Six days into riding and I’ve gone more than 300 miles and crossed into Arizona, passing through the Viejas Indian Reservation, along the Mexican border, through the Anza-Borrego desert, and along the Colorado River. My skin is significantly darker, my face a bit wind-chapped, and I’m sick of protein bars, but my body feels good. Ten more states to go.
Traveling by bicycle is an invitation for conversations with strangers, which is exactly the kind of thing I have been looking forward to. At Viejas, while seeking shelter at the camp store from the pouring rain, I endured some gentle teasing from a Kumeyaay guy about only having ridden 35 miles that day, and traded Twitter handles with the shopkeeper, a woman named Nina, who made me promise to “let the tribe know when I made it to DC.”
Somewhere in the middle of the desert, I passed through a border checkpoint, where drug dogs and agents inspected my bike to ensure I had nothing illicit tucked into my panniers. As I explained the purpose of the tour, the agents laughed and offered to let anyone who disagreed with me come spend a day with the border patrol. “Threats from other countries are a lot closer than people think,” said one guy, tipping his head in the general direction of Mexico. “We can’t just ignore them.”
In a few days I hit Phoenix, AZ, where I’ll take my first full rest day and spend the night in a real bed. Looking forward to it. Until then, if anyone has suggestions for quick, nutritious meals that a) can be made over an open fire or in a small gas stove and b) don’t require a lot of ingredients, send them over to me on Twitter: @jgoldbeck
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