All of the different states in Mexico have their own identity, even more so than our United States, I’m told. Today was our first full day of biking in the state of Sonora, and it’s a drastic change from Baja, California. Sonora is rural, and today we passed endless fields of cotton, alfalfa, and barley. The highway has straightened out and, for the most part, we have it entirely to ourselves. We’ve discovered after careful study that drafting behind farm equipment lets us move 5 mph faster. We stopped for beer ($1.20 for 40 ounces) at the last stop for civilization, and joked with a bunch of guys who pulled up in a pickup truck.
Biking culture is very different here: In the United States bikers are practically a protected class, with rights, privileges, and full-time advocates. In Mexico, biking is simply a rarer activity. There is no expectation that drivers should slow down, move over to the other lane, and not lay on their horn while passing people pedaling for their lives. On the other hand, bikers—especially four guys biking with a bunch of gear—are a novelty, and that makes up for all the close calls with semi-trucks.
People bent over working in the fields stood up to shout “rapido!” and “ariba!” A school bus passed us today full of kids screaming their lungs out, hands waving of every window, cheering us on. Cars beep their horns in salute. No matter where we go people are interested in who we are, and what we’re doing. I watched an adult man run down his driveway to watch us go by. A couple days ago, an old woman cheered us up a steep hill. This morning, just before I dove into a chimichanga, a kid ran up to give me a hug before he left with his father. Even the dogs, often tiny yippy little things, want a piece of us—ankles and thighs to be exact. It’s a nice feeling, and a form of hospitality you don’t see in the United States
During the second half of our ride today we entered the Reserva de la Biosfera Alto Golfo de Cortez, an enormous state park. It’s a beautiful desert—with blue mountain ranges on the horizon to our right, and towering sand dunes to our left—but I had my mind on other things. I just wanted to be off the bike and in my sleeping bag. And then a car coming toward us started blaring its horn, slowing down, and flashing its headlights. “Great,” I remember thinking, “we’re about to be kidnapped.” Three or four guys got out of the car and were shouting at us in Spanish. “Will the Standard pay my ransom?” I thought, “or stay fiscally conservative?” But then I spotted Tecate, Mexico’s Budweiser. They were passing out beer! These were the guys from the liquor store earlier. They just appeared in the middle of the desert, and they were so excited to see us. Drinking Tecate and biking, watching a beautiful sunset, I realized Mexico has been good to me since Day 1.
