After having
traveled through 10 states in Mexico, I finally made it back to the
U.S. in mid July, but not without some drama. In short, my motorcycle’s
drive belt broke in Mexico, right at the Mexican military checkpoint, just a
few kilometers from the U.S. border. My bike was in good hands at McAllen
Motorsports. However, it was going to take at least a week to fix and
since my husband was chomping at the bit to get me home, I took a flight from
Harlingen to Las Vegas, then a shuttle from Vegas to St. George, then a
thirty-mile trip by car from St. George to home.I looked forward to getting rest and when I did, all I could think about was getting my motorcycle out of the shop. I patiently waiting in Utah for August 28th to arrive. That was my grandson’s first birthday and my husband planned to celebrate it with his family in Kerrville, Texas. But what I didn’t tell my husband is that I was not finished with Mexico. I told no one of my secret plan to try again and at the very minimum get to San Miguel de Allende. After all, I still had valid insurance; my tourist visa was current; I had gotten a little money; the weather was cooling off; I was well rested; and I still wanted to enjoy Mexico and maybe beyond. The only obstacle was my guilt about leaving my husband again.
We celebrated my grandson’s birthday on the 28th with family, and the parents had a bigger bash on the weekend. During that weekend, hubby and I went to pick up my motorcycle and boy was I happy to see it! It was pouring rain so my husband did the gentlemanly thing by riding my bike to my niece’s house in Harlingen, as he followed me in a rented car. It rained so hard that I don’t know how he could have even seen the road. And I had to find my niece’s house with only a GPS voice, and the hope that I could recognize some landmark. At one point during the commute when the rain slowed down, I motioned for my husband to get next to me so that I could take an action picture of him riding my bike in the rain. But he gave me a scornful look and I feared that if he got close he might bite my hand off. What a party-pooper. More reason for me to go back to Mexico. Who wants to put up with a grouch? Am I right ladies?
My gorgeous 5’11” tall niece - with legs up to the clouds - left her car at the restaurant parking lot and rode on the back of my motorcycle wearing my bullshit novelty helmet. I followed her friends in their truck going 70-80 mph, and when we stopped for gas and ice, my niece had a realization. Horrified, she said, “Tia Lily, I was getting a little paranoid at all the people that were looking at me, but I think it’s because my dress was riding up. And I never felt it!” I laughed and comforted her with the realization that she was wearing undies. Then she complained she felt bugs crawling on her skin. I told her that the wind made her feel that way. She made me reassure her twice that it would go away. In no time, she forgot about it.
On our way to the beach, our road captain got lost a few times as I followed along on my motorcycle. We traveled through many little roads with pot holes filled with rain water. I had precious cargo on the back of my bike, so I rode extra carefully. The vegetation on either side of the road was too high and dense to see beyond the narrow trails. And yet, I could smell and feel that we were getting close to the ocean. Finally, I saw my first glimmer of the sea. Just then, the driver of the truck stopped to say: “This is where the pavement ends. Do you want to leave your bike here and hop on the truck so we can go further into the beach?” I didn’t know how far they planned to go and I didn’t want to abandon my bike. So I told my niece to get into her friend’s truck and I would follow. I put all my concentration onto staying right in the middle of the sand line made by her friend's truck. She kept driving for about a mile. Whew. I thought she'd never stop! And when she finally did, I instantly reached for a cold wine cooler!
They all left before dark. Now it was the
time for me to enjoy the wonderful beach. After they left, I tended to the
inside of my tent. I diligently laid out my blankets, dufflebags, gallons
of water, and everything I could to weigh the tent down. At the outside
tent entrance I rolled out an old, dog chewed-up purple yoga mat. Then I put
my camping table next to it. I took out my expandable bucket, filled it
with clean sea water, and dug a hole next to my tent to keep the bucket from
tipping. Each time I went into the tent, I made sure I dunked my feet
into the bucket, one at a time, to get rid of most of the sand. Inside, I
had plenty of baby wipes to help me feel clean, and lots of clean old clothes
that I intended to use and throw away.
There was one more task I needed to complete - putting the
cover on my bike. But since there was plenty of daylight and no clouds, I
took my sweet time and relaxed by going in and out of the Texas waves. Just as
I was headed to get something from my tent, a big red quad slowed down and
blocked my way. In the quad were two grown men. In a Texas drawl,
the driver asked me, "Is that your bike?" I said yes and
that's usually the beginning of a long conversation. He seemed amused and
a tad amazed that I had over 100,000 miles on my Victory Kingpin, and that I
had traveled on it to Mexico. After a good 15-minute chat with him
sitting in his quad and me standing in my shorts and wet spaghetti string t-shirt, he learned that I was a die-hard biker who travels open-carrying in
every state that allows it. Secretly, I had hoped that they would both
stick around to keep me company for a while. But alas, I was there to
de-stress and regenerate. So after my fleeting guest gave me advice about
the importance of keeping my motorcycle upright during the night, the two bid
me farewell and I encouraged them to find me on facebook.
When they left, I looked for a more solid place to put my bike. And when I hopped on to move it to the right a foot or so, I realized that my kickstand was almost completely buried in the sand. I thought to myself, "OH SHIT!" So I took a walk to see if there was anything on the beach can that I could use to stabilize the bike. I found a great piece of board that was sturdy enough. I went back to the left side of my bike where the kickstand is, and with all my might I stood the bike up and pushed it as hard as I could a little to the right until the kickstand was about an inch above the sand. Then I used my foot to shove that piece of wood under the kickstand. The first few times were disastrous. But hey, at least I didn't dump it. Finally, it looked like the bike would tip over to the right. So I took a stick to dig some sand out from underneath the wood until I felt the bike was upright and slightly leaning to the left. It was a monumental success for me. And time for another wine cooler as the evening got darker.
There was not one single mosquito or annoying bug. Just
copious numbers of gigantic crabs. I would later find out that the little
holes in the sand were tunnels to their homes. Although it was Labor Day weekend, there were very few people on the beach. I got into the ocean
several times and laid on the sand on top of my good pink yoga mat. What
a relaxing experience, and yet I missed companionship and wished I had someone
to share such a glorious time on the beach.But when all else fails and night time comes, a good dose of Xanax cures the blues. And my huge hammer by my bedside was my self-defense. It wasn't a gun, but it was better than nothing and served to help me sleep. Maybe it was all the swimming and working to get my camp set up, but that night, I did without the drugs and slept well. The sound of the lapping beach waves and then the sound of the strong hard rain hitting my tent, was like listening to a lullaby.
In the morning I got up and took some pics. And that was the beginning of another memorable adventure.
