To El Paso and beyond

by John

After we braved a horrible headwind all day long with several nasty climbs as well, the wind died down and we sped up to 14 mph and finally rolled into the small town of Sierra Blanca. Liz was exhausted and we planned to grab some cans of soup from a gas station, find a cheap motel and collapse.

Instead we saw Curly's BBQ and it looked inviting, so we decided to eat there. When we walked in they were setting up a karaoke machine and cans of Natural Lite were chilling in a tub. I asked if it was a private party but Treasa, the co-owner and waitress told us the restaurant was open and invited us to eat, drink and sing.

The place was filled with people whose jobs are associated with the criminal justice system. Curly, Treasa's husband and the grillmaster, works border patrol. Others included the female warden of the local jail, a trial lawyer and a bail bondsman called Boogeyman, probably because his job sometimes includes tracking down folks who don't pay the bond service on time.

As the evening wore on, jugs of tequila circulated and the singing got rowdier. I sang "Brandy, You're a Fine Girl" and Liz and I dueted on "Oh What A Night." Later I joined in on gang renditions of "Brick House" and "Let's Get It On."

Curly and Treasa insisted on giving us our delicious meals (mine was bbq-ed sausage and brisket with corn and slaw; Liz got the Big Mix, a basket of fried goodies) on the house. I gave a little speech to the crowd thanking the owners for their generousity the Sierra Blancans in general for being so welcoming. We went home that night very happy.

The next day we were rewarded with an amazing tailwind and long downhills toward El Paso, riding on the shoulder of the interstate, then on a lovely country road through little border towns where we picked up tasty Mexican snacks from extremely friendly people and had opportunities to practice our Spanish.

El Paso is a fascinating place, part of a bilinguagal metro area with Mexico's Ciudad Juarez, with a stunning mountain backdrop. We spent part of the next afternoon shopping for cowboy shirts and looking around the bustling downtown area where clothing and consumer goods are sold. Then, ignoring warnings about drug violence in Juarez, where many police officers have been killed, I crossed the border alone. I spent an hour or so strolling and snacking in what seemed like a peaceful, colorful, fun town, but I did note that there seemed to be no foreigners on the streets.

That evening my friend Jim and Adrian Redd, a father and son I know from Critical Mass, met us in El Paso with a last-minute plan to ride with us to Phoenix. I had spent the early evening running around town picking up panniers and camping gear for Jim, who lives in Ecuador and didn't have any with him in Chicago, where he was visiting his kids. I got the panniers at Crazy Cat bikes, near the U of Texas, where Rob the owner was very helpful but incredulous of me playing tourist in Juarez. "You're a brave little guy," he said.

Unfortunately, Jim woke up the next day with brutal cold symptoms and needed at least a day to recuperate, plus he wanted Adrian to do some gear shopping for him. Liz and I decided to hit the road so as to keep on schedule, after Adrian assured me he'd do the same thing in our shoes. Hopefully they'll meet up with us soon via bus or, a long, speedy day of riding.

Now we're camped in Mesilla, a pleasant little tourist town in New Mexico with adobe buildings, silver shops and a nice church and plaza. Tomorrow we head to Caballo Lake State Park where hopefully the Redds will meet us. After that we'll take on the highest mountain pass of the trip, over 8000 feet.