Yesterday:
Hello Mexicali! OK, now where’s that road to the immigration office?
Customs guy said go west for a couple miles and take a left… Calle Argentina appears to be heading in the right direction…that left turn sure looks like a winner and all those other folks seem good with it…won’t be long now… Hey, I can see the office! But it’s…on…the…wrong…side of the… Balls!
So, having been sucked into America’s black hole and shot into the parallel (but unequal) universe of el Norte with a motorcycle revving hot from new found vigor due to high oxygen levels not present in Colorado’s high country, I decided that one “Big Ben, Parliament” scenario was sufficient.
Tail tucked and pride hurt, I later laughed at the mirror of my hotel room’s bathroom, complete with potable water right out of the tap.
Today:
Hell bent on making amends, I got jacked up on café and switched out the jets on the carburetor.
With the moto running like Seabiscuit I crossed the border in a different frame of mind and perhaps a little wiser. I found that it was key to stop and talk to people and ask for their assistance. There are some good folks in ol’ Mexicali and I had some fun rocking around the city streets following a motorcycle cop that was up for some navigational service – sidewalk shortcuts and ninja bypasses included.
Having successfully visited the offices that needed visiting and obtaining the documents that made me legal, I thought that it was red skies at night…
Turns out, that sailor’s delight vanished at the advent of some more choppy ass water in the form of mechanized goblins that ate my atm card. Balls!
Good news-- I’m still in Mexico.
Bad news-- I’ve lost my primary source of accessing my dinero.
Oh well, keep calm and…
