Dash to the Sierra Madre Oriental

I realized on Monday, at the end of that final stretch from Laredo northward, soon after having dismounted the bike under cover of my carport, that it was the 29th of September. Precisely one month had passed since the day on which we were originally set to embark on our Mexico motorcycling adventure.

For me, this last month will go down in the books as one of the most jarring periods of my life to date; one of those lessons that reveals the truth of how little we are “in control”. My own September to Remember. But, though there were sustained lows in the first few weeks following a blitz of unexpected phone calls and a frantic mission to rescue my dad, better days eventually rolled in–with a roar in my ears and with the wind in my face. Just as my physical and emotional limits had been challenged by the sudden call to be a caretaker (of a most intimate variety), well, even that interruption could not preempt our unforgettable adventure on two wheels. A Triumph-ant September finale, as it were. Chant that three times:

A triumphant September finale.
A triumphant September finale.
A triumphant September finale!

To Don and Bill:

That you guys stayed with me and followed through on your expressed intent to accompany me across the frontera—despite my having pulled the plug once already at such an inconvenient hour, and despite my not having helped you avoid my own fate of losing my permit deposit—that the three of us, after all that, still knocked out a badass four-day, fifteen-hundred-mile ride through foreign lands that welcomed and challenged each of us in one way or another… Well, that’s just cool.

Gracias, caballeros. With two finer gentlemen I could not have ridden. For me, a most memorable and healing experience. Proof that good things happen.

May your tank never run empty,
Your tires always have tread.
Your socks always be numbered,
With a voice in your head.

“Car up!”