I head back west after leaving New Orleans. Back into Texas
after crossing the northern stretch a week earlier. The road is flat and passes
the swamplands of Louisiana, the dirty Gulf of Mexico, traffic through Houston and
finally into Austin in time for a Saturday night on 6th street.
Austin calls itself the ‘live music capital of the world’ so the main drag is
quite alive the night I arrive. I listen to a great local band for a few hours,
the kind where the guitarist plays with his teeth and have a strong local following.
I meet some guys who get me into a sweaty nightclub, the kind I haven’t been to
in a while but G would be proud of.
I stayed with Sharon and her daughters whilst
in Austin, an interesting woman who has been hosting international students and
travelers for years in a great house in the hills surrounded by trees, modern mansions and
manicured lawns above the city. It was a relaxing time to recharge while Sixto
got his 6,000 mile service. I spent a few days chilling in the backyard with their
border collie, eating fresh eggs from
the chicken coop, spotting the roaming deer, visiting the bat colony, walking
along the lake, cruising the city streets and an afternoon at a history museum. The
city left a great impression on me, great size and climate, an energetic atmosphere
and a beautiful dammed river the runs through the centre.
I’m lucky enough to
briefly meet Wade, from southern NSW when dropping my bike off for a service
who had just completed a ride with his mate from Alaska to Antarctica and he
passes me the details of Hank who he recommends I get in touch with because of
his knowledge of riding throughout Mexico. After a quick email I find myself riding down to a
small oil mining town in southern Texas where Hank runs his BMW motorbike
workshop. It turned out to be a wise decision.
Salt Lick BBQ: I stop off here on the way down for an all you can eat buffet. We claim to be BBQ kings back home but these Texans do it well in this setting with tables and tables of people throwing endless brisket, pork sausage and pork ribs covered in barbecue sauce in their mouth. Enough to make me lay down in the sun before getting back on the bike.
Along with being a very
friendly and helpful guy, Hank has a real passion for BMW motorcycling and is an adventure
riding guru with a wealth of experience and recommendations on riding through
Latin America. He offers me his couch for the night and we sit around maps and
photos and put together a 'must see' itinerary of Mexico and beyond. I planned to
cross the border the following day but the daunting radar weather forecast puts
it off for a day so instead I hang out at the workshop and meet a few guys
getting their bike serviced and feel a little underprepared and casual about
my bike, gear and accessories for the remainder of my journey. Hank, what a
bloke, offers me an old GPS he has at the shop along with a mesh riding jacket
as he warned my leather jacket will be unusable with the tropical climate
ahead.
I take off for Mexico eventually, but after 6,200 smooth and
uninterrupted miles in the U.S. I’m pulled over by the police 16 miles from the
border. Officer Lopez lets me off with a warning for lingering too long in
the left highway lane without passing, though he seems more interested in
trying to catch me out with an Australian license, Italian passport and a U.S. registered vehicle with a vague story of where I'm heading and is a real pain in the ass when we do a full bag search. More so,
he tries to convince me that going into Mexico is a bad decision. I’ve grown
exhausted from this kind of reaction in the last few weeks when I tell people
I’m heading to Mexico. Everyone seems to have a feared opinion on traveling
through Mexico, as if drug cartel violence targets foreigners and makes an
entire country unsafe to be in. The U.S. state department website also incites
this fear to travel. I prefer to settle on the experiences of those
I’ve meet who have travelled through by bike who all speak highly and safely of it, with the warning that the only ‘banditos’ I'll be confronted with are the police.
