An Adventure Ride on the Mexican Border
I didn’t fly to Yuma last December to escape from the Oregon winter, but there was no denying the fact that the clear 70-degree days and starlit 40-degree nights did put me in the mood for some adventurous bike riding! That was just as well, because in order to accomplish my primary goal–to find a Mexican dentist who could treat some serious dental problems–I had to ride a minimum of two hours a day.
My daily “routine” began with an early breakfast with my friend Rolly on his property beyond the south end of Yuma, Arizona. Then, we would drive into the town center in his truck with my Bike Friday wedged between his lawn maintenance equipment. He would drop me at the closest point to the bridge that crosses the Colorado River at the north end of town.
The bridge marked my entry into California and a different time zone–although everyone in this area actually stays on central time for convenience. Now I rode out of the traffic and out into the irrigated farm land on the bumpy old highway that parallels the I-8 freeway. Only a very occasional car passed as I enjoyed views of distant mountains and close-ups of various colorful crops of lettuce, broccoli and cabbage.
During this 6-mile section of the ride, there was always one or more crews harvesting a crop, all well-covered against the sun and stripping the plants at a rapid pace. Then the road rose slightly to enter a zone of rough, rocky ground and I would be greeted by the distinctive smell of sagebrush. The fertile fields were replaced by a harsh dry gravel-pit type of landscape, owned by the local Quechua Indian tribe.
Surprisingly, it was far from empty. Away from the roadside were dozens of R.V.s, some parked in groups, other standing alone. These were home to the most resourceful of the snowbirds–the winter migrants from the northern states who double the local population to around 200,000. (The majority of snowbirds stay in huge full-service RV parks that stretch as far as the eye can see.)
While it’s true that these vehicles are gas guzzlers, I charitably decided to view the retirees in these primitive sites as acting positively and avoiding burning tons of fossil fuel to warm their faraway homes. Indeed, those who chose to live on the “low-rent” system were demonstrating a laudable degree of self-sufficiency for middle-Americans. There were lots of solar panels and bicycles visible and a few even sported wind turbines. Since there were no facilities at all, everyone would have to drive to town to buy everything they needed, fill up with water and dispose of their sewage.
The old road then climbs up and over the freeway, downhill past the new casino under construction, crosses a major irrigation canal, and within a half mile reaches the Mexican border. Every roadside parking space is occupied and a huge parking lot on Indian land is available for a fee.
Now it was time for everyone to start walking up to 1/4 mile to the border–except me, the lone biker, who rolled effortlessly across into Algodones, Mexico. Once my dental treatment was completed for the day, the bike gave me another advantage. While there was, not surprisingly, a long line of cars stretching back through the town waiting to pass through the border post, there was also a long line of pedestrians!
On the first day, I hesitated slightly about riding to the front of the car line, after all, one doesn’t fool around where Homeland Security is involved…..but I was instructed by an official directing traffic that I was to go straight to the head of the line. Well, I thought, bicycling finally gets a little respect from the government!
I let the front car go first, then moved up to the stop sign. Once he or she was free, the immigration officer beckoned me and I rode up to the booth. A quick check of my identity and I was back in the USA. Then I rode back to Yuma and used my cell phone to find out where my friend was working and I could meet up with him for a ride home. (Yes, I finally found a use for a phone while riding.)
I made this journey six times for visits to the dentist, and was so comfortable with it that I actually crossed over on a free day so I could explore the town and get my hair cut–a tradition on all my travels. Then I took a detour west along a dirt road that turned to sand, to reach a local landmark, the settlement of Felicity, California–home to some very strange monuments, including a pyramid marking the “official center of the world.” ( I was given a certificate to prove I have been there!)
I rode back by the familiar route, crossed the Colorado, then picked up the canal-side trail in Yuma that took me through town and under some of the busy roads. It was a great way to escape the city streets, where I only saw a few elderly cyclists riding on the sidewalk. The canal trail was almost deserted, despite being a fantastic place to ride, walk or run–in the winter that is. In the summer when it gets well above 100, I’m told you gotta slow down! After about four hours hard riding, I was back where I was back to my lodging place in the desert.
My last day, with my treatment completed, I decided it was time to do some real Mexican riding before I left. So I rode south to the border where the twin towns of San Luis Arizona and Sonora showed some cultural similarities but also some definite architectural differences. This time I crossed the Rio Colorado on a narrow toll bridge, back into the state of Baja California Norte. I kept well to the side on a narrow shoulder until I came to an unsigned junction where it seemed almost certain that the road ran north to Algodones
I followed another canal north for almost an hour, passing a cotton field being picked by machine–this was the first time I had ever seen cotton balls–blowing across the road and into my wheels. (Algodones means cotton in Spanish). I spun around the outskirts of the town until I found the end of the traffic line waiting to cross the border. I followed it for a very long way to the front of the line, made another quick crossing and set off on the long haul home.
But I kept up a steady pace along the canal until I was back among the lettuce fields, followed a farm road over to the highway, and worked my back to the small well-used trailer that had become my home away from home. It had been another long day, with two Mexican states added to the American ones, two countries…..and I’m not sure how many time zones. Now, I had to leave the snowbirds and fly home long before the northern winter was over.