Welcome back after a two-month hiatus.
To update you, I left off in Laredo, Texas. After six weeks on the road, I stowed my bike with a friend and packed up for a fundraiser in Tempe, Arizona. To my own surprise, I ended up staying for two months. Between fundraisers, holidays, writing, reading and spending time with family and friends, I've been doing a lot of retooling and rethinking.
To be both blunt and brief about it, it took six weeks to cycle from Brownsville to Laredo, and it took another two months to figure out what I learned, what I didn't, and what I needed to in the future. Stated another way, I understand now that there are better ways to go about this project.
The first few weeks of the trip were more or less exhausting. Moving from town to town, home to home, conversation to conversation, I didn't really give myself any time to digest the experience. I hadn't had a clear, coherent thought about what I was doing the entire time I spent on my bike. Why was I going where I was going? Why so fast? How did these conversations and interactions fit together? What needs to come next?
It's goddamn scary, those first few weeks of a project like this. You have all these ambitions, all these plans, and nothing quite works at first. It's like you're trying to pound the square peg through the circular hole. You know that everything has its place, and you want to make the nebulous "it" work, but you just can't. Pound, pound, pound, try, try, try, you just can't--at least not as smoothly as you might by easing of the pedal, per se.
So that's exactly what I did: I eased off the pedal. By ditching the bicycle for two months, I exchanged one harrowing journey for another: I moved back home into my parents' house, however temporarily.
Mom's and Dad's is so frightening because it is so utterly cozy. At home, I have no real expectations. I come, I go, I read books, I work on a blog. I literally become the armchair academic, pondering about the great beyond of the border. Home is insulated. Home is insulating.
In any case, my time at home was well spent. I can't say that I expected to be there as long as I was, but the time passed in almost forced reflection was invaluable. I have a body of literature behind me (Luis Alberto Urrea, I've now read most of your books), a greater understanding of border policy and current events and news and, maybe most importantly, I've set up the structure I need to better facilitate this project in the future. I've reoriented my priorities. The blog is better, I have more funding, I've done more planning, and I'm extending the venture through 2006. By easing up on time constraints, this project becomes less of a project and more of a lifestyle. That's crucial.
That's about it. Check out the backlog of the archived posts that I've updated and expanded upon. The story of my life, a story of the border. It's worth reading.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
FAQ: future destinations, goals
You took an extended holiday break. When will your break end? Where will you pick up the route? Do you plan to continue the visits to community members in each town as you've done so far?
I'm planning to arrive in Laredo, Texas by the end of January. I have to stick around for my audio recorder, and I still have a lot of writing to do.
What happened to your recorder?
The short story is that MP3 player/audio recorder committed suicide. It gave up all will to live, and with it went six weeks of conversations—in other words, all my work. I sent the corpse to the manufacturer for a fresh one, sans those conversations.
This means that, yes, I plan to continue my visits. I don't have much of a choice. I'll probably spend another month in the Lower Rio Grande Valley, more than likely later rather than sooner.
Will you be in Arizona's southern deserts (border-crossing land) in the hot season? Do you have any thoughts on what you might see or people you might meet if that happens?
You betchya. My plan is to work with, well, we'll call them the migrant search and rescue groups in the summer. Prior to that, I’ll spend time with an ASU alum who is directing legal observation of the Minutemen on the Texas border. I expect a balanced perspective: the thoughts of voices of those who are providing humanitarian aid to those crossing over, those actually crossing over, and those who don't want anybody crossing over. It's going to be rather intense. Humanity will be as open, raw and festering as I will ever see it. Beautiful even.
What do you want to accomplish on this trip?
My ultimate goal is to have a stake in humanizing the border. I want to make the project real in the sense that, when reading the book, you will come to see not only my maturation as a sort of free-wheeling student but only understand what those who live there have to say about the border, their jobs, their lives. I sincerely intend for the reader to see people, not just words on paper.
I intend to broaden my own horizons. To know what the Lower Rio Grande Valley is like in the fall, to see how passionate people are about their culture, to eat their food, to make friends, to have bumps in the road, to go through the whole range of emotions and experience that comes with being a very willing and open participant in an on-the-ground education… that’s what I’m after. I don’t just want a better understanding of the border. I want to feel it.
This whole thing started off as an adventure and learning experience. That’s what I intend to accomplish, that’s what I intend to share. I consider this a community endeavor. My voice, others’ voices… it is all a part of that. The book is the consequence. The conversations and the experiences are the substance.
I'm planning to arrive in Laredo, Texas by the end of January. I have to stick around for my audio recorder, and I still have a lot of writing to do.
What happened to your recorder?
The short story is that MP3 player/audio recorder committed suicide. It gave up all will to live, and with it went six weeks of conversations—in other words, all my work. I sent the corpse to the manufacturer for a fresh one, sans those conversations.
This means that, yes, I plan to continue my visits. I don't have much of a choice. I'll probably spend another month in the Lower Rio Grande Valley, more than likely later rather than sooner.
Will you be in Arizona's southern deserts (border-crossing land) in the hot season? Do you have any thoughts on what you might see or people you might meet if that happens?
You betchya. My plan is to work with, well, we'll call them the migrant search and rescue groups in the summer. Prior to that, I’ll spend time with an ASU alum who is directing legal observation of the Minutemen on the Texas border. I expect a balanced perspective: the thoughts of voices of those who are providing humanitarian aid to those crossing over, those actually crossing over, and those who don't want anybody crossing over. It's going to be rather intense. Humanity will be as open, raw and festering as I will ever see it. Beautiful even.
What do you want to accomplish on this trip?
My ultimate goal is to have a stake in humanizing the border. I want to make the project real in the sense that, when reading the book, you will come to see not only my maturation as a sort of free-wheeling student but only understand what those who live there have to say about the border, their jobs, their lives. I sincerely intend for the reader to see people, not just words on paper.
I intend to broaden my own horizons. To know what the Lower Rio Grande Valley is like in the fall, to see how passionate people are about their culture, to eat their food, to make friends, to have bumps in the road, to go through the whole range of emotions and experience that comes with being a very willing and open participant in an on-the-ground education… that’s what I’m after. I don’t just want a better understanding of the border. I want to feel it.
This whole thing started off as an adventure and learning experience. That’s what I intend to accomplish, that’s what I intend to share. I consider this a community endeavor. My voice, others’ voices… it is all a part of that. The book is the consequence. The conversations and the experiences are the substance.
FAQ: Mission, favorites, looking forward
Your goal is to write a book about this trip. I saw that you stopped in Mission, Texas. Is there a pending lawsuit against that chemical company?
Not that chemical company. The case has already gone through. There's another case against another few companies that Missionaries have been working on for the last seven years. That whole place is a mess. It's disgusting. The chemical companies are trying to weasel their way out of their responsibility, citing that residents can actually prove that their birth defects, spina bifida, brain cysts, physical deformities and cancers are products of chemical contamination.
How old is Ester? How long has she lived there in Mission, Texas? What's her last name?
Ester Salinas has lived in Mission for all her life. She's... older. Like she should be my mother. That's the diplomatic way of skirting the issue.
Who are the most special people you've engaged with on your trip?
Special people... Ester Salinas, the de facto lead organizer of a cancer-struck community in Mission, Texas, is one of those people. There have been many, many more amazing people with whom I’ve been exceedingly fortunate to cross paths. I can’t say that it’s fair to pick and choose. Read the blog. You can do the picking and choosing for me.
How do you come into contact with these people? Do you know them beforehand? Do you call them ahead of time?
I started off by cruising through the Internet, looking for potential conversation partners. That was somewhat ineffective. The project truly blossomed when I was able to connect with established and experienced activist leaders at a conference in Houston, Texas. People there connected me with others down the line, and I’ve been operating off of that spawn of networks since.
I didn’t know anybody in Texas before this trip started. I’m constantly calling people, setting up conversations in the next town down the road. Some blow me off without so much as a returned phone call, while others quickly shuffle me in and out of their offices and don’t really take what I’m doing seriously. The generous treat me to lunch or invite me into their homes to sleep for the night. I never know what to expect.
What will you do when you've finished your trip and your book? Will you do a book tour on your bike?
When I finish the book, I imagine that there will be a tour component to this, yes, but I'm not sure if I'll be making it by bike. One thing at a time.
In the long term, I hope to replicate this project in different border communities. In other words, I hope to work with a university to get students down to the border and spend a summer talking with people and creating documentaries or something of the like. I want my (and I only take possession loosely, as this is truly a community effort) work to continue. We need to understand what's happening along the border and why.
I imagine that I'll eventually end up in one of these communities in a more lasting, committed way. I want to be one of the people making waves in a community. You have to stay in one long enough to do so.
Will you do this again?
I don't know yet. It's enough work just to get through it once.
Not that chemical company. The case has already gone through. There's another case against another few companies that Missionaries have been working on for the last seven years. That whole place is a mess. It's disgusting. The chemical companies are trying to weasel their way out of their responsibility, citing that residents can actually prove that their birth defects, spina bifida, brain cysts, physical deformities and cancers are products of chemical contamination.
How old is Ester? How long has she lived there in Mission, Texas? What's her last name?
Ester Salinas has lived in Mission for all her life. She's... older. Like she should be my mother. That's the diplomatic way of skirting the issue.
Who are the most special people you've engaged with on your trip?
Special people... Ester Salinas, the de facto lead organizer of a cancer-struck community in Mission, Texas, is one of those people. There have been many, many more amazing people with whom I’ve been exceedingly fortunate to cross paths. I can’t say that it’s fair to pick and choose. Read the blog. You can do the picking and choosing for me.
How do you come into contact with these people? Do you know them beforehand? Do you call them ahead of time?
I started off by cruising through the Internet, looking for potential conversation partners. That was somewhat ineffective. The project truly blossomed when I was able to connect with established and experienced activist leaders at a conference in Houston, Texas. People there connected me with others down the line, and I’ve been operating off of that spawn of networks since.
I didn’t know anybody in Texas before this trip started. I’m constantly calling people, setting up conversations in the next town down the road. Some blow me off without so much as a returned phone call, while others quickly shuffle me in and out of their offices and don’t really take what I’m doing seriously. The generous treat me to lunch or invite me into their homes to sleep for the night. I never know what to expect.
What will you do when you've finished your trip and your book? Will you do a book tour on your bike?
When I finish the book, I imagine that there will be a tour component to this, yes, but I'm not sure if I'll be making it by bike. One thing at a time.
In the long term, I hope to replicate this project in different border communities. In other words, I hope to work with a university to get students down to the border and spend a summer talking with people and creating documentaries or something of the like. I want my (and I only take possession loosely, as this is truly a community effort) work to continue. We need to understand what's happening along the border and why.
I imagine that I'll eventually end up in one of these communities in a more lasting, committed way. I want to be one of the people making waves in a community. You have to stay in one long enough to do so.
Will you do this again?
I don't know yet. It's enough work just to get through it once.
FAQ: entertainment, contact, parents, blogging
What sort of things do you do to help pass the time on your bike? Do you have a radio?
I just finished cycling through the southern cone of Texas. The area is made up of a bunch of small towns, one next to the other. Most of my time on the bike is in transit from town to town, so I'm riding for two to four hours a day. I don't need much entertainment. Every once in a while, I listen to the conversations that I've recorded on my MP3 player. Consider it studying on the fly.
I make a conscious effort to be present wherever I am. I pay attention to the changes around me: the cityscape, the highway, the flora, the fauna, that sort of thing. I meet a lot of people as I go, and I spend a lot of time at fruit stands and garage sales. This is all to say that, no matter where my cycling venture takes me, I’m always connected with somebody or something.
Are you in touch with the outside world other than through your blog?
I have a cell phone, and I use it often. I call my parents every night to let them know where I'm sleeping. I normally make a slew of calls each day to set up the next meeting in the next town. When I’m really lucky, I find a library and send out a few emails, read up on current events and track down more contact information.
About your parents: what do they think of the trip?
My parents are concerned, to say the least. They would tell you that they are fully supportive of the project but don’t like the method of transportation. I see the two as one and the same, but they don’t really care for that argument. My parents know first-hand how dangerous the border can be, and that’s to say nothing about the border on a bicycle. If I didn’t call them every night, I don’t know if they’d ever be able to sleep.
Why blog?
The blog is to help everyone else sleep at night. Or put them to sleep. It all depends on your perspective, I guess.
The blog is to share this experience as I go—to allow you to play along from home. The border is dynamic. From one day to the next, border towns change. Communities make news. By writing about my experiences as I go, I’ll also be able to track back and update you on what is happening with particular people in particular places. You’ll be able to see the border change through people and their continued stories.
Why did you start a second blog (The Bordered Mind)?
I started a new blog because of issues with voice. Blandly stated, I figure that there are two ways to be critical: one, intrinsically within the more literary, travelogue text on voluntour1951 and two, more overtly and directly in an argumentative forum. For a while I was trying to blend the two into one blog. The mish-mash of tones led to some real problems in story telling and analysis, so I made it easier for future readers and myself. Voluntour 1951 recounts mainly my reflections, while The Bordered Mind will one day become a collaborative base for discussion.
On a side note, I set up a photo gallery on the Voluntour 1951 site as well. The gallery is primarily a forum for playful, at times meaningful anecdotes about cycling, camping, etc. Stuff that goes about on the periphery of my more formal interactions. It’s worth a read.
I just finished cycling through the southern cone of Texas. The area is made up of a bunch of small towns, one next to the other. Most of my time on the bike is in transit from town to town, so I'm riding for two to four hours a day. I don't need much entertainment. Every once in a while, I listen to the conversations that I've recorded on my MP3 player. Consider it studying on the fly.
I make a conscious effort to be present wherever I am. I pay attention to the changes around me: the cityscape, the highway, the flora, the fauna, that sort of thing. I meet a lot of people as I go, and I spend a lot of time at fruit stands and garage sales. This is all to say that, no matter where my cycling venture takes me, I’m always connected with somebody or something.
Are you in touch with the outside world other than through your blog?
I have a cell phone, and I use it often. I call my parents every night to let them know where I'm sleeping. I normally make a slew of calls each day to set up the next meeting in the next town. When I’m really lucky, I find a library and send out a few emails, read up on current events and track down more contact information.
About your parents: what do they think of the trip?
My parents are concerned, to say the least. They would tell you that they are fully supportive of the project but don’t like the method of transportation. I see the two as one and the same, but they don’t really care for that argument. My parents know first-hand how dangerous the border can be, and that’s to say nothing about the border on a bicycle. If I didn’t call them every night, I don’t know if they’d ever be able to sleep.
Why blog?
The blog is to help everyone else sleep at night. Or put them to sleep. It all depends on your perspective, I guess.
The blog is to share this experience as I go—to allow you to play along from home. The border is dynamic. From one day to the next, border towns change. Communities make news. By writing about my experiences as I go, I’ll also be able to track back and update you on what is happening with particular people in particular places. You’ll be able to see the border change through people and their continued stories.
Why did you start a second blog (The Bordered Mind)?
I started a new blog because of issues with voice. Blandly stated, I figure that there are two ways to be critical: one, intrinsically within the more literary, travelogue text on voluntour1951 and two, more overtly and directly in an argumentative forum. For a while I was trying to blend the two into one blog. The mish-mash of tones led to some real problems in story telling and analysis, so I made it easier for future readers and myself. Voluntour 1951 recounts mainly my reflections, while The Bordered Mind will one day become a collaborative base for discussion.
On a side note, I set up a photo gallery on the Voluntour 1951 site as well. The gallery is primarily a forum for playful, at times meaningful anecdotes about cycling, camping, etc. Stuff that goes about on the periphery of my more formal interactions. It’s worth a read.
FAQ: timeline, day in the life, difficulties
I understand that you mapped your route. Which city was your first stop, and when did you get there? Which city is your last stop? When do you think you'll be arriving there?
My first stop was Brownsville, Texas, as far east as you can go on the border. I arrived there after 450 miles and five days of cycling from Houston, Texas, where I attended a conference. This was around mid-October. My last stop will be in San Ysidro, California—as far west as you can go. Initially I thought that the project would take three or four months. Then I thought that I’d be done by summer. Now I imagine that I'll probably go through 2006, all pending opportunity and circumstance. My plans are but approximations, and they’re usually poor approximations at that.
Do you travel back and forth between the United States and Mexico? Do you go to both sides of the line?
I do travel back and forth, yes, although my cycling is fairly limited to the United States side. The roads are better, the right-of-ways are wider (in some cases exist) and I’m a U.S. citizen. If anything were to happen—say, were I to get smushed by big rig—then medical care would be all that much easier to facilitate. On top of that, I’m soon to cycle through the Nuevo Leon area of Mexico. Amidst warring cartels and heightened violence, that is not a place that I ever want to ride a bicycle through. For me, it’s consistently safer to cycle across the northern side.
When I cross over into Mexico, I usually walk over or am with a guide or chaperone. It follows that the kinds of interactions I share there are understandably different. Many times, they are actually more intimate. In the company of knowledgeable and experienced partner, I walk into established, often profound relationships. I might be a fly on the wall at times, but I am certainly very much privileged in that position.
How often do you go to Mexico?
For every four days in the U.S., I spend a day in Mexico. Something like that.
Will it still be just you and the bike all the way to San Diego?
Unless you want to come aboard! I should have some buddies joining me on weekends along the way, but yes, this is primarily a solo trip.
How many days have you been riding?
Six weeks.
Did you drop a lot of weight on this trip? What did you weigh at the beginning? How much do you weigh now? How tall are you?
Gettin' personal now, aren’t we? I probably weigh about one thirty-five, one-forty right now. I dropped ten to fifteen pounds in the first five days and have more or less leveled out since. I'm five-six and change.
You picked a hard road. Rather than getting a job, you've gotten on a bicycle and planned to write a book. Do you ever have days where you wish you were working in an office? Probably not, but what else had you thought about doing before you planned your tour?
I thought about building a museum/community center in a rural Mestizo village in Mexico and volunteering as a human rights observer in Guatemala. Like I said, those plans fell through.
I'll never be one to work in an office. My work is outside and in the community. I'd go crazy in an office.
What is a typical day in your life like?
After cycling twenty miles, I start my day off with a prearranged meeting with whomever. Seeing that I've just ridden on a bicycle for two hours just to speak with him, that person most often is very generous with his time, advice and knowledge. I continue on and stop for lunch, clad in my spandex and jersey. People ask me about what I'm doing, and there's another opportunity for a conversation. Often people are as excited to talk with me as I am with them. I take a rest in the evening. Someone earlier that day, knowing that my traveling home is no more than a tent, offers me a place to stay for the evening. I'm invited into some one's home, to see literally from the inside how border community works. I go to sleep in a bed or on a couch, thankful for what I have and wake up again for the next day. And so on.
What has been the most difficult part of your trip thus far?
Traveling from organization to organization, house to house, I see the best and worst of what the border has to offer. One day I’m sitting in the executive office of a university president; the next I’m eating fruit with an impoverished family in the colonias. Day to day, my interactions are often completely different—consistently inspiring, but different. There are a lot of emotional high and lows that go along with that.
There have been additional challenges. Initially, I had no idea what I was learning. I was moving from house to house, city to city in a fury, without ever really having time to process the experiences. I got homesick. I missed my family and my friends. I was constantly connected and in contact with them, but the lack of proximity was, at times, challenging, and I'm sure that it will be so the next time 'round. On the whole, these are just demands to which you respond. They're not crippling. The project itself is continually motivating. Like I indicated before, I have enough difficulty sitting down.
My first stop was Brownsville, Texas, as far east as you can go on the border. I arrived there after 450 miles and five days of cycling from Houston, Texas, where I attended a conference. This was around mid-October. My last stop will be in San Ysidro, California—as far west as you can go. Initially I thought that the project would take three or four months. Then I thought that I’d be done by summer. Now I imagine that I'll probably go through 2006, all pending opportunity and circumstance. My plans are but approximations, and they’re usually poor approximations at that.
Do you travel back and forth between the United States and Mexico? Do you go to both sides of the line?
I do travel back and forth, yes, although my cycling is fairly limited to the United States side. The roads are better, the right-of-ways are wider (in some cases exist) and I’m a U.S. citizen. If anything were to happen—say, were I to get smushed by big rig—then medical care would be all that much easier to facilitate. On top of that, I’m soon to cycle through the Nuevo Leon area of Mexico. Amidst warring cartels and heightened violence, that is not a place that I ever want to ride a bicycle through. For me, it’s consistently safer to cycle across the northern side.
When I cross over into Mexico, I usually walk over or am with a guide or chaperone. It follows that the kinds of interactions I share there are understandably different. Many times, they are actually more intimate. In the company of knowledgeable and experienced partner, I walk into established, often profound relationships. I might be a fly on the wall at times, but I am certainly very much privileged in that position.
How often do you go to Mexico?
For every four days in the U.S., I spend a day in Mexico. Something like that.
Will it still be just you and the bike all the way to San Diego?
Unless you want to come aboard! I should have some buddies joining me on weekends along the way, but yes, this is primarily a solo trip.
How many days have you been riding?
Six weeks.
Did you drop a lot of weight on this trip? What did you weigh at the beginning? How much do you weigh now? How tall are you?
Gettin' personal now, aren’t we? I probably weigh about one thirty-five, one-forty right now. I dropped ten to fifteen pounds in the first five days and have more or less leveled out since. I'm five-six and change.
You picked a hard road. Rather than getting a job, you've gotten on a bicycle and planned to write a book. Do you ever have days where you wish you were working in an office? Probably not, but what else had you thought about doing before you planned your tour?
I thought about building a museum/community center in a rural Mestizo village in Mexico and volunteering as a human rights observer in Guatemala. Like I said, those plans fell through.
I'll never be one to work in an office. My work is outside and in the community. I'd go crazy in an office.
What is a typical day in your life like?
After cycling twenty miles, I start my day off with a prearranged meeting with whomever. Seeing that I've just ridden on a bicycle for two hours just to speak with him, that person most often is very generous with his time, advice and knowledge. I continue on and stop for lunch, clad in my spandex and jersey. People ask me about what I'm doing, and there's another opportunity for a conversation. Often people are as excited to talk with me as I am with them. I take a rest in the evening. Someone earlier that day, knowing that my traveling home is no more than a tent, offers me a place to stay for the evening. I'm invited into some one's home, to see literally from the inside how border community works. I go to sleep in a bed or on a couch, thankful for what I have and wake up again for the next day. And so on.
What has been the most difficult part of your trip thus far?
Traveling from organization to organization, house to house, I see the best and worst of what the border has to offer. One day I’m sitting in the executive office of a university president; the next I’m eating fruit with an impoverished family in the colonias. Day to day, my interactions are often completely different—consistently inspiring, but different. There are a lot of emotional high and lows that go along with that.
There have been additional challenges. Initially, I had no idea what I was learning. I was moving from house to house, city to city in a fury, without ever really having time to process the experiences. I got homesick. I missed my family and my friends. I was constantly connected and in contact with them, but the lack of proximity was, at times, challenging, and I'm sure that it will be so the next time 'round. On the whole, these are just demands to which you respond. They're not crippling. The project itself is continually motivating. Like I indicated before, I have enough difficulty sitting down.
FAQ: bike, cycling and gear
Why the bike? Why not go by car or bus?
The alone part is easy enough to answer. Not many people have the time or lack of responsibility to join me in this effort. They have such crazy things in their lives as jobs, girlfriends and debt.
As for the bike, my response goes something like this: cycling offers me a unique, very intimate perspective of the border and its peoples. On the bike, I come into contact with all kinds of people—truck drivers, fruit standers, people shopping, people eating, etc.—and I see all kinds of things—maquila factories, cultural centers, frantic wildlife, etc. This is a back road adventure. I creep through towns and communities, absorbing their ethos as best I can. In one way, I'm so vulnerable on my bike, alone. In another, my personal barriers are so much more… permeable. I need help at times. I need contact: people to spend time with, friends, family. Touring demands that I open up depend a lot more on community.
Travels by car and bus don’t allow you the same access. Cars and buses make it easier to arrive at point A from point B. Often the middle destinations of Aa, Ab and Ac, for example, are sidetracks, detours, not destinations in and of themselves. There are things to see and people to talk with along the way. Sometime actually arriving at particular destination doesn’t matter so much as the process in getting there.
Did you know much about cycling before?
Nope. The longest I had ever ridden a bike was the plus or minus five miles around Tempe Town Lake, and even then I think I remember stopping early. In a former life, however, I was an athlete. I had no doubt that my body could hold up to the physical rigors of cycling across the country. Nor did I doubt that I could learn all that I needed to know about diet, repair and other cycling odds and ends along the way.
What kind of bike are you riding?
A red Diamondback Outlook mountain bike. This is bike number two. Bike number one (a 1995 GT Zaskar--the best on the market ten years ago) was stolen the very first night of the trip. At a rest stop eighty-five miles south of Austin, I locked my bike to a barbwire fence while I slept about thirty yards away. Someone snipped the fence, took the bike and left me out in the middle of nowhere. I ended up hitching a ride back to town and later to Austin, where I spent the next week refurbishing a donated bike at a local nonprofit called the Yellow Bike Project. I bought the bike and parts for sixty bucks. The Dudley Docker II (and you can read more about the story on the blog) is a tank.
How often do you have a flat tire?
Too often. Little vampire nails keep on attacking me, as do road trolls and ravenous pack of wild mosquitoes.
What do you bring with you? What objects have you picked up, and do they have any special meaning?
I brought with me only the basic gear that I need to live and do this work. In my handlebar bag, I carry my food, some small camping gear (like a flashlight and pocket knife) and my electronic gear (digital recorder, digital camera, cell phone). In my rear pannier (saddlebag), I have a sleeping bag, a one-person tent, some more camping gear, bicycle repair equipment, a hydration bladder and two changes of clothes—warm weather and cold weather. All told, my bike and gear weighs about seventy pounds.
I’ve picked up a couple of t-shirts, a “Safety First” bracelet, road rash and experience. I wear them all wear them all proudly.
The alone part is easy enough to answer. Not many people have the time or lack of responsibility to join me in this effort. They have such crazy things in their lives as jobs, girlfriends and debt.
As for the bike, my response goes something like this: cycling offers me a unique, very intimate perspective of the border and its peoples. On the bike, I come into contact with all kinds of people—truck drivers, fruit standers, people shopping, people eating, etc.—and I see all kinds of things—maquila factories, cultural centers, frantic wildlife, etc. This is a back road adventure. I creep through towns and communities, absorbing their ethos as best I can. In one way, I'm so vulnerable on my bike, alone. In another, my personal barriers are so much more… permeable. I need help at times. I need contact: people to spend time with, friends, family. Touring demands that I open up depend a lot more on community.
Travels by car and bus don’t allow you the same access. Cars and buses make it easier to arrive at point A from point B. Often the middle destinations of Aa, Ab and Ac, for example, are sidetracks, detours, not destinations in and of themselves. There are things to see and people to talk with along the way. Sometime actually arriving at particular destination doesn’t matter so much as the process in getting there.
Did you know much about cycling before?
Nope. The longest I had ever ridden a bike was the plus or minus five miles around Tempe Town Lake, and even then I think I remember stopping early. In a former life, however, I was an athlete. I had no doubt that my body could hold up to the physical rigors of cycling across the country. Nor did I doubt that I could learn all that I needed to know about diet, repair and other cycling odds and ends along the way.
What kind of bike are you riding?
A red Diamondback Outlook mountain bike. This is bike number two. Bike number one (a 1995 GT Zaskar--the best on the market ten years ago) was stolen the very first night of the trip. At a rest stop eighty-five miles south of Austin, I locked my bike to a barbwire fence while I slept about thirty yards away. Someone snipped the fence, took the bike and left me out in the middle of nowhere. I ended up hitching a ride back to town and later to Austin, where I spent the next week refurbishing a donated bike at a local nonprofit called the Yellow Bike Project. I bought the bike and parts for sixty bucks. The Dudley Docker II (and you can read more about the story on the blog) is a tank.
How often do you have a flat tire?
Too often. Little vampire nails keep on attacking me, as do road trolls and ravenous pack of wild mosquitoes.
What do you bring with you? What objects have you picked up, and do they have any special meaning?
I brought with me only the basic gear that I need to live and do this work. In my handlebar bag, I carry my food, some small camping gear (like a flashlight and pocket knife) and my electronic gear (digital recorder, digital camera, cell phone). In my rear pannier (saddlebag), I have a sleeping bag, a one-person tent, some more camping gear, bicycle repair equipment, a hydration bladder and two changes of clothes—warm weather and cold weather. All told, my bike and gear weighs about seventy pounds.
I’ve picked up a couple of t-shirts, a “Safety First” bracelet, road rash and experience. I wear them all wear them all proudly.
FAQ: background, motivations, title, border
The following is a liberally modified version of my correspondence with Emily Gersema, a reporter with the East Valley Tribune, and Elizabeth Massey, Managing Editor of ASU Magazine. Date this to early January, 2006.
Preface. I am riding a bicycle along the border, talking with people about the kinds of changes they want to see in their communities and what they're doing to bring about those changes. I'm recording these conversations for a future book. The book will be a literary/ethnographic hybrid, drawing upon not only the narrative I have to offer but also the perspectives, word for word, of the people who live along the border. I hope to better understand the many and complex issues within their communities, while my end-goal is to share that understanding and those border voices with a wider, cross-cultural audience.
Draw yourself a warm pot of coffee, and happy reading.
Where are you from originally and where did you grow up?
I am from and grew up in Chandler, Arizona. I went to Mesa Dobson High School and just graduated in May from Arizona State University with degrees in Spanish and Religious Studies.
How old are you?
24 in February.
How did this project come about? What are your motivations?
After graduating from ASU, I had a couple of plans for post-grad volunteer work. Both, more or less, fell through. Thus I decided to spend the summer visiting family and friends, and on one of those ventures I made my way up to Cheyenne, Wyoming to see a college buddy. I ended up living there for a little over two months. I had a place to live, a new girlfriend and a job, working in the camping section of an outlet store. At that job, I met a twenty one year old who was cycling across the county and, within days, I decided to take up a similar project.
The initial motivation behind this project was more or less adventure. A cycling journey: I could think of few things more exciting.
What is “Voluntour 1951”?
Three parts: “Volun-”, “-tour” and “1951”. Initially, I planned to spend three to four months on the road volunteering from place to place. The project has shifted into more of a talking expedition or, literally, tour by bicycle. That tour travels along the 1,951 miles of the U.S.-Mexico border.
Why the border?
Two reasons:
I have family from both sides of the line, in Nogales, Arizona and Nogales, Sonora. The border was a place (although now I understand it to be much more) with which I was only generally familiar. I wrote a couple papers on border issues in school, and I made the yearly trips to Nogales to visit family. I wanted to understand both the border and, in a way, my family better.
Along with wars in Iraq, on terrorism and on drugs, the “border war” is one of the most politically sensitive and demanding issues right now. The kinds of concerns that you see along the border—community health, undocumented immigration, education, welfare, etc.—appear throughout the entire country in very specific although related ways. A tour of the border is a glimpse into the nation as a whole. Who wouldn’t benefit from such a perspective?
Preface. I am riding a bicycle along the border, talking with people about the kinds of changes they want to see in their communities and what they're doing to bring about those changes. I'm recording these conversations for a future book. The book will be a literary/ethnographic hybrid, drawing upon not only the narrative I have to offer but also the perspectives, word for word, of the people who live along the border. I hope to better understand the many and complex issues within their communities, while my end-goal is to share that understanding and those border voices with a wider, cross-cultural audience.
Draw yourself a warm pot of coffee, and happy reading.
Where are you from originally and where did you grow up?
I am from and grew up in Chandler, Arizona. I went to Mesa Dobson High School and just graduated in May from Arizona State University with degrees in Spanish and Religious Studies.
How old are you?
24 in February.
How did this project come about? What are your motivations?
After graduating from ASU, I had a couple of plans for post-grad volunteer work. Both, more or less, fell through. Thus I decided to spend the summer visiting family and friends, and on one of those ventures I made my way up to Cheyenne, Wyoming to see a college buddy. I ended up living there for a little over two months. I had a place to live, a new girlfriend and a job, working in the camping section of an outlet store. At that job, I met a twenty one year old who was cycling across the county and, within days, I decided to take up a similar project.
The initial motivation behind this project was more or less adventure. A cycling journey: I could think of few things more exciting.
What is “Voluntour 1951”?
Three parts: “Volun-”, “-tour” and “1951”. Initially, I planned to spend three to four months on the road volunteering from place to place. The project has shifted into more of a talking expedition or, literally, tour by bicycle. That tour travels along the 1,951 miles of the U.S.-Mexico border.
Why the border?
Two reasons:
I have family from both sides of the line, in Nogales, Arizona and Nogales, Sonora. The border was a place (although now I understand it to be much more) with which I was only generally familiar. I wrote a couple papers on border issues in school, and I made the yearly trips to Nogales to visit family. I wanted to understand both the border and, in a way, my family better.
Along with wars in Iraq, on terrorism and on drugs, the “border war” is one of the most politically sensitive and demanding issues right now. The kinds of concerns that you see along the border—community health, undocumented immigration, education, welfare, etc.—appear throughout the entire country in very specific although related ways. A tour of the border is a glimpse into the nation as a whole. Who wouldn’t benefit from such a perspective?
Friday, January 13, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Burning trash?
The ground is literally on fire. The maquilas have illegally dumped so many waste products (biologically-hazardous chemicals) that they spontaneously combust underneath the topsoil. The municipal government says that pepenadores are starting trash on fire. They must be burning a lot of waste then, because there's been a cloud of smoke over the landfill for over ten years. The cloud hasn't gone away.
Matamoros: mud saturated with chemicals (or is it vice-versa?)
mud saturated w/chemicals (or is it vice-versa?)
Sunday, January 08, 2006
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