Good-Bye to All That

Before we left Florida we had a final service done to the bike in Holopaw. Then, because Fran was still moaning we were overweight, we dropped off a bag of clothes at the thrift store across from the motel. I’d been told we were now in the South and thermal underwear was redundant. The next day an Arctic cold front was forecast for the gulf states. Being proved right can often be painful.

The road north was like a forest. On both sides there were swamps and shacks with signs like 'Posey’s Seafood and Steam Room'. Crossing the panhandle later we got a lovely surprise with palms hugging the coast and homes perched high on stilts, probably to avoid the floodwaters. The gulf was sparkling silver and the beaches white as snow. The beauty eventually gave way to the beast however as the towns got more prosperous so did the traffic. We reached Destin but never once saw the beach. A wall of concrete hotels and endless traffic obliterated any view that wasn’t an outlet mall. I can see the headlines now: “Consumerism Submerges Coastal Town”.

After Pensacola the weather got grayer and colder. By Dec 31st I was wearing as many layers as physically possible. I don’t know how Fran did it, at least I had my heated vest. We spent New Year’s Eve in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, another God-forsaken beach community with the sourest face on motel reception to date. It didn’t bode well for year-end festivities with the only liquor store closed because it wasn’t legal to sell on New Year’s Eve. Cheerful laws they have in these states; I wonder what they do during Lent. We did find an empty bar in the end, where corrupting the locals was allowed, and a sub-par and equally empty Mexican restaurant. We’d have been better off at the Waffle House. You can’t swing a dead possum around here without hitting one so they must be doing something right.

Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.

A New Year Begins

I wasn’t too sorry to say goodbye to 2017. We started the new year on Hwy. 90’s rivers and marshes. Signs like ‘Bayou Sauvage’ greeted us and so did a drunk in filthy overalls waving a vodka bottle. We detoured off to brave the New Orleans warehouse district. Lunch at Cochon Butcher was worth the effort. We knew it was meant to be when we pulled up and a woman was just leaving her spot right in front of the glass door. Apart from the pork belly and the Moroccan spiced lamb the best part was our encounter outside with a Dutch tourist. He saw us in our black bike gear and thought we were traffic wardens giving him a ticket.

We drove on west and it was 19 F (-7 C) with the wind chill. I thought my hands would fall off. The land was brown and flat, with black dead trees. I bet No Man’s Land on the Somme looked just like this. By the time we got off in Layfayette, Fran was shaking like someone’d stuck a quarter in him. A bunch of southern ladies at the Visitor Center fussed over him and he thawed out with hot coffee. The frozen fountain outside the hotel was the icing on the cake. I can now officially say the South’s been the coldest part of the trip, and that’s counting Nebraska.

At a quick stop in Houston, the last Ural dealer before Santiago, Chile, we were welcomed like long lost friends. We got photographed (again!) for the Facebook page and came away with two new spare tires. Just when you think you can’t fit any more on there……Then it was on to Austin, Fredericksburg in the hill country and Del Rio, right on the border but not where we were going to cross.

Now we were getting close, but not without hiccups. We ran out of gas less than a mile from Sanderson, Texas on January 13th. What with an unexpected headwind and uphill most of the way it was a first, but embarrassing all the same. We were both pushing poor Pferdi up the last rise when the local sheriff arrived. We’d been debating who would go for gas and who would stay. I won the bet and climbed into the back of the heavily grilled Jeep and within minutes I was filling up the can. But the bike still wouldn’t start even after the tank was filled so we had to push further down into town. It fired up just when we entered the motel parking lot, typical. We met a nice Swiss guy that night who was over buying Harleys to sell back home. Later on in Alpine we spent another pleasant evening with a fellow biker from Quebec. We all contributed to the restoration fund of the beautiful Holland Hotel by wiling away Sunday afternoon in their Century Bar.

So, here we are in Presidio after a couple of days delay due to below freezing temperatures. Marfa was the last town we passed through but in the cold and grey it didn’t look anything special so we kept going. We were advised to get our paperwork for entering Mexico a day before we crossed so on January 18th we went down to the border and got all done in less than an hour. We decided to drive into Ojinaga on the Mexican side to find out where the highway started. There are two routes to Chihuahua and we wanted to make sure we took the right one. It's less scenic but safer. The town was faded, paint-peeled but colorful. We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore. After visiting an ATM, we headed back to American Immigration where we had a nice chat with Officer Brown from New York. “This is a first” he beamed when we pulled up. What a welcome! I almost decided there and then to stay.