On the 6th of April 2005, cousins Jamie Mackenzie and Ben Wylson set off on their bikes on a journey which will take them to over 50 countries and to every one of the worlds great continents, all without the use of an aeroplane.
Friday, August 24, 2007: Tex-Mex
One family has been responsible for the well-being of FWE since our arrival in the United States: The Bolings of Eagle Pass. This great family who were complete strangers a few weeks ago took us in and made us honorary Bolings. Just before crossing the border, Ben had asked a Texan fellow for some advice. The advice was gladly given with a bonus as the man we were talking to was none other than the legendary Rob Bowling, head of the Bowling family, who immediately offered us his advice for riding in Texas: "The weather is bad ahead, there's flooding," he warned. "But it's o.k for the time being. You can camp just fine by the side of the road and you'll find yourself a great big hard shoulder to keep you safe from the traffic, which there isn't too much of aound here as long as you stay off the Interstate. If you want somewhere to stay here in Piedras Negras, there is a hotel just around the corner." At the time we thought this was the last we would see of Rob Bowling as he drove off in his truck with his wife Patty.
Outside the hotel Rob had recommended, we were planning our next move as the hotel was not only very expensive, but it was full too. There was a screech of tyres and round the corner came Rob Bowling and Patty in the truck! One of the electric windows lowered and Rob said in his mild Texan accent, "Why don't you boys come and stay with us?" This was perfect! "I live just across the border in Eagle Pass." He gave us an address in the Land of the Free, a couple of telephone numbers and we arranged to meet in half an hour for a Tex Mex BBQ! Neither of us could believe our luck. All we had to do was get into the USA, a task easier said than done. For no less than three hours we struggled with US customs who asked us every conceivable question before not stamping our passports. After both our personal, probing, booth interviews were over, we were eventually given the all-clear to cross into the States, "But you haven't stamped our passports," Jamie reminded the thorough officials. "Saary, I forgat," said the lady in charge who promptly added the stamps. That came just after nearly being sent down the big snake with its head at the top of the board for not having US currency to pay a $12 entry tax. "We only have Pesos!" we'd explained, fully expecting that there would be some facility to change our money on 'the other side', but no: "Sarry sir, you're going to have to go back to Mexico." We managed not to lose it -although we were boiling inside- and used our one phone call to call Rob Bowling, not only to apologise for our being three hours late, but also to ask him if we could borrow 12 bucks, and would he mind nipping down to the border to bail us out? "Sure!" said Rob who later apologised on behalf of his country for our being messed around in customs. "It's post-9/11 security gone crazy," he explained. The amusing thing is that we have never had our panniers checked in all the time that we have been on the road, not even at US customs. We could quite easily have filled our panniers with TNT. I guess the rule is that English fellows who look Swedish are unlikely to be deadly bike-bound suicide bombers.
Soon the border was behind us and we were good to go for three months in the U S of A. The Bolings' house was in a leafy suburb not far from the border, the perfect retreat. For 2 days we ate the finest food and drank the finest Whisky, we told stories in Rob's company and with our batteries topped to the brim we rang our bells in honour of the Bolings who stood outside their house waving good-bye with white handkerchiefs. We rode into the State of Texas where heat, trucks, ranches and chewin' tobacca rule.
In a small town in the middle of nowhere called Charlotte, at a cross-roads in a gas station, the first theft of FWE history occurred. We had 140 bucks stolen along with our kitty made of Bolivian knitwear; we have passed through some of the 'most dangerous' countries in the world only to have our money stolen in Texas! As I'm sure you can imagine, that sort of money is a small fortune to us, perhaps a week's budget.
Contrary to our expectations, Texas is lush and humid with absolutely no tumbleweed and very few cacti. The Texan ride has followed a road which stretches into the distance as far as the eye can see. Chunky farm pick-up trucks pass us as we pass entrances of ranches with names like 'Bob's Farm' and 'The Big Beef' carved out of steel and hung above gates, creaking in the wind.
Our cycling in the States has been a big game of cat and mouse played with thunderstorms; the last element you would have thought we would have to battle against in Texas was rain. Our arrival was timed pretty badly. Floods have been wreaking havoc across the state, some of the worst for decades. On one occasion -feeling quite miserable- we rode through a downpour to a service station where we stopped for a snack. Next to the counter was a stack of local newspapers; the front page of one showed a photograph of two men sitting on inner tubes floating down their street. Our bad luck was almost funny.
Another thing, we thought the States would be the one place where we would not have a problem finding supplies... Well, in the Texan countryside it is often no less than 40 miles between service stations and when it is not raining it is brain-boilingly hot: 40 miles without shade or refreshment and no emergency bedsheet like the one we used in the Peruvian desert is a recipe for disaster and on more than one occasion we came dangerously close to heatstroke.
Flash flood warnings dominated the news, huricanes brewed in the gulf of Mexico. The cycling became more and more demoralising, time seemed to stop in its tracks. Ben got bitten on the toe by a spider which a few poeple thought might be deadly, but aside from the pain he was fine, thankfully it was not a rattle snake. Rob had warned us to watch out for those. Then Ben's tent pole broke which would have left us unable to camp with no escape from the rain or the mosquitos if we had not been able to fix it with gaffer tape. Then Ben's tent zip broke and the rain started coming in, but he managed to use his sewing kit to close out most of the rain. Jamie's tent did not break at all; it kept the weather out admirably.
The high humidity made us unbearably greasy and on our third day with no shower, soaked to the bone, unable to dry out our gear and feeling even more miserable we knew it was time for us to improvise a new plan...
Thursday, August 02, 2007: Hyper-speed
They have such delicious sounding, exotic names; Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico...so pleasing to say, so satisfying to roll about the mouth. In truth, however, we didn't afford much time to these fairytale lands of pastures green and faces brown. No...regrettably not much time at all actually.
It was a deservedly proud moment when we rode the border line from Costa Rica to Nicaragua. Seldom do we grant ourselves the luxury of a slap on the back and a moment of self-congratulation...but these were extenuating circumstances that begged for hearty applause. Chins held aloft, bells chiming and mouths grinning, we raised our water bottles and saluted our effort. Crossing the country had been no mean feat, no easy achievement. At no point did Costa Rica roll on to its back like a playful puppy dog and submit to the bite of our grim wheels. The bigger they are...the harder they fall.
Once again the red-shepard-sky was salivating with ferocious venom. Customs, tedious customs...we queue up, we get stamped, we're told we must pay to leave, we queue up, we get stamped, we're told we must pay to enter. The time was marching up to 1800hrs, the light was as watery as Australian wine and fading fast and "In a world where death is the hunter there is no time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions" (Don Juan, the Yaqui Indian)...decide we did, regret it we did not and on a bus we did jump.
The blue & white bannered 'Tica Bus' company runs a VIP service from tip to toe of the linear Central American land space. Seats of squishy comfort that reclined like beds and air conditioning that froze us rigid. We hopped aboard for a portion, a slice, a slither, a mere fraction in fact of the distance and watched from hazy window as the rivers, lakes, volcanoes, mountains, villages, towns, cities and countries sidled by. I've never found a way to stop time, despite how i might try and actually at the moment i don't think i want to...in fact its quite the opposite. Its a strange thing though and to an extent we all live our lives by the digital display (or double handed orb if you're a clever person) on our wrists. So many 24 hours slots fell in joggling darkness...outside in the night another country coming and going, inside another glance at the neon watch face and a scornful scowl as you see that only 5 minutes have elapsed since the last time you checked. Undoubtedly we want to return to this place, these places, these countries to explore the richness and mystery that they boast in such abundance and so you find yourself wishing time to pass just a smidgen faster so as not to spoil the future flavour. In an effort to reach Piedras Negras, Mexico and Eagle Pass, Maverick County at the USA border by early August, we'd pressed fast-forward, hit the hyper-speed button and once again were square on target.
Have we mentioned that there is some rather exciting news regarding our Atlantic ship brewing? Initial contact has been made with our friends Mogens (Uncle Mogey)and Olli Anderson at Nordana Asia and the feedback has been more than a trifle pleasing. To be told that the shipping world is your 'oyster' is a wonderfully liberating thing. Viewing the shipping schedules has become like reading a menu at your local 'Soul Foods' restaurant.
Change comes around at a frenetic pace on this crazy adventure and it seems like another is just around the corner.
Six continents have now been plundered by FWE...only one remains...Africa!
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