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.
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