October 8, 2008
new computer, spoke repair, you may not walk naked through the halls, the safety radar pings
Day Seventeen
"Computers are really easy to use. It's also easy to stick your hand in a wood chipper."
- Anonymous -
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Today is October 8th, the shipping date for my new computer. I've been extremely excited about it: a 2.2 pound Acer netbook . It's small enough to fit easily inside my pannier bag, and has a solid state hard drive (no moving parts) so that when it falls out of my pannier bag and bounces on the pavement a few times, I'll be able to pick it up and still turn it on. I've read about other bikers who did that exact thing, so maybe I'll even use it for protection against dogs.
Trying to blog with my tiny pocket PC is like trying to tie a cherry stem with your tongue while reciting the Gettysburg Address. Writing that sentence took about ninety seconds. It's ridiculously time-consuming. I write the words by hand and they're electronically transcribed into text. I understand that sounds miraculous, but it only works in a theoretical sense. It's like when you're a kid and you cut yourself, then your friends tell you to suck on the cut so no blood gets out of your body. It seems like a good idea, but in reality it just doesn't work very well.
Part of the reason it's so laborious it is that I have to correct every single word I write, usually more than once. Every "5" becomes an "S," and every lowercase "l" becomes the number "1." The list of errors is infinite. That's one of the reasons I'm so far behind on the blog. That, and the fact that at the end of the day, after riding sixty miles on a bike, I'm so physically and mentally tired that I barely have enough presence of mind to avoid drooling. Most of the time.
So, perhaps you can understand my excitement about getting a new computer.
Perhaps you can also understand my chagrin when I learned that Dell delayed the shipping date. Although I'm not much of a swearer, it made me want to refine my cursing abilities to competitive Olympic levels, the kind which removes all leaves, and even bark, from trees.
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In Las Cruces (English translation, “the crosses”)(pop. 97,618), we stopped at The Bean to grab a quick bite to eat but our stay turned into a longer break than we had anticipated because of the number of people we met.
First up were three local bikers who had just finished a ride around the area on some of the backroads. Because they're so familiar with the local region, they offered some helpful information about the roads.
Klaus told them about his intention of riding into Mexico, and they expressed their concern (my paraphrase): "YOU'RE GONNA GET KILLED!!!!"
We also met Alan, a retired photojournalist for the New York Times, and Brooke, a nursing student at the local university. Alan suggested we stop at Chope's, a biker bar which is on our way out of town. He and Klaus talked shop for a while since they're both interested in photography.
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Eventually, we were back on the road and rolling toward El Paso.
About twenty minutes later, a large insect flew through one of the vents on my helmet and onto my scalp. I could feel it crawling around so I stuck my finger inside to shoo it away, but by that time it had started exploring the rest of my head and I could no longer reach it. I stabbed my finger into another vent but it was like playing Whack-a-Mole.
When I was finally able to touch it I felt a paralyzing shock in the tip of my finger. Apparently, it was some kind of bee or wasp. At that point I no longer felt anything on my scalp, only the lava on my fingertip. After a few minutes the pain settled into a continuous throb, and I realized that it wasn't going to get better on its own. I pulled over, removed my helmet to make sure the culprit wasn't still lurking, then examined my finger more closely. The stinger was still embedded, so I got the tweezers out of my handlebar bag and carefully extracted it. The pain gradually resolved over the next fifteen minutes. The incident reminded again me of the quote from Geof at the Apache Junction Fire Station: “Everything in the desert either bites, burns, or stings.”
I also realized that my helmet's advertising was slightly askew: the MASSIVE AIR-SUCKING VENTS should read MASSIVE INSECT-SUCKING VENTS.
In San Miguel we stopped at the grocery store to buy some lunch. I made a cream cheese sandwich and drank a Dr. Pepper. Klaus has been cursing me for introducing him to Dr. Pepper. There are always free refills, but it's an unhealthy drink filled with empty calories.
Thirty seconds after leaving the grocery store we came upon Chope's bar, the one recommended by Alan. It didn't look like much on the outside but we decided to check it out.
As we were getting off our bikes we met Sonny and Monica. They had just pulled up themselves and were going inside.
Inside, the place was dark. Although that seems like a prerequisite to be considered a respectable motorcycle bar we learned that the power had just gone out. As our eyes adjusted we were disappointed to find that the place didn't look seedy at all and, other than Sonny and Monica, we were the only other patrons.... no one breaking a pool cue over someone else's head, no blood pooling on the ground, no spent cartridges on the floor... nothing. We meandered up and down the bar, gazing at all of the posters and paraphernalia, feeling like bicyclists in a motorcyclists' bar (or museum), then slipped back outside, somewhat disappointed that we weren't able to get into a knife fight, or at least acquire a new scar from a broken beer bottle.
Continuing on towards El Paso, we turned a corner and, all of a sudden, we were in Texas. I'm not sure exactly when we crossed the border, so no picture by the state border sign.
El Paso has sprawl just like Phoenix. Once we hit the city limits, it took an additional hour and a half to get to where we're staying for the night.
Ugh.
Texas, named after the Tejas Indians, means "friendly." I sure hope so, considering we're going to be in Texas for an entire third of our trip.
Although I'm now an Iowan I was raised in Texas, where the only thing bigger than the state's geography is a Texan's belief that nothing is bigger or better than the Lone Star State. (There's an old joke I heard about a Texan and Alaskan arguing. At one point, out of frustration, the Alaskan finally said, "Listen, pal, if you don't shut up we're gonna split our state in two and you'll be the third largest state.")
Even having been raised in Texas, it's sometimes hard to conceive how large it is. When someone told me that the distance between Texarkana, TX, and Chicago, IL, is less than the distance between Texarkana and El Paso I didn't believe it, and looked it up for verification. It's also shorter between the Texas towns of Brownsville and Texline than between Texline and Montana. That's probably why by the time I left for college at the age of 18, I had only been out of the state twice. Twice.
So, I hope my native state is still tejas. We're going to be here a while.
The temperature hasn't been too bad today. The high was only around 85 degrees. Riding is so much easier when it doesn't get above 95 degrees.
As we were riding I saw Klaus, about thirty yards ahead of me, start pumping his fist up and down into the air. I knew why he was doing it even before I saw what he was looking at.... a Starbucks.
We stopped for about an hour. He bought me some kind of strawberries and cream drink, large enough for three or four people and with enough calories to sustain everyone in Uruguay for several months, and we sat outside in the shade and enjoyed the late afternoon.
While we were waiting, a guy who appeared to be in his mid-thirties approached us and began talking. He had short, cropped hair, combed backwards, and the lean frame of an athlete. As he was downing a protein shake, he let us know he’s a very competitive mountain biker. I don't know if he's any good, but he spoke in the confident manner of an executive. He gave us advice about a lot of things, very authoritatively, ranging from bike shops to where to eat.
He's very proud of his town, El Paso, stating that, among other things, it's the only city in Texas with a view of the mountains. When we asked about Fort Hancock, Alpine, and Marathon, he seemed not to hear us.
I couldn't put my finger on exactly why, but he reminded me of a used car salesman.
He did a lot of talking, rapidly, and the only thing that gave him pause was when Klaus told him he was thinking of riding through Juarez, along the Rio Grande, and reentering the US at Fort Hancock. The 4-5 second pause (the longest of our entire conversation) was accompanied by a tilt of his head and a confused look on his face, after which he emphatically spat (my paraphrase), "YOU'RE GONNA GET KILLED!!" Then he settled back in to his rhythm and went on to explain about the drug wars.
He also told us that El Paso is the only Texas city in the Mountain Time Zone. However, regardless of how authoritatively he said it, according to the map it doesn't change for another 150 miles or so. By that point we’ll have passed through a number of other towns…. so, maybe he meant the only Texas city in the Mountain Time Zone with a population between 700,000 and 800,000, or maybe he meant the El Paso Metropolitan Area.
We left, refreshed by the drinks if not the conversation, and headed toward the hostel. Along the way we stopped at a couple of bike shops. Klaus is still looking for the elusive 22-tooth chainring. The first bike shop had one... for $150.00. Klaus laughed out loud when the guy told him the price. Smiling slightly, the salesman looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before replying,
“Yeah, some people actually pay that much for it.”
He had better luck at the second store, and they let him replace it himself using their tools. Apparently, some bike shops will cut you some slack if you pedal 8,500 miles to get there. It was starting to get dark so I headed to the Gardner Hotel/El Paso Hostel to check in while he was working on his bike and arrived about half an hour before Klaus.
The Hotel/Hostel has seen better days. It's situated downtown and you can tell that it must have been magnificent at one time. Not in MY lifetime, but in someone's.
I was met at the desk by Antonio. He listed the house rules with an unexpected intensity:
You may not walk naked through the halls.
You may not use your own sleeping bag.
You will be given three pieces of linen - please bring back three pieces of linen.
There is no smoking in the rooms.
There is no drinking in the rooms.
There are four bars within walking distance - three of them are gay bars.
There were a number of other Important Rules, all of which seem to have stemmed from some dumbass who did something stupid. I wondered if I could cause him to add another rule or two to his litany:
If you sneeze on the wall, you must wipe off the snot, or
You may not leave your toenail clippings on the toilet seat.
He warmed up, though, and, like the advice-giving car salesman at Starbucks, is obviously very proud of El Paso. In his opinion, it's the second best place to live. Can you guess the first? Of course you can, it's not a difficult question....
Lawrence, Kansas.
He told me about the murders that have been happening in Juarez, and I made a mental note to tell Klaus that he's gonna get killed there.
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Klaus and I have this in common: one of the main reasons we tour is to meet people. Everyone has a story. That's why we decided to get a room with four beds instead of two... we like to meet people.
However, there are some people you might NOT want to meet... or at least leave your possessions unguarded while you shower. Or close your eyes while they're in the same room.
It was about dusk when I walked into the room. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke and there was a man of about 25 sleeping on the bed. He was shirtless, tattooed, and laying flat on his back, his shaved head embedded in the pillow. I don't know exactly WHY, but I half expected him to growl,"Close the fucking door, asshole!!!," or "You look real purdy in those tight pants, girly."
I tried to be as quiet as I could as I brought my gear into the room. I sat on the lower bunk across the tiny room and blogged while waiting for Klaus. Twenty minutes later, he opened the door, turned on the lights, and brought some of his stuff inside. Halfway through the process he motioned for me to go outside to the hall where we had a quick conversation. Klaus said,
"I don't like the looks of that guy. Want to change rooms?"
I thought about it for a second, visions of my blood soaking into the pillow, and agreed.
People are always asking me if I'm ever afraid of people, or if anything bad has ever happened to me. I think Klaus would agree that we have some type of radar which tells us about them. It wasn't the tattoos, or the smell of cigarettes, or the shaved head. I've met a lot of guys who had all of those and, unless they're walking naked through the halls, would give you the shirt off their backs. I don't know what it was, but we both somehow sensed that we didn't want to stay in that room.
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We spent about an hour and a half hanging out at The Tap, during which time Klaus found a website listing the most dangerous cities in the world. Ranked number one: Lawrence, KS.
No, it really was Juarez, Mexico.
[2023 update: According to WorldAtlas, it has since dropped to #3, behind Celaya and Tijuana]
Surprisingly, there wasn't even an American city until number seven or eight.
We headed back to the room (our new one has only two beds) as the distant music, the faint smell of cigarette smoke, and soft conversation drifted through our second-story window from the bar below.
Not a bad day today... not bad at all.
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distance: 65 miles
average speed: 13.8 mph
maximum speed: 33.5 mph
time on bike: 4:43:22
cumulative miles: 850
Today's ride: 65 miles (105 km)
Total: 850 miles (1,368 km)
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