Eugene, Portland, Seattle, Vancouver/ Mexico explained part 1


 Monday morning here we go. I’m exhausted already. It’s the deadhead “lets get home already” end of the trip. Travis has to catch a flight out of Edmonton in two days and I have to be home by the weekend. Even though I’ll make it to Vancouver tonight, theres still 1200 kilometres til I get home to Edmonton. I’m staying in Vancouver for a few days to catch up with friends, Travis is continuing the maniac pace to get home.


Originally the rough itinerary of this trip was to head straight down to Mexico, then west to the coast, then up the coast and back to Edmonton. Basically one gigantic 8000km square. However, about 4 days into this trip, somewhere in Utah, at a lonely dilapidated gas station, we discover my license plate bracket has rattled off. Im obviously a terrible welder.

So, upon that realization, the trip has to be amended. I’m all for the uncertainty of adventure and I know getting IN to Mexico will be no problem, getting OUT and back into the US without a license plate or registration would be extremely difficult. As well, the friends that I made there last year, the guys I was planning on riding in Mexico with, were AWOL. No reply to my texts, and no answer to my calls. That worried me quite a bit, they weren’t exactly law abiding citizens so perhaps that lifestyle has caught up with them. Lets hope not.


Naturally its a bummer, I love Mexico so much, but it seemed as though all signs were pointing to “maybe not eh?”. However, last summer I ventured into Sonora state alone, and had an absolutely unreal time. I crossed the border and pulled into Nogales Mexico and immediately questioned my naive decision to go alone. My spanish is pathetic at best, and I really had no specific plan whatsoever, i just wanted to go y’know? After riding around the town for 10 strange and nervous minutes, I immediately start debating with myself whether I should stay or go back to my friend's place in Sahuarita AZ. I turned a corner and everything changed. Along the street there are literally hundreds of motorcycles parked on either side. I foolishly make eye contact with a guy standing on the corner and he starts waving at me, I pull closer and realize he’s motioning me to an open parking spot. Awesome. I park. He walks away. Now what.

I see about half a block away a Tecate beer tent, like some sort of mirage of a travellers oasis in the heart of Nogales. If thats not a sign I don’t know what is, I mean its 100 degrees out and Im parched. I walk over, trying my hardest to look as cool and calm as can be, even though Im sticking out so obviously, as if I have a huge sign over my head that says “STUPID GRINGO”. I figure its like prison rules here, I need to find the baddest dudes here and make an impression. Or kill them. Or befriend them. Or…wait what are prison rules again? Ive never been….yet. I direct my foolish greeting in the direction of about 8 menacing looking patched up mexican bikers; “Que tal amigos!”. Silence. Fuck. Its over. Goodbye cruel world, I regret nothing.


to be continued...