  At least it knocked them back to a tolerable level.

I had only a few miles to ride the following morning to Hermosillo.   After a meal and grocery shopping I started out on another 80 mile stretch to Guaymas.  I would pick away at 40 that evening and do the last 40 early the the following morning.   After Hermosillo the wide shoulder disappeared and though the traffic was slightly lighter, things were far less enjoyable.

Towards evening I came to a roadside cantina.  They seem to appear every 30 or so miles and are used a lot by the truckers.   This one served food, but I just got a cold soda and a rest and then knocked down the last few miles to a camp site.   But leaving the cantina I did the unthinkable and left my pack.  Got 4 miles before I noticed.   I got all the bags off the bike,  threw them in some bushes, and sprinted in diminishing light back to the cantina.   The pack was there waiting for me but I had an exciting ride back to my stuff as darkness set in.   I had just enough light to get everything to a campsite set back from the highway and away from any cholla.  Lavender needed once again.

Next day road construction was encountered and occurred on and off for half the remaining distance to Guaymas.   All traffic was once again shunted to one side for two-way traffic while work was done on the other. Without shoulder, riding the bike in two-way traffic was less a question of danger than a flat-out impossibility.   There was no question as to whether I would even attempt it.  I had no choice but to pick my way through the construction zones, which meant being sometimes on dirt, sometimes good concrete, sometimes pushing the bike up and down mounds of freshly dumped road base.  The workers weren’t especially sympathetic- they probably have it worse than me- but would give an occasional wave and yell something that I would yell right back at them if only I had a better handle on the language.   Tough day,  tough duty for the bike.  But I’m in Guaymas.