DAY THIRTY-ONE: The Daring Escape Plan Revealed
Mexico to The United State of Minnesota
Instead of sleeping, G-2 and I spent all night working on a multi-faceted plan. The first facet involved getting the heck out of this putrid refugee detention center. If we managed to get out alive, the second facet involved hiding from the Mexican authorities who would no doubt be chasing us. The third facet involved crossing the muddy Rio Grande River. The fourth facet involved going over, under or around the border wall. The fifth facet involved evading the U.S. Border Patrol. Thank goodness there wasn't a sixth facet because five facets were already more than my cartoon alter-ego and I could handle.
In fact, we never really developed a scheme beyond the FIRST facet. We accepted the fact that if we were lucky enough to succeed with that one, we'd have to improvise the rest of our way back to the American dream.
At sunrise, it was time to implement our plan. It was a good plan, but I admit I wasn't sure if I had enough confidence in my acting ability to pull it off. Yet, we had no other choice. G-2 couldn't do it, that's for sure.
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Enough with the suspense! Here is how the daring escape went down.
I started shaking wildly, and called one of the security guards over to my cell. "I hate to interrupt your security job," I began, "but I'm addicted to cigarettes, and I need to go outside for a smoke or I'll die." (Don't worry, I don't smoke. That was all part of the act.)
"That's not my problem," said the guard.
"It might be your problem when you have to explain to American President Biden why one of the refugees under your authority suddenly up and died."
"Um, okay senor Garcia, I'll take you outside for one cigarette."
"Thank you, Officer Rodriguez. Would it be okay if my cartoon alter-ego and my bike come along too?"
"You've got to be kidding me," said Officer Rodriquez.
"No, they're serious smokers too."
"Well, I suppose. But don't ask me for any more favors after that."
Then came the tricky part of our scheme. Academy Award-worthy acting, perfect timing, and a disbelief in reality were required.
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Officer Rodriquez turned to his right and scanned the horizon for a full minute. By the time he turned back around, my team had been on the run for 59 seconds.
We were several hundred yards down the road when we heard the guard's voice yelling, "YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS GARCIA."
"WE'LL SEE," I yelled back cockily, " . . . and it's pronounced garSO."
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Phase one completed, we hid out in the desert for a few hours. We turned down an offer from the driver of a big semi to take us across the border. He said he had just enough room in his trailer for a bike, a small cartoon character, and a man. We might have accepted, but we didn't have the $1,000 cost of transport.
So we scurried to the Rio Grande River on our own. The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong got a couple of flat tires from desert thorns, but I was able to fix them without much delay.
Then came the formidable border fence. It filled my team with dread . . . but we got over it. (Haha)
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We were home free. Or so we thought. We had one more threat from the U.S. Border Patrol. Their Ford Explorer was gaining on us quickly and I could hear the loudspeaker mounted on top blasting, "Mr. Garcia, stop now or we'll shoot."
Little did they know that I had been collecting goathead thorns along the Texas roadside. I sprinkled a few dozen of them on Highway 61 and I got the result I was hoping for. The thorns punctured the &%!T out of their tires and the Explorer came to a standstill.
We cackled with laughter as we proceeded north through the rest of nutty Texas and on to Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, and Iowa.
THE TROUBLE WITH EAGLES
The Upper Mississippi River is a major haven for America's national bird. One of the highlights of the Mississippi River is The National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota. This time of year, bald eagles like to perch on the edge of the ice, focus their eyes into the water, and dive into a buffet of fishy deliciousness.
Sometimes they fly overhead and think about another kind of deliciousness--cyclists.
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I survived the eagle attack because I'm a tough guy. Within five miles of my home, I barely survived another attack. How unlucky does a guy have to be to get poked in the eye by a sign for a veterinary clinic?
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Despite all the dangers, I made it back to my hometown today. I slowed down and took a few pictures of my favorite river in the world--The Mississippi River-and savored the last few minutes of my tour. There really is no place like home.
I was extremely proud of myself for riding my bike to all corners of the world. I reflected on the Seven Continents, the great cities, the rivers and seas, the famous sites, the people I met--namely, the hobos in the first night's motel, the Inuit families, Santa Claus, "Lennon" or "Lenin" or whatever his name was, the monks at the Buddhist Temple, Chef G., the Australian mates who bought me all those oil cans of Foster's Lager, the Egyptian bartender, the fishermen on the Adriatic, Team Anderson, the Germans with strong beer who ferried me across the Danube, and, especially, Captain Skull and his pirate crew. Oh man, what a trip!
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WAIT! Hang on for one more page. That will be my Grand Sweeping Conclusion.
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