Jan 26 - Unexpected visitor and rowed to Mexico for lunch.

Earlier that next morning on the second day of camping…

I woke up questioning what I had experienced that previous night in my tent - the cold, the sounds, the severe dark and that sky that seemed impossible to be real.

I brushed my teeth in my camp with a bottle of water I had stored in the bear box, I organized my bags securing them with the PacSafe mesh attached to the picnic table and checked my post that indicated that my site was reserved. I had set it the day before to reflect that I had reserved the site for a second night and when I walked over to the post that bears the clipped on sign I saw that someone had flipped it over to the green “open” and available side. I quickly switched it back to the red “reserved” side and walked over to the bathroom.

I double checked the security of my bags now cabled to the picnic table and headed towards the nature trail on the near side of my camp ground. Hiking up over marsh I started the ascent up to the viewpoint over the Rio Grande river.

I passed what I thought at first was a memorial of some type as there was a bunch of colorful, shiny trinkets and such scattered about in one place. I went back to look closer and take a pic and realized that it was actually Mexican jewelry and handicrafts that had been set up with a bucket with an honesty system. Looking closer I saw prices written near each item.

When I walked past this I thought it was some kind of memorial. It’s an honor based system for these items for sale. They were in different places along the trail.

The trail was easy enough although the climb was steep at times. After reading the sign at the trailhead about rattlesnakes, I kept my eyes scanning the ground ahead of me. I didn’t see any.

From the overlook you could see the small town of Boquillas, Mexico.

Heading to Mexico on a rowboat for lunch.

Around 1 PM I threw on a sweatshirt, riding gloves and helmet and rode the few miles to a side road that led me to another dirt road that terminated at the Boquillas border station.

I found a spot near the door, secured the bike and my helmet, and headed inside. Once inside I was instructed to just continue on through, out the side door towards the boat launch about 1/8 of a mile down a dirt trail.

Two other tourist couples came up alongside me to wait for the rowboat to come back from the Mexican side. The Rio Grande here is so narrow that if I had a streak of unmitigated anger towards the guy rowing the boat I could easily pick up a rock and clock him in the head within a few tries. Mexico was that close.

When the boat arrived we boarded and the operator/rower pushed us off the river bank. We were now slowly floating downstream until he started rowing us against the current towards Mexico. It was a short 3 minute ride and we were on Mexican soil.

Upon disembarking we were instructed to pay some other guy our $5 (round trip) and then we were asked if we wanted to take a horse into town, get a ride in one of the staged SUV’s or hire a guide. Strike out for all of those options as the whole group of us said we would walk the half a mile down the dirt road into Boquillas.

The other two couples, upon starting the walk into town, became fast, rowboat buddy's. Chums. They started the requisite questions of where each was staying, where from and all the rest of the preliminary nice-ities I really didn’t want any part of this as I know that etiquette might commit me to something like eating lunch together, weird conversation, my habit of saying what’s really on my mind and then the awkward parting of ways. I was following along like some weird stray solo traveler, sweating in my sweatshirt as I couldn’t really adjust to all of these changing temperatures and the variance in temps as I rode and then didn’t ride the motorcycle. I smelled disaster already and as they got all cozy and conversational I slipped off to the side to read some sign about something I had not interest in, just to put some space between us. My not feeling like meeting new people today buffer. Plus, had they actually wanted to include me in their new row boat to Mexico club, I would become the fifth wheel which is much much worse than becoming a third wheel.

Following the couples up the hill into town.

As prophetical as could possibly be, from my safe distance behind, as we entered town I saw the two couples dip into some restaurant for lunch together. I was thankful that I had choices of my own and I was thinking that there could be one of the four that is silently thinking that they wish they had my freedom to not have to be committed. In keeping with my attitude of safety from unwanted new relationships, I found a great seat in an outdoor cafe across the street.

There was three things that could be ordered from the menu and I had the chicken enchiladas. Not bad, not spectacular and $7 plus $2 for the Diet Coke. Worth the experience overall, I paid my check and headed further into town.

The main street as there was really only one street, was dusty and mostly pedestrian. It was such a small town that when I saw a pickup truck drive up this dusty main street it seemed like it was too large and oversized. I passed a cute small church, a small school and very modest houses.

I dropped into a tienda to buy some “bribe cigarettes” for the cops and military I would encounter later in my journey. The tienda was basically a room in this woman’s house.

“Hola. Buenos tardes. Tu tiene cigarros, si?”.

I had been directed there by the waiter at the restaurant and I felt invasive entering this woman’s store that was a room off her living room. She slid out a shoe box sized box that was previously unseen and stored behind her and she showed me three or four different kinds of cigarettes, the brands of which I’ve never encountered. I picked the red pack called “Sheriff” because I thought it sounded cool and for no other reason. The other ones had brand names much more lame. They were priced at $3 U.S. dollars and despite an American name like Sheriff, I’ve never seen them in the U.S. even though they state they are made there. I exited, went to the literal end of the town not many feet later and turned back to walk back through the town, past the prisoner couples eating lunch awkwardly, and down that dusty road getting passed by tourists on horses and donkeys with less ambition and probably more common sense than I.

Upon arriving back at the Immigration checkpoint building I entered and was instructed by the Park Service employee that I needed to step up to the kiosk, place my picture page of my passport face down on the reader and wait for a green light or something. I did so and then was instructed to stand on a yellow line and wait for the phone to ring, the phone that was attached to the side of this kiosk. Weird. I waited as the guy from Michigan behind me stepped up to the other kiosk and got his phonecall. He was already out the door and here I was standing staring at this machine waiting for some phone call to complete my reintegration into the United States. I have to admit that the wait was slightly nerve wracking as thoughts of some outstanding warrant somewhere for some ticket I never knew about entered my mind. The result of too much Live PD in recent motel rooms most likely. The phone rang, I was asked how I was doing and if I had anything to declare. I was fine and I had nothing to declare. She thanked me and I was on my way, back in the good ol’ US of A.

Upon leaving, I was speaking with the Park Service ranger/employee about travel and mentioned I was heading down from Jersey. She, like long lost brother and sister, got excited and told me she is from Morris County, Morristown to be exact. We immediately spoke of pizza and Jersey food and just then she caught herself about to suggest a “decent” pizza place in Marfa, Texas when she realized whom she was talking to. She smiled and just said, “ya know what, never mind. You wouldn’t like it”. Probably a place she could recommend to a coworker who doesn’t know great pizza but when she thought more about it she decided that there was nothing to recommend. We said goodbyes and wished each well and I was out the door and mounting my bike to head to some hot springs in another nearby section of the park.

After a rough ride to an overcrowded and unimpressive hot springs, I headed back camp after stopping at the nearby grocery store. I decided that, after feeling that sense of being alone the previous night, I would grab some beer, some chips, another bottle of water and a can of diet coke and make it a Netflix and Amazon video night courtesy of the downloaded movies and shows I had on my tablet. Sounded pretty perfect to me. Not a beer drinker at all but without any other alcohol options here in the far reaches of Big Bend, I did my best to see which beer they had that had the highest alcohol content. I found a six pack of Rogue Dead Guy Ale that was over 6% content. Good enough.

I rode back to camp, downloaded some pictures and videos to my laptop and started my first beer. It had the beer taste I really don’t like but by the time I was done with the first one, I didn’t really mind it. And, oddly, I started to feel it just a little bit. I set out my tablet and decided what to watch when an unexpected visitor came into my camp. It was…

Frank from Hackensack.

A guy geared out in full riding apparel, bike loaded with bags hanging off the front and back, storage up the middle, bottles mounted, lights and all sort of accoutrements came rolling up into my camp site. My first thought was WTF is going on here?

“Hey, are you John from Jersey?”

-“Yeah, who are you?”

“I’m Frank. I’m from Hackensack and ‘HazMat’ sent me to you and said that maybe I could camp with you here tonight. I can’t find a place to camp”.

-“Sure Frank, make yourself at home.”

And that was that, Frank from Hackensack was camping with me tonight and we became fast friends exchanging stories about travels, travel wisdom, gear choices and stories of back home.

What are the chances that I would be in this most remote of U.S. national parks in the most remote southeast corner of the park to have some guy from Hackensack find me and need a place to crash?

HazMat is the screen name of a guy I had originally met at a gas station a few nights back in Alpine, Texas. He was fueling up his truck and he and his friends came over after seeing my bike. They are on ADVrider.com and saw my “ADV” stickers on my bike. These stickers kind of serve as a wink of shared interest to those in the know. He introduced himself as '“HazMat” on that forum and introduced his friends by their screen names. Upon him asking, I told him about my plans and we shared the commonality of being on the same riding forum. He was trailering in a bunch of motorcycles to be ridden around Big Bend National Park. We parted ways and agreed to meet up again if our paths crossed.

The day before Frank showed up I saw HazMat and his crew again at the general store near my camp. We spoke shortly and again agreed to meet up if we saw each other again. They were camping just outside the park.

That night Frank and I just talked about our trips and about our motivations and future plans. Frank continued to set up his own tent next to mine and the made himself dinner. We both went to sleep reasonably early and we both woke up around 7 AM. We packed camp and Frank set out before me as I procrastinated to wait for the weather to become a little bit warmer. Frank left before me to take the boat over to Boquillas and I headed out about noon. I did see Frank again as I passed a nearby ranger station. I stopped to see why he wasn’t in Boquillas and he told me, disappointed, that the crossing to Boquillas closes on Mondays to restock. We spoke for a few more minutes and bid each other good luck.