It’s been my intention to write the last blog about the Canada to Mexico ride for the last…errrr…well, it’s long overdue. Yesterday a journalist asked me “By the way, did you get to Mexico?” The final days were long, hot and sweaty in an unusually hot Californian autumn, but we made it to Mexico on the 29th October, 41 days after leaving Vancouver, 3000km and 38 days of riding. I’ve just calculated that is an average of 79km a day…WEIRD…it wasn’t planned that way to fit with Quest 79, but the mysterious magic of the number seems to have been at work!
The border was an unexpected and moving experience. We followed a dusty trail that became dirt, alongside the imposing grid of the border fence. We’d heard there was a park at the border – Friendship Park. I’m not sure how a park located between double fences is a symbol of friendship, nor how the hundred square metre patch of dirt we found can be called a park. In border-land, the greenest things are the turquoise of the ocean that the fences extend into, and the uniforms of the military guys stationed to intervene with any swimmers or tunnel diggers attempting to cross from Mexico.
A young guy stood at the fence, immersed in its shadows with his head bowed, hands in his pockets, being with his loved one through the dense trellis. My eyes welled, imagining the separation and the tough choices made for dreams of a better life. It’s easy to question why you’d leave family and loved ones when we have more than we need to survive in our ‘western’ world, but then most of us have never experienced real poverty. It felt indulgent to have time and resources to spend 41 days cycling, to a border where I felt like a voyeur of heartbreak.
Later that day, we crossed into Mexico. It was a turnstile gate, impassable in my handbike, so Niall had to persuade US border guards to find their key, accompanied by grumbles of “You don’t want to go to that smelly country”. I found Trumpism shocking throughout the journey, and yes, we really did want to go to Mexico, with all its exotic smells, colour, smiles and kindness. We were waved through the Mexican nationals channel by their border control, with not so much as a glance at our passports. Our short time there was special. After explaining where we’d cycled from, local shopkeepers rallied together and produced a giant Mexican flag as a gift. The border queue back into the US was a different experience – very long and somewhat militant, but a Japanese tourist guide took it upon herself to accelerate our crossing – a little embarrassing, but we passed through in about an hour instead of five!