Riding solo in Mexico, debating between a shorter route with cartel warnings and a longer, safer way, on the road to Banámichi in northern Mexico.
Mexico: Riding into cartel-controlled territory, on the way to Banámichi in northern Mexico.
Again, I look out the window. The sight of my covered motorcycle calms me.
Even before brushing my teeth, I check the route I need to take today. I want to reach the town of Banámichi. There are two roads leading there:
one takes an hour, the other about three.
Warning!! I keep reading: “Do not take the short route: danger.”
I continue reading: “High cartel activity.”
My heart starts pounding.
I feel like I’m constantly escaping from cartels. As I pack the bike, I keep looking around, and every car leaving the parking lot puts me on alert.
From the room next to mine, a young woman comes out. She puts her bag into a vehicle that looks like it belongs to an infrastructure company. As she passes by, I ask,
“Excuse me, can I ask you something?”
“Yes,” she replies.
“Is it dangerous to take the road to Banámichi?”
“No, everything is calm,” she answers.
I push a bit further and add,
“Cartels, you know.”
She pauses for a second and says,
“No, it’s not dangerous.”
I thank her. She wishes me a nice day, gets into her car, reverses out, and I find myself surprised. A woman traveling alone on the roads of Mexico.
While getting ready, I think about the alarming warnings, and on the other hand, the receptionist casually said everything is calm. Now this woman says the same, and she’s driving alone. Very strange.
I don’t skip breakfast. I walk into the hotel restaurant. Everything is new to me, the Mexican-style design, the menu, and the two women working there. No doubt about it, I’m in Mexico.
I order a Mexican breakfast: scrambled eggs with tomatoes, onions, and slightly spicy green peppers, black beans, and a corn tortilla.
From time to time, I look at the two women, maybe I’ll catch a hint of fear to justify the warnings that won’t leave my thoughts. Even when I talk to them, nothing reveals any fear.
Strange, I think to myself.
I return to the motorcycle, start it, and ride out to the main road, toward the “safe” route, supposedly without cartel activity.
There’s traffic, but not too heavy, and it’s good to see other cars on the road.
Here comes a police checkpoint. I expect them to stop me, based on the stories, they’ll probably come up with something so I’ll have to pay.
Just in case, I turn on all three GoPro cameras: one on my helmet, one on the handlebar, and the third on the front guard.
I slow down, approaching the officer to stop.
He waves at me to keep going.Strange
I’m supposed to turn right here, but the turn looks strange. It doesn’t feel like a proper turn, it’s more like a dirt road. I give it gas and keep going straight. The navigation doesn’t correct me; it keeps redirecting me back to the same route.
I make a U-turn and head onto the dirt road with heavy hesitation, remembering all the warnings about not leaving the main roads.
“God, where am I going?”
The road becomes narrow, but paved.
Damn it, I’m the only one on this road.
“I must have taken the wrong turn.”
Just to be sure, I stop to check the navigation,and at the same time I remember the advice:
“Don’t stop on the side of the road, and don’t stay too long at gas stations.”
My heart is racing.
Yes, this is the right way.
I speed up and keep riding, alert to anything that might happen.
Every now and then, a car passes from the opposite direction, signaling hello with a hand gesture. I glance in the mirror to make sure no one turns around to follow me.
An hour and a half of riding alone.
Occasionally I pass farms or small settlements, but I don’t dare stop.
I really need to pee,but there’s no way I’m stopping here.
