Dodging Federales and a Long Goodbye.
BLOG POST #017 - Dodging Federales and a Long Goodbye
How I learned to ride a motorcycle, speak Spanish and not die. Riding solo in search of adventure from Detroit to Argentina.
“It is not ideal. I don’t like interacting with the police in this kind of situation because they're so intimidating. However, I am doing absolutely nothing wrong. Yet, I am alone, there are no witnesses out there to protect me from whatever may happen next.”
One day while Maria was at work and Antonia was busy, I went out to the desert toward the Pancho Villa cantina again. The sunset was surreal as I cruised through the nearly empty streets. I had a breathtaking view of the funky architecture, the skyscrapers, and the luminous mountain range glowing behind the skyline.
Monterrey, Mexico.
I'm not lonely in a way where I need a phone call from a friend, but lonely in a way of being utterly separate from everything I know. This is all very different from usual surroundings. I don't even have many things from home because my luggage is made up of either spare parts for my bike or necessary items I bought for this trip.
It is troublesome to cram in my favorite blankie in, when everything has to be condensed down to eighty pounds of survival minimums. I'm keenly aware of time passing, the grass growing in the new house I just bought six months ago. I miss my kiddos, but most of what I miss, II will see again. Also, I know, everything changes, so there are many things I won't see again. There are also a few parts of my life I left behind.
I feel a sense of privilege, euphoria, and sadness at the same time. Breaking out of the linear idea of time and seeing all of life as one big mash-up pie of feelings all at once.
I enjoyed the long ride with nothing to do but let my mind wander.
When I pulled into town, I saw Maria's friend from our first visit a few days back. He and some “compadres” offered me a beer.
Don Derrick - a man who carries some sort of status out here.
He signed my motorcycle with the paint pen I carry for this purpose. We chatted for a bit, but his English was non-existent and my Spanish was still terrible. It didn't help that they all seemed quite drunk, even this early in the morning. I always leave detailed info about my hiking plans with people back home, or in this case, with Maria. But I was glad that someone local knew where I was going to be as well.
There is a bumpy road along the railroad tracks that is made up entirely of gray dust, with U.S. Air Force MK82-sized craters, and a few small river crossings. I followed this trail to the place where we had released the tortoises, then carried on further.
Looking for danger-noodles that make a rattle noise.
There are mountains way off in the distance, but the landscape is pretty flat otherwise. Trees would be baked to death out here. The only foliage are these robust bushes, shooting upwards, eight or ten feet high. The sky is bright blue and the sun is starting to cook the earth dry of any moisture left from the morning dew.
I want to go “ferping” and find a snake or two. I love wandering aimlessly as well. A backpack picnic lunch and a nap out here in nature are also on the agenda.
Being five kilometers from town on my own ,makes me more vulnerable, so I always think about stealth and situational awareness. For example, I will hide my motorcycle, then listen and watch for anything that might be heading my way.
I came to a place that looked promising for finding reptiles, so I walked La Barra off-trail between a stand of bushes. I stopped around twenty yards from the road, and parked her shrouded in shrubs, and unpacked some gear.
Having just gotten off the bike I walked around and stretched my body a bit. Just as I started to flip over a rock or two and begin searching for signs of wildlife I heard the rumble of an engine. The sound of tires popping gravel got closer, and that could only mean that a car was approaching my location.
Rural road outside Monterrey, Mexico.
For a moment I remained hidden, then it dawned on me, a car could be able to see me from the road. I quickly ran around in an arc-shaped pattern to confirm no one would see my bike and I from the vantage of the road.
I waited and listened as the sound crept closer, little by little. After a very long eight minutes or so, I could see it was a pickup truck full of well-equipped, and well-trained Federales. These guys looked like SWAT team cops on steroids with a thirty-round mag and the safety OFF.
"God. Damn. It."
It is not ideal. I don’t like interacting with the police in this kind of situation because they're so intimidating. However, I am doing absolutely nothing wrong. Yet, I am alone, there are no witnesses out there to protect me from whatever may happen next.
Interacting with well-armed police in the middle-of-nowhere is different from a regular conversation. When dealing with the majority of people; they lack the ability to demand money, arrest you, kill you, or put you in a dusty, shallow grave where no one can find you. These guys strike me as a different breed.
They are fully militarized and appear to be part of a special unit. Everyone is adorned in combat helmets and ballistic vests.They are young and fit, with new-looking assault rifles and a shiny white truck. Two of them are inside the pickup truck cab, and two more ride in the bed. Each of them is pointing their automatic weapon into the bushes, scanning all directions as they slow-roll at four miles per hour.
This wasn't a joy ride or routine patrol. They were all hyper-focused, looking and listening intensely as they went.
I debated what to do. If I don't break cover, but they "discover" me, this looks like I'm hiding from them and so I must be doing something wrong. That would be sure to provoke a heightened reaction. I can only imagine the cascade of events that would kick off. Hopefully they would not lead with gunfire. My hands would be pointed sky-high and there would be a lot of yelling I didn't understand.
On the other hand, I could just say a proactive, "Hello there!"
Or I could walk out onto the road fifty yards ahead of them, with clearly nothing in my hands, smiling and waving.
Best case for either of those scenarios, they are amused to find a gringo way out here. Worst case, one way ticket to extortion or worse.
I really do study reptiles. So, when I ask about snakes and such, that often knocks me out of the category of “suspicious character,” and puts me somewhere closer to a curiosity.
I have been detained many times before. There have been times when I paid bribes on demand, and been ticketed for things that don’t exist.
There is usually some cover story such as, "Our government is poor, and we do not have what we need out here. Could you give us some money for water for my men."
Those statements generally come out as a loaded question.
The full range of possibilities exists here. Anything from instant death, detainment, or perhaps, some new friends. I try to avoid dudes who can kill me on a whim, or by mistake, or to make a point in some political struggle I'm not even a part of.
In the end, I tried a strategy that I thought was the best of both worlds. I stayed still and let them pass. Once they were a good distance away, I stepped into partial view as quietly as I could. I held up an arm and waved for a minute. If they saw me, then I was obviously being friendly. If they didn't, I'm not going to holler and draw their attention.
They didn't look back at all as they passed my little hiding spot, and I decided I was in the clear. I wondered if they saw me pass by back in town when I first came out here, and then mounted up. If they were looking for me in combat mode like that, then I'm cool and don't really want to meet them on the road. If they're looking for someone else in combat mode like that, then I don't want to meet those guys either. It's time to go.
The noise of the engine and the rocks under their wheels will provide some audio cover for my bike. But I still wait until I can't hear them at all before I quietly roll La Barra out onto the road. I fire her up and hurry back out the way I came. I doubt they can hear me. But even if they turned to give chase, I have a huge head start. The rough terrain would slow them down plenty, and a motorbike is way more agile out here than a pickup.
I had just been on this road a few days ago with Maria and her friend. From the way they treated it, I assumed this was a safe haven that wouldn't be all that dangerous. Later, when I told her about the encounter with the police, she said that there was a prison nearby. She switched into a protective mode, talking with a tone of indignance about how she would have given them hell.
Maybe a Mexican socialite can slap a police officer, Zsa Zsa Gabor style, but that is an attitude I could not afford to try myself. I asked how much danger she thought I was in.
She said they'd probably just ask me a bunch of questions, but then the last one would be, "Do you have any money?"
Who knows what would have happened. I harbored no intention of finding out.
As I ride home, I laugh to myself about my own childhood, playing pranks or being sneaky running around in the dark. The last time I hid from the cops in the bushes was with my best buddy, Greg, when we were thirteen. I suppose that is a life skill now.
Later, I will probably tell the story like it was a near-death experience, about that time I hid from the Mexican Federales in the desert. They were on patrol chasing down cartel hit men, while I was out there on my own behind a bush.
To my credit, a big reason why nothing happened is patience, and deciding to not be seen. It is wise to stay off the radar, especially when you are learning the ropes.
As the days turned into weeks in Monterrey. Antonia would tease me about never leaving, and I must admit, the thought crossed my mind. Eventually, I finished my software project and completed the in-person Spanish language course. My motorcycle was tuned up, thanks to a local shop.
I even helped Antonia negotiate buying her new car. We got super drunk on her birthday. She rolled her ankle right at the end of our evening while we walked home, so we had to get a taxi for the last two blocks.
Antonia being her usual vivacious self.
I pretty much did what I came here to do in Monterrey. My spirit was calling me "Siempre al Sur!"
The faux-romance with Maria kept on going strong till the end. We observed strong boundaries, but there was the occasional kiss goodnight after we parted for the night.
She referred to me as her "fake boyfriend."
This was both genuinely funny, and a regular reminder the romantic relationship between us had no future. We don't live in the same country. I'm traveling for the next year. She was moving to Ireland in a few months. She's half my age. I am extremely heartbroken and mapping that on to her.
It was perfect just as it was and we both got something out of it.
If I stayed too much longer, I couldn't guarantee Maria and I wouldn't slip over the line into something more. But it would still be a mistake. We wouldn't match up even in the best of times, never mind the strange set of circumstances we found ourselves in at that moment.
One day Maria talked about how, after enough time, maybe her parents could get used to the idea of me being older. I know this was dumb fantasy on her part, and she didn't mean it. There are some things you can say from a safe distance because they are not possible. All of our feelings aside, it was time to go.
Our last night out, Maria and I got carry-out food and drove to a gorgeous canyon nearby. I love being old because I have X-ray vision for certain things I never understood before. I won't claim to be an expert at what women think, but overtime you can read the clues better. We were having a nice time, but I could see all sorts of conflict swirling around in her head. She was sad I was leaving. But, she also understood I was always going to carry on.
The mixed messaging of all of this mashed up together was really quite funny. She was saying things that were quite sweet and sad, but in a smoldering angry voice.
She said, "Maybe you should just call me your Monterrey girlfriend."
I don't think she realized how bad that sounded in English.
Maria and I before I left Monterrey.
Finally, as if coming from a deeper place, and not bothering to translate, she gave me my last orders through gritted teeth.
"Dame un beso y dime adiós."
I often struggled to follow spoken Spanish, but this time I understood every word. I did as I was told.
I gave her a kiss, and said goodbye.
DEDICATION: In memory of Kevin Walker, founding member of my “Biker Council of Grand Elders.” One of the smartest left backs I ever played with, and an all around ace guy.
NEXT POST COMING SOON: February 12, 2025
