The day dawned overcast and gloomy, much like my mood about heading out for Texas. There was a genuine sadness in leaving, a bit deeper than just a returning to the reality of life.
I double checked the room before suiting up and clumping down the stairs in my boots, finally remembering to duck the concrete beam that sits in the dark just outside my room and 4 inches lower than the door.
I laid the key at the front desk along with a “muchas gracias amigo” to the attendant who wore a big smile. I’d woken up early in anticipation and had loaded the bike, which now sat idling to warm up enough to avoid a stall on the steep streets. I rolled off the curb and down before heading back uphill and around the corner for a quick coffee.
One of the three Norteño’s I’d seen the day before, an American lady from Australia, was having a coffee and waiting for the couple who were traveling with her to arrive for breakfast. We spoke about the town and their previous day's hike, shortened by the man’s back condition and then I understood why they hadn’t ridden the horses. They were still excited to try to hike to the Quemado however.
After pleasantries and finishing my cup of café de olla, I wished her well and headed out on the street to finalize the bike before getting on the road. The skies were still gloomy as I put my ear buds in and readied my road music on my phone. Down the street I saw the American couple entering the cafe to meet their friend. They saw me and waved, then the man's wife ran up and began speaking to me. I pulled the earplugs back out so that I could hear. She wished me well and safe travels, which I appreciated. I told her maybe we’d all see each other again on the road. With a big “Adios” she ran back down to the cafe.
I put the earbuds back in and lifted the helmet to put it on, carefully starting to slide it down so as not pull out the plugs, when I heard the sound of a bongo drum behind me. Turning, I saw a young guy smiling and playing the drum with his finger tips. I pulled my helmet off and the earplugs out again so that I could hear him speaking to me. It was Guillaume, the guy from Switzerland I’d met the day before on the street. Guillaume spoke excellent English with a French accent, having grown up Geneva.
He was asking if I was leaving Real for good and heading for Texas again. When I answered yes, he asked which border crossing was best. Though I was heading for Laredo, I suggested either Piedras Negras or Del Rio as having less traffic. He laughed and said he’d crossed into Mexico at Piedras Negras, but the next time wanted to enter Texas through Del Rio, “because”, he said, “Del Rio is actually my last name. My mother is Spanish.”
I told him "Guillaume Del Rio" sounded like a name from a movie to which he laughed out loud. I wished him well in his travels and he shook my hand, then continued down the street with his cryptic bongo beat.
Again I carefully put my earplugs in and this time slid my helmet on without managing to pull them out. As I buckled the strap and started to climb on, I saw motion to my right. I turned to see the man whose wife had just wished me safe journeys a few moments earlier. He was waving at me and saying something. Once again I pulled the helmet off and the ear plugs out so that I could hear. His name was Joe, and he said they’d started breakfast and were talking about me being a kindred travel spirit and wanted to stay in touch. He wanted to exchange info so we both looked for a pen and a scrap of paper. They lived in Chico, California part of the year and on a small lake in Mexico the rest of the time. He invited me to come visit and then talked about the area where they lived near the Pacific, motorcycles, his back injury and much more. He shook my hand and then headed back for the cafe.
My “hit the road time” of 9 am had slipped away and it was 10 before I finally got my earbuds and helmet on for the final time. I zipped up and closed the jacket vents, turned on my music and fired up the bike. Slowly and carefully I turned the bike around on the rough streets and then slowly idled down the main one, taking in the last look. The caballeros who stand on the corners watched as I rode by, Guillaume and a couple of friends on the sidewalk waved as I ducked under an overhead tarp and past folks sitting at tables eating food from the street vendors. As I accelerated and turned up the steep street past the plaza, I saw Jemma and Maria outside Simone Ferrari’s shop waving to me but I was unable to take my hand off the bars and respond.
I rode much more slowly than usual on my way to the tunnel, as I wanted to absorb the last remnants of this trip. When I arrived at the tunnel entrance, the attendant motioned for me to stop and wait - which meant the vehicles were coming from the other end.
As I sat and waited, a break in the clouds came and so did the heat of wearing riding gear in full sun. I got off the bike and shot a few photos while I waited, watching the people who were watching me and the bike.
After what seemed an eternity I saw pinpoint lights moving in the tunnel signaling the beginning of the end of my wait, though it was a long time before all the cars, pickups and a bus finally rumbled out into the dusty parking area.
The guard waved and I hurriedly threw on my gloves, fired up the bike and rolled into the tunnel making sure I didn't have to ride behind any of the waiting trucks for the two mile trip. There was a pall of dust, acrid diesel, mustiness and damp, mixed with gasoline laced exhaust fumes as I rolled in.
The air was cool though and felt good after the heat of the sun. I listened to the sound of the rumbling Boxer engine echoing with the sound of the cobblestones and watched the shaking headlight pattern on the walls as I passed from pool of light to pool of light from the sodium vapor lamps above.
Coming out finally into the light and passing waiting vehicles, I saw some blue in the sky and felt a tinge of excitement for the thought of riding again.
As I rounded the high curving cobblestone road, the old church we'd explored a few days before on horseback stood silhouetted high on the hill ahead. It was a nice sight to remember as the miles and day slipped by on the way to Laredo.