I spent my first night in Mexico in a hooker hotel. I was one of only a few quests not paying for his bed by the hour. While I didn’t know this until the following morning, El Conquistador Gentlemen’s Club, directly across the street from my hotel and visible from my room window, should have given me some indication that I wasn’t amongst the prudish or celibate. Additionally, all manner of meds available in the States only by prescription could be had at any one of the many pharmacies outnumbered only by bars and nightclubs. Viagra, natch, being the most popular and boldly advertised – ten bucks for the real deal or just five for the generic. What!? Since when was this magic available in generic!? But, I digress…
Welcome to Ensenada. If Baja California is a gringo playground, Ensenada serves as its southernmost outpost. Here dollars are accepted as readily as pesos, English is commonplace, reservations are verboten, and inhibitions are abandoned. Ensenada appears on the cruise-ship circuit. This cursed blessing brings boatloads of money into the local economy but irreparably alters its identity and authenticity. The cruise-shippers, for their part, get to return home to their cul-de-sacs duped into believing they actually visited a foreign country and meet the natives.
I happened into Ensenada between two cruise-ship visits and missed them both. The town was relatively quiet and peaceful, the bars empty, and hotel rooms, hookers and johns notwithstanding, mostly vacant.
“Too bad for you,” Rudy the bartender told me. “We got ones come in Thursday… thousands of peoples.”
“Thousands huh? Ahh” I replied. “Not my scene at all buddy.” I’m riding a motorcycle solo across six countries; crowds clearly ain’t my thing. Besides, I’ve got to get movin’ and don’t care to wait around on cruise-shippers.
“You like this scene.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Lots of young womens from L.A., thousands on two ships. They come here to get drunk, party, have good times. Walk around with they tatas out.”
I left San Diego this morning for Mexico. I was as prepared as I could be given how unprepared I truly was and could see no reason to delay this trip any longer.
International Border 2 Miles reads the sign overhanging Interstate 5, “The Five” in Californianese, just south of San Diego. This imaginary line with very real consequences is so much more than a geographic division. It is a separation of peoples, cultures, economies, systems of law, experiences, and expectations.
Rolling into Mexico is effortless. Traffic is funneled into two lanes and forced to slow as it flows around a few barricades and passed a handful of Mexican officials. I was never questioned, searched, or even stopped.
Getting out of Mexico couldn’t be more different. On the other side of the road, behind an impenetrable barricade, four lanes of cars slowly inch their way north. US Border Patrol and Customs agents scrutinize each car passing into the States with an array of equipment, man power, and dogs. Mexico doesn’t seem to care what comes in; the US is obsessed with what comes out.
Having visited Tijuana twice before, I was more than happy to skip the T-shirt shops, begging children, and titty bars and head straight for Ensenada – if only. TJ’s tangle of poorly marked streets and avenues coupled with an incomplete roadmap proved and immediate hurdle. After an hour of literally riding in circles I found it – Mexico 1, the road to Ensenada. Soon, the lights, traffic, and buildings fell away. A large sign thanked me for visiting Tijuana. I let out the clutch, rolled on the throttle, and rocketed free and easy down el camino. The trip has begun.
My name is Jim Abraham, and I’ll be chronicling on this site a 5000+ mile solo motorcycle ride from San Diego to the Panama Canal. I’ll be riding my 2000 Triumph Legend TT – a 900cc bike built by Triumph as an “entry level” sport cruiser – a “starter” bike.
I’ve ridden it over 30,000 miles past being a “starter” rider and learned a few years ago on a cross-country ride that it is by no means a cross-country bike. I’ll be taking it across 6 countries.
I’m currently in San Diego at a youth hostel where I’m making some final and much needed preparations and wondering how it is that I’ve been so unprepared up to this point. I can’t even say that I’m ill-prepared; that would at least be something, but I’ve done so little in advance of this trip. I’m questioning how smart it is to even be setting out. Not that I won’t, of course - just questioning how smart it is.
The youth hostel sits at the corner of Market Str. and Fifth Ave. in the Gaslamp Quarter. It rises just three stories but seems to encompass the entire block. The rooms hide themselves in curious hallways that follow no discernible or predictable pattern. I’ve been here for two days now and seem to arrive at room #214 a new way each time I return. A crazy array of paints cover the walls in bright sections without any thought to theme or cohesion. It’s as if the painter took whatever was available and brushed until his can ran dry then opened a fresh gallon and began a new color. I love it.
Nearly 1:00 am here on the Left coast. Time for a Guinness.
Death by Misadventure is getting a guest author! He’s got some great writing, and I’m really excited to welcome Jim A. to the site.
I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so I’ll let Jim introduce himself. I will say however, that he’s got some misadventures planned that you’ll want to stay tuned for!
A few weeks ago, I witnessed my buddy Chad attempt to take on two “Triple Atomic Challenges,” back to back, at a Quaker Steak and Lube. These wings are so hot that you have to sign a waiver just to order them, and eating an entire order of 5 gets your name on the wall. We bet Chad $50 that he couldn’t eat 10, with nothing to drink but Bud Light.
For some background, these wings are made with ghost chilis and measure 500,000 Scoville units [wikipedia] of heat. For comparison, A jalapeño pepper measures 2,000-8,000 Scovilles. Triple Atomic wings are seriously hot.
Rather than spoil the whole thing, an edited video of his attempt can be seen here. Trust me, it’s well worth the 11 minutes to watch the whole thing.