Tex-Mex

Leaving the west Texas town of El Paso, we headed south along the Rio Grande towards Fort Hancock. We are in a foreign land. All of the stores and even road signs are Spanish, and white skin is a rarity. Not that this is unfriendly territory; certainly the motorists are the most courteous we have yet encountered. They follow us patiently, waiting until there is ample space before passing. I wish I could say the same for the local dogs. I was chased by three today, who set up a relay. As soon as I got past one snapping mongrel, his neighbor took up the chase. Fortunately they can’t outrun me. Another clever canine mounted a sneak attack. He was riding in a car, and as the car passed me, he stuck his head out the window and barked. I nearly fell over.

We have a new team this week; Dan Fishwick has joined us as SAGONEER, while Scott Emerson is riding this stage. Scott’s fresh legs made him endorse a plan we hatched at lunch to ride a further 15 miles. We had clear skies, temperatures in the low 80’s, flat terrain and a strong tail wind. We were flying at 20-25 miles per hour. A dramatic contrast to last week’s slow pace. There are more hills in our future, but for now, carpe diem.

We have had some good tex-mex cooking today. Based on a tip from our cycling guide, we stopped for lunch in Tornillo. La Calesa is the real deal. Home style enchiladas, tacos and flautas, fresh made salsa and chips. All we could eat for about $7 each.

The afternoon was full of adventure. Scott got a flat, due it appears, to a cactus thorn. While Dan assisted him, Carl and I pressed on through several ghost towns with names like Acala, McNary, and Esperanza. When Interstate 10 was built, these formerly main road towns became backwaters. Now there are four abandoned buildings for every one still occupied. And four of every five cars, and you only see about five an hour, is the Border Patrol. Apparently the border fence ends at Fort Hancock. Much activity like drug running and people smuggling occurs right where we were biking this afternoon.

Carl and I were looking at the map when a Border Patrol car stopped to ask if we were lost. He confirmed that we were in a high traffic area as far as border crossings go. This was confirmed tonight when we ran into 8 former marines who have come to town to track folks sneaking over the border. Apparently they are part of a larger group of civilians who organize their own patrols, supplementing the Border Patrol. Some of them are Korean War vets, others are probably Vietnam. None are spring chickens.

Fearing the worst, we asked what they do when they spot an illegal. They claim that they radio the Border Patrol and keep the suspects under surveillance until apprehended. Tonight they are going on a recon patrol. Scott wanted to join them, but we talked him out of it.

As we were talking to the Border Patrol, Dan passed us in Vanna on the way to our next stop. Looking for a place to pull over, Dan discovered that the sand on the side of the tarmac is like quicksand. In no time at all Vanna was stuck to the axles in fine sand. We were pushing and shoving to no avail when a Border Patrol car and a local farmer both appeared. The farmer borrowed one of my cargo straps and with much roaring of engines and spinning of tires he hauled Vanna out backwards. It was a close thing. Vanna was in deep.

Tonight we are lodged in the Fort Hancock Motel, which is probably the seediest we have yet encountered. But in this area of ghost towns and wetbacks it offers a bed and safety from both the predators and the prey in this no man’s land of two cultures.