A selection from Karl’s journals that cover MEXICO

Moving on, I quite quickly come to Tecun Uman, a very grotty frontier town and not the place you'd want to hang around in. I can't even find a crossing point and have to ask. I end up trailing my way through shady back streets until I find a shabby looking office where I can pick up my exit stamp. An obviously destitute and probably homeless young girl helps me by explaining in clear English what I need to do and where to go, not that I need it by now. She's very proficient and far from dumb, knowing exactly at which point to tell you that from this time on you no longer need quetzals, and that it's pesos from here on. Dutifully the Gringo removes his remaining loose change and, thanking her for her help, hands over Q/2.5

From here I cross a fenced off bridge that initially rises above a shantytown before reaching a river which denotes the border. Crossing this bridge I finally arrive at a checkpoint in Mexico. All very seedy, and certainly an anti-climax. I was hoping for the chance of a good photograph of me entering Mexico, but couldn't see any 'Welcome to Mexico' type signs that would have made a backdrop. It was all a rather subdued affair. I've changed Q/20 into pesos but as this was less than $3 US I had to make a withdrawal from the 'hole in the wall' in the town of Hidalgo on the Mexican side. Not that you could see any change, there is absolutely no difference between this town and any of those behind me. But there again I didn't expect there to be. It's 8 pesos to the US dollar.

After a quick drink I push it out onto the road. It's 37k's to Tapachula, but for now I'm looking for a place to sleep. I eventually come across a large truck park that is surrounded by a high wall and has armed guards on the gate. I give it a moment's thought, but then opt for a field nearby that is accessible. The truck park is extremely cool breeze. Friday, 31st August 2001.

A quiet night, followed by a long but productive day. Almost pleasant, the only gripe being the fact that all the radio stations transmitting in this area are scrambled on top of one another and I can't find anything worth listening to. In this border region I'm getting the tail end of Guatemala's radios and those first traces of Mexico's, a rather confused mish-mash of sound. As I close in on the city a raging thunderstorm chases up from behind and just as I reach the outskirts the heavens open up. Thunder and lightning roar, illuminating a world about me that has grown very dark.

Tapachula is a pleasant surprise and is much cleaner and more modern than I'm used to. Once close to the centre I start to hunt around for cheap lodgings... but fail miserably. Making inquiries I'm sent in search of a place regarded as cheap by locals and yet find that this is p120 per night, ($15). Too much for me. Shortly after I managed to locate the cheapest so far, which is p85 ($10). By this point I'd been wading through streets that had turned into rivers. Incredible to see. The traffic was tight and I'd started to bitch at every one, it was time to call it a day, this one will do. After all I'm only here for the weekend.

The room was small but in good nick, clean(ish) and I could get B2 inside. I've got a shower and a toilet so that's enough for me. I quite like this town it has a good feel to it, and it's just a shame I don't have very long here. Everything that I needed was right down here on one street. The girls are looking good, which in itself is not good and I soon learnt that I'm going to struggle in Mexico as my money just evaporates. On my first night in town I eat well, pizzas and ice cream, which I immediately regret. I located a place selling tamals, which are basically a pasty made from maize with a scrap of meat or fruit in it. It's as cheap as it gets, but it's a good wodge of food and I like it. Consequently, I now live on tamals. The price of Coke has doubled or even tripled here in town and in fact everything, other than my tamals (p9), seems to be overpriced.

I sit gloomily in the cafe, and what makes it worse is that it's the weekend. Long legged latin girls stroll past in high heels and short tight skirts, blowing me kisses as they go on their way for a night out. It takes overwhelming self control to sit it out. The walls of the cafe begin to close in around me and isolation starts to bite. I really do want to go out on a bit of a bender but just can't. I haven't been out alone like I used to in the old days since Colombia... and how I miss it! However, I've only been here two days and I've spent $100 US. I just can't figure out how I did it. I did spend too long yesterday surfing the Net. This has become one of my favourite escapes but it costs too much and has to stop. I also love to develop my own film and see the photographs that have become so important to me emerge. It looks like this also has to stop. I've replaced most of my consumables, the batteries, film, food, alcohol, soap, note pads and pen, and then paid to give my clothes are really good wash. And that was it, I've overspent. On Monday I'll have to send my mail to England and then eat and this means I'll be spending the money I need to walk with. As is the norm I sit out the weekend, staring into space.

Monday, 3rd September 2001. 15 degrees 00 minutes north, 92 degrees 24 minutes west.

I sleep well, lulled by the gentle hum of the rooms free standing fan. There are hardly any mosquitoes and a soft bed. Consequently it takes a little effort to start the day. I soon polish off my 'Things to do' list and then have breakfast. It's about 11:00 before I eventually get onto the road. It's a hot day, but I move well. The road is mostly flat and in good nick, a dual carriageway with a hard shoulder that provides plenty of room. By the end of the day I reach a small village that has an immigration checkpoint, restaurant and a gas station making this a good spot to call it quits. 'Pemex' seems to be the brand name on the gas stations, and we're probably going to get to know each other very well.

I sit for most of the evening flirting gently with the owner of the cafe and her daughter. Her brother works at the gas station that is owned by her friend, an ex-soldier. I end up sitting until 01:00 with this former sergeant from the Mexican Army and also another person who appears to be a drunk that's never been sober in his life, however who claims to know the answers to the universe. The ex-soldier gets the tacos in, which went down well. They are made from small tortillas with a simple mix of chopped meat and onions. The drunk provides his own ‘moonshine’, made from sugar cane and which has a slice of sugar cane in it. As per normal in this part of the world, they seemed somewhat surprised, if not worried, by my lack of religion. I've noticed a sudden surge of religious artefacts since entering Mexico. The restaurant has its own shrine and outside the front door is another shrine to the Virgin Mary, extremely colourfully decorated.

Friday, 7th September 2001.

Not long after getting under way I stop to eat at a roadside cafe and take in some eggs, black bean puree and a few bits of sour cheese. Feeling refreshed I move well, and come upon the small town of Mapastepec. I need to use the Internet to send some ideas home ASAP, so leave the road and take the track down into the town centre. I get ambushed by a group of schoolgirls, who are obviously going through some 'blue eyes' phase, but once they calm down then show me where the Internet cafe is. It's a few k's into and out of the town and by the time I'm back on the road I've lost a lot of time. I'm also feeling a little sick, as it is a hard haul up the hill getting out of town in a rush, and it's left me feeling weak and drained. Shortly after that, and as if sent by heaven, I'm stopped by a group of women who asked me if I'd like to eat. They are just about to feed some workers at a quarry site and I'm invited to join in.

By now it's throwing it down with rain again and I'm soaked, but care little. There's a small group of workers at a quarry site who work on a huge machine. Trucks pour earth and rock into one end of this monster and it comes out separated into sand and graded stones, all to be sold to the construction companies. The boss's daughter shows me around the place and afterwards I'm invited to stay at the site for the evening. She then disappears into town and returns with her whole family, including uncles and cousins, for a photo session. There's even a video camera brought up. Once sanity returns the night watchman turns up and we sit talking. One of the workers is your stereotypical bandito from a 'spaghetti western'. A big burly chap with a huge Mexican style moustache and a 'Speedy Gonzales' accent. It's this accent we Westerners assume all Mexicans have, yet apparently you will only find it with the people from the north of the country. I love it, and sit there suppressing a chuckle.

The night watchman readies his fire for the evening and I'm surprised to see that he is only using three thick pieces of wood. As I watch he places the three large logs together end first. He then simply cuts slivers of the dry inner wood and fills in the gap between them. Putting a light to these wood chippings until they glow, he then leaves them to smoulder in the breeze, and before you know it they burst into flame. Every now and then he would add a few chippings and the whole lot burned steadily all night, as a thick layer of ash, surrounded by the glowing ends of the three logs, kept it going, allowing him to heat a pot of coffee whenever he liked. I was well impressed with this lesson, as normally getting a fire going in this weather would have been an arduous task, not to mention an hour-long search to build up a stock of wood.

Later on my friends from the boss's family returned in their pick-up to take me down into the town, where I get a few plates of free tacos at their uncle’s street stand. They have also bought me a bag full of Pot Noodles, cereal bars and some soft drinks. This is a big plus! I'm then driven back to the plant where the old watchman waits by his fire. The rain has cleared up now.

Saturday, 24th November 2001.

But for a few sweat inducing climbs, the road continues almost flat along the coast. The world around me is very dry and there's obviously been no rain for a long time. Except for the very large ones, most of the rivers are dry and there has been a dramatic reduction in the numbers of mosquitoes, which is good news.

The evenings are cool, and the mornings, like this morning in particular, are almost cold. This makes living extremely comfortable. There's a cold start to the day and by midday a good wind dries out my clothes, as well as keeping the raging heat at bay.

This it is an animal I see quite a bit of in the bush. Between the size of a cat and dog, it seems to come in slightly different breeds. There are also loads of lizards of all shapes and sizes from metre-long monsters, to others that are just small green flashes scurrying for cover as I pass along the road. Devouring whatever they can get their talons on are a host of falcons, hawks and the ever-present vultures.

Some guy in a car stops to have a chat with me. He's been driving backwards and forwards between Tepechula and has seen me a couple times on the road. He leaves me a really good road atlas.

By the end of play I'm on a straight, almost flat, stretch of road and just as I start to look around for a place to sleep I find myself amid small farms and poor folk in run-down shacks. Campesinos, with one eye and three-legged dogs. Everywhere I look I'm being watched and a motorcycle cruises slowly past me a couple of times looking me over. This place is definitely giving me the creeps. Once in a bit of dead ground, I cut off into the bush. The area is thick with thorns and a real pain in the arse, but it's good cover and once I'm cammed up I'm well out of it.... well, not quite as I'm a little exposed to a field at my rear, but it's the road I'm most worried about, and there's little chance of anyone walking about in this fie....'

A battalion sized family group appears dragging bundles of cocoa palm leaves, which they obviously intend to re-roof the huts with. A family group of about 20, mostly kids, pass by with their bundles. That is until the bored children spot me.... stop and stare.... then panic and run. The whole family bomb bursts out of the area. Great!-- Shagging campesinos!

A little while later two kids arrive on bikes, locate me and then disappear. Obviously a reccy, but for who? I didn't have long to wait to find out. At last light a pick-up pulls in sharply from the road and a group of men leap into the bush. I can hear weapons being cocked as men in black rush my position,.... it's the police. Of course they have to come when I'm halfway through my pan of pasta, so I sit and wait to see what they do. " Out... Where we can see you... All of you!" Comes the command.

As I leave the tent there's five M16's trained on me from all about. I can't help but smile, my mouth half full of pasta.

" Who else?"

" No one, just little old me."

One of the more expendable of these heroes is commanded to go forward and scan the tent. He does so, M16 first. Another goes with him as they creep forward and slowly one of them reaches forward with his left hand, tentatively fingering the camouflaged sheet over B2. His comrade stands close by, M16 in the shoulder. I get an almost overwhelming urge to shout 'Boo!' as he pulls the camouflage sheet off, but best not, as they appear nervous enough as it is. It's getting fairly dark now and quite hard to see, yet no one has thought to bring a torch along. I just stand, spooning pasta into my mouth. Having spent many a year in Northern Ireland, and so often having to do similar sorts of things myself, it's always interesting to see how other people go about this. The overall impression is that they're a little over the top here, but then I don't live here or really know how these places work. However as professionals I certainly would not have come storming in here as they did. They could have taken me by surprise rather than coming in accompanied by screeching brakes and cocking rifles. Those should have been 'made ready' well before they got here. There is then a series of routine questions and a lecture about how unsafe it is to camp near the roads around here. I'm advised to use the hotels on the beaches. Yeah, right! They go on to tell me this is a dangerous place and if I stay here it will not be their responsibility if anything happens to me. They decide to leave me, but not before one fool decides to unload there and then, and ejects a 5.56mm round onto the ground.... where it's too dark to find it!

Now that this is over I'm left feeling very insecure in my tent. Every nutter for miles around will soon know I'm here. It's Saturday night on the local lads will be drinking and daring each other to do silly things. Rather than move I decide to upgrade the defences around my position and just make it a little harder for any potential threat. There are four ways into my area, three of them through the wood. Two of these approaches are quite open and anyone could move along them almost silently. I therefore rig up bent over thorn bushes across the tracks, which if 'released' will spring back noisily. Seeking out of everything that is dead or dry, I throw armfuls of twigs and branches on likely approach routes. If anyone attempts to get near me now I'll know. Next to me, between the tent and the field, is a wire fence. I cut the bottom strand of this and remove it in order that I can come straight out of my tent, under the fence and into the field. As far as anyone coming from the field is concerned, you have to scale the fence first and I've arranged a good number of nasty thorn trees on top of this. Now I can sleep a little easier.

Tuesday, 17th September 2001.

This morning I return to town yet again to send the new number and also check my website as I haven't had a look at it in a while. In the 'Guest Book' I learn from a group of messages written earlier today that the expedition has been in print in the Daily Mirror newspaper. At long last we seem to be getting somewhere. The folks back home have been trying to get a slot in the national press for a long time now but are repeatedly turned down, so this is a big step for us all.

Back at the cafe I decide to pitch in and help to clean up the garden and cut the grass. If you think it's a pain cutting the grass at home with a lawnmower then try it with a machete as it's done in this part of the world. It seems to be the way it's done out here and you'll always see somebody cutting the grass that way, large areas as well. And so, having offered my services in the garden, I had to learn the back-breaking technique of cutting a god damn field of grass with a machete. Christ! What a job! There I was in my hat, machete in hand looking every bit the professional campesino. By the time we finished the work I'd lost some fair lumps the skin from my fingers, as blisters had quickly formed on my soft hands and then opened up. I was also soaked to the skin with sweat. However they made up for it and I was very well looked after. I get bags of food down my neck and have a good place to sleep out of the rain. They have a rather cool pet parrot here. On our initial introduction the first thing he did was to sink his beak into my finger and open it up as though with a can opener. The parrot also speaks better Spanish than I do.. and can sing. It will also let you know if it doesn't like you. The second time I approached the bird I was amazed to hear, "Mierda!...Afueda!" (Shit...Get out!) All right mate, I know where we stand. One of the girls here, Athie, a daughter of the family, feeds the parrot which sits in a tree next to the restaurant. When the parrot is hungry you can hear him calling repeatedly, " Gorda...Gorda...Gorda!" (Fatty... Fatty... Fatty!). Actually it's not that offensive and is more of a figure of speech around here. People refer to each other quite commonly by this name, whether they're fat on not.

Come the day of the phone call and I go down to Grandads house, which is where we have arranged for me to receive the call from BBC 'Look North'. They are due to contact me at 10:00 hours and spot on time they ring, but then ask me if I can wait until 11:00 when they will call to make the planned interview. However, come 11:00 they state there has been a technical problem and I'm requested to be here again tomorrow at 11:00.

Sure enough the following day I'm by the phone at 11:00 when it rings. I get three short and rather basic questions:--
1. "Why?"
2. "I hear you met some crocodiles?"
3. "...and also some guerrillas?" To all of which I give a relatively hasty reply.

He comes back with, " Yes, but I meant the hairy ones" (the guerrillas), ha ha ha!

Christ, this is on television!... Yeah, cheers...Dickhead! And that was it, a matter of seconds. 'A good job I hung around for an extra three days', I grumbled to myself.

I thanked Grandpa and left town. Over the past few days with these people I'd been well fed and caught up with some good sleep, not to mention I'd saved a bit of money. Once again some friendly people have been doing what they can to help. This is the first family I've really got to know in Central America.

Thursday, 27th September 2001. 16 degrees 40 minutes north, 95 degrees 12 minutes west.

It began raining in the early hours and come the time I should be making a move it was still raining, but what the hell. Breaking camp in the rain got quite messy and wet, not to mention the cloud of hungry mosquitoes that had been waiting patiently all night. I haul B2 out from the swampy bush and on to the mud track ready to make my way back to the road. I become immediately aware of just how the mud on the track has become saturated with water. Within a few yards B2's wheels become so caked with mud they just jam solid. Suddenly I'm 200 metres from the road and stuck fast. From now on it came down to brute force. It simply becomes a fight, requiring every ounce of my strength and aggression. I can move the trailer one foot at a time, but the wheels are locked solid and held fast by the mud, and in fact it's all but impossible to move it on a couple of occasions. My footing fails, I slip and slide, quickly becoming covered in thick mud and left gasping for breath. It was like one of those competitions from the 'World's Strongest Man Contest', with me pulling on B2's crossbar and screaming like a mad man with each burst of intense effort, just to drag it a few inches. I was also being eaten alive and spots of blood began to appear around my shirt where the anti-coagulant from the mosquitos allows the bites to leak. It takes forever to reach the road and when I eventually make it I then have to clean off what mud I can with my hands and machete. It's 10:00 by the time I'm on the move.

I had not eaten last night or this morning, using the hordes of mosquitoes outside my tent as an excuse not to. The truth is I'll find any excuse not to cook that shagging pasta. I'm hungry now and pretty glad it's only 10-15k's to Tehuantepec. Everything feels heavy being soaked by the rain, and it's still raining though only lightly. When I hit town there's a lot of shopping to be done, food as well as cleaning materials. I need a new set of headphones for my (all but had it) Walkman .

In town some jerk points me in the opposite direction to the centre and I missed it completely, ending up shopping is some grotty little store and the getting very little of what I need. I'm not having a particularly good day and can't even find a place to eat. I settle for a greasy spoon dive and have to pay $6 for two tacos, the meat from which is scraped from a huge cow's skull that sits in front of me.

Later as I sit taking a break at a gas station, two German bikers, a male and female, turn up. They'd kept an eye out for me having spoken to the Canadians two days before. I'd hoped for some sun to dry out but no such luck as the day continues wet and drizzly. My progress is quite slow today as I'm stopping and eating a lot, ending up spending a fortune. As luck should have it I come across a very posh Pemex gas station that has a free shower house next to the truckpark at the rear. They also have a smart restaurant so I decide to stop and clean up both the Beast and myself. Tomorrow it looks as though the ground starts to get hilly.

Sunday, 30th September 2001. 16 degrees 04 minutes north, 95 degrees 23 minutes west.

I've rapidly developed a cold and don't sleep too well, but eventually doze off until 07:30. Normally I'm awake at about 05:30, two hours before first light. It's been a dry night and consequently there's a clear blue sky and the early rays of a hot sun await.

Not long after the start I pick up water. Given the area, all water now comes from rusty old oil drums again. I don't see anyone again until later in the afternoon. I'm moving well, up and over the hills along spurs, in between which run open valleys.

I find a strange creature dead on the road today. I'm used to snakes, bats, crocodiles, dogs, sloths, skunks, foxes, huge lizards, turtles, possums and rats, but this one is a revelation, bringing back memories of a past life.... a rabbit!

Back up on the high ground I have this marvellous view of the beaches and once again they scream temptation, however there is the sobering reality of the swamps and lagoons between me and paradise. Out to my right there are hills and what appears to be massive areas of wild bush. Little has changed as far as the fauna is concerned and there is still a tropical feel to things. The place is crawling with huge bugs, flies, lizards of all sizes, frogs, monster car eating spiders plus snakes and scorpions. Though on a lighter note butterflies and dragonflies fills the air around me and from time to time I'll catch sight of brightly coloured birds in the bush. Vultures and hawks constantly circle above but down here on the ground everything is so green. Looking for somewhere to sleep I come across a road / track junction with a signpost indicating there's a restaurant down by the sea, 1k away. This is as close as I'll get, so what the hell. I rumble down the track of sand and stone, around the shoreline of a lagoon and then out and onto the coast. Here I locate the abandoned wreck of the restaurant. Nearby I find a chap in his hammock amid a clutter of nets, fishing boats, six dogs, some crates and a mound of assorted rubbish. He was good enough to give me a bottle of pop from his shack though. I decided I would sleep up top, by the old restaurant. The fishermen disappear and left me to myself. Well, I'm king again, here I am with my own villa and a sandy beach. I stripped off and went for a swim then lay for a while at the water's edge, watching the vultures overhead and the pelicans as they skimmed across the waves. There were now large frigate birds soaring above me as well, almost stationary in the air as they hung on the strong breeze that blew in from the sea. It reminded me greatly of Chile. Not far out to sea were two islands of apparently solid rock, above which hung a cloud of birds, colonies of frigate birds I've no doubt.

The water was warm and pleasant, 'What a place' I think to myself.

Wednesday, 10th October 2001. 16 degrees 00 minutes north, 97 degrees 32 minutes west.

Long, hot and boring I'm afraid, although the green tunnel has now opened out somewhat into cattle fields and huge areas of coconut the palms. Around my 20k point I come across Rio Grande, a small town and pull in to roadside cafe. Luckily enough they have Sky TV, and with me being the only customer I get to watch CNN. I can relax and take a good break here as I've moved well and have time to kill. I'm on a bit of a buzz today, having eaten so well. I get to catch up with things and so now it's day of four of the air strikes on Afghanistan.

Back out on the road it's as hot as hell and the temperature remains in the high thirties on these tarmac roads with their still, stultifying air. With only a few k's to go before I reached my 30k marker, I take some more time to sit hunched up in the shade of a tree by the side of the road. I have nothing to do but sit and stare at the grass beside me, watching a praying mantis hunt. I just seemed to drift away, so much so that I almost fail to see the shiny skin of a snake as its slithers right beneath my nose. It takes a couple of moments of before I even realise. However I remain still, now staring at its head, which is resting on my boot. I'm in an odd mood though and despite a surge of adrenalin, I'm not really that bothered by this scenario any more. I know all I have to do is to move my boot a little and away it will go. However, I remain still, lost in my own thoughts, happy to be blanked out and having nothing to do. The metre long brown snake gets bored long before I do and moves off down the verge to cross the road a little further on.

Coming back to this planet, I push on until I find a place where I can cut off the road into the bush.

Monday, 4th February 2002.

Now feeling back on form it's up and at it. I take the other half of the 'Ceclor' and hopefully won't need to take any more. The way I use antibiotics would have your average GP ripping his hair out. I can't use a full course, as would be advised, I simply don't have enough, and with 'Ceclor' a pill or two is normally sufficient to take out whatever it is.

I make my way north-east through Santiago Ixcuintla, where I re-supply with most of what I’ll need before slowly climbing up to rejoin the main road, Highway 15. The area is still pretty green but as I climb it suddenly changes a little and the midges phase out. The temperature rises sharply to and it's hot hard work making my way back up to the road. Once on the '15' I'm welcomed by 70 mph, long distance heavy freight traffic and coaches, with not a whisper of space for me. The last few hours of the day become a nightmare, an absolute nightmare. It might be hard for you to imagine just how scary it gets when you're a cat's whisker from a 24 wheeler doing 70 mph, and then the next and the next, when there's no room or escape route. Unlike the winding hilly areas, that slow the traffic down, (although they do create sudden unseen dangers on tight corners), now the threat is speed and close proximity, and with it a new nightmare. It's a second, third and fourth vehicle that now become the real worry. These truckers drive right up each other's arses, so the second truck may just have the possibility of realising something is wrong when he notices that the first is moving out away from the side of the road. However they don't move out by much most of the time, so the guy in the second truck usually has no idea. He won't see me until it's almost too late, giving him a fraction of a second to react, depending on the speed. It's this that makes the road so dangerous. Come the third and fourth truck and I'm forced to move or get hit, clinging to the side of the road with near heart failure. Should there be a bend on the road it's actually even worse.

Given the fact that in this part of the world you don't actually need to learn how to drive, there are a couple simple rules. Being drunk behind the wheel actually means that 'You're the man!' and that the size of your penis is indicated solely by the speed you drive at. Therefore I am heading into troublesome times. This afternoon I get into a real strop when a coach driver attempts to force me off the road, simply waving at me to get out of the way. I spent a good portion of the day with my middle finger in the air screaming at people. Come the end of play and I'm a gibbering wreck. God Almighty! I've got weeks on these roads.

Tuesday, 5th February 2002. 22º 09’north, 105º 13’west.

08:18 and I have my first encounter of the day with a coach. It slows to a crawl on approaching me, then stops, blocking my way forward. I then have both conductor and driver yelling at me, demanding that I get off the road. What really pisses me off is that there was nothing coming from the other direction. He could have easily gone around me, but just wanted to prove a point. He now moves slowly forward, attempting to force me off the road, but I've moved over as far as I'm going to so the coach ends up scraping down the side of myself and the Beast. At this point the red mist descends and I begin punching dents into the side panelling. Everyone on the bus then begins yelling at me from the windows. By the time the coaches boot reaches me I'm in an absolute rage, especially after splitting all the knuckles on my right hand. And so it goes on, although I have to say, for some reason that afternoon the traffic got a little calmer.

All about me the world is still very green, crop fields and cattle. Far off to my right, to the east, there are some impressive peaks and landscapes. Shear cliff faces dot the hills, their bare grey rock glowing in the sun.

Wednesday, 13th February 2002. 23º 11’north, 106º 08’west.

It's a wet night followed by a cold and muddy start. I attempt to use the first rays of the sun to dry out what I can before beginning my packing, so it's also a slow start. I re-engage the enemy at 09:16, crash out of the bush and down a small steep slope of about 7ft which puts me straight onto the road. There's not a lot of traffic about at that moment, just the odd car. As I climb into the harness I glance up. There's a car coming straight towards me... and he's not slowing or deviating. I can see the driver has got his head down, apparently sorting through his glove compartment. There's a sudden screech of brakes... smoke... the rear of the car sliding from side to side. He stops, a matter of yards from me, visibly shaken. Good morning Highway 15! And so the day 'progressed'.

It turns into a bright sunny day, but also a terrible day as indeed both roads did merge and the traffic seems even heavier than before. There are spasms of chaos, with a 'chain' of up to 10 trucks and buses flying along like a train on a track, and then nothing... nothing in sight. The problems really start though when two of these 'trains' cross paths in the area around me. It became one of the worst days on record. My flow of adrenalin did not have time to calm down. Time and time again I’m scraped by groups of heavy traffic, with one group coming from behind and another from head-on, and me left with no escape route. There is a steep drop of over a metre next to the road. You would think the driver of the leading truck would be able to work out that I’m not going anywhere, but he leaves it until the last second to make his move. It's a two trailer, 24 wheeler (or more, I really wasn't counting), packing some real weight. As its wheels lock it slides towards me like a block of flats, billowing smoke and painting thick black lines along the roads surface. Right behind it is a queue of closely packed traffic and I hear the screech of brakes from behind the truck. Everything shudders to a halt and I approach the truck, squeezing past. Behind the now static truck I find a car at a crazy angle, nearly touching the truck. Two children, scared senseless, sobbing in the back comforted by mother. Right on top of them, (about to hand span), is a large, long distance coach... people are going mad and I'm taking a lot of flak. However I slip on by, keeping myself under control. If they think they've got it hard, they have no idea! There seems no end to it. A number of times today I bring the road to a halt. By the end of the day I'm exhausted and completely wound up. The day was full of incidents just like the one mentioned above and I'm left wondering just how in the name of God I survive. It only takes just one of these drivers to have been on the road for too many hours, to be nodding off at the wheel... a moments lack of concentration, (or one can too many at his last beer stop) and it's 'Goodnight Vienna'. I mention the trucks a lot but yet I find the real trouble are the coaches.

By the end of play I'm a gibbering wreck, and it takes ages to calm down. Oh, just the dread of tomorrow. I study my map and find I'm in luck as it's only about 10km's to a place called 'Villa Union', and there the road changes to a dual-carriageway all the way to Mazatlan. Just 10km's or so!! I have a headache.. Probably suffering from battle fatigue.

Sitting chopping away at my vegetables I look up into the eyes of a large grey hawk that is sitting on top of B2. I never even noticed it land. Stooped, with its head pulled back into its body, it glares in at me with bright sharp eyes. It remains like this for about 20 seconds as if waiting for me to move. Then, using the moving air, it stretches out its wings and lifts effortlessly into the air and over my tent. I watch its shadow passing over but looking out of the other door I don't see it appear on the other side, it just disappears?

Sunday, 24th March 2002. 26° 33’north, 109° 08’west.

I breakfast and then I'm off at 07:32, me and my huge swarm of shagging face suckers that is. I pray for a wind to move them on but it's not happening, although I do get momentary relief in the trucks slipstreams.

It begins to get hot again, with a strong sun. I'm suffering with a burnt face from when it was too windy to wear my hat a few days ago. It's not too bad, just a little sore. As I approach the state line with Sonora I pass a vehicle inspection point and also a 'Pest Control Road Checkpoint'. I get treated just like any other truck.

" Is your load alright and clean?"

" Yep!"

" No need for me to check?"

" Nope!"

" Come on then, push on through."

After this detailed inspection the trucks move on to be sprayed with a cloud of pesticide. I wander over and stand by the trucks, enveloped in mist. Cough! Cough! Wheeze! Gasp! "Yes, that's it". Splutter! Aaarrrggg! "Get some of this ya little bastards".

My cloud of flies begin to fade rapidly and as I crossover into Sonora, my last state in Mexico and Latin America, I'm finally rid of my pests. This is also the largest state I've been in, dwarfing the rest of the Mexican states I've passed through. Before I know it a second wave of flies attack. They're like another layer of skin.

Tuesday, 26th March 2002. Navojoa. 27° 05’north, 109° 28’west.

As the day breaks I watch Mexican woodpeckers working busily away at the cactus from where I lay in my tent.

It's a long, hot and dusty road but I know I'm close to town when the smell of rotting dogs begins to reach its peak. I stroll over corpse after corpse, most flat and dried, but some still wet and sticky. It's a small town but somehow I still manage to get sent to all four corners looking for some place to sleep. Firstly I can't get B2 into the lobby as there's not enough room, then the next place is full and so on. I spend up to three hours looking for a place and eventually get 'lucky'. The place is a cesspit. The chaps running it are totally astounded to have a gringo visit, and even more so when they realise what I'm up to. It's the map on top of B2 that really caught their attention and consequently I get a room for free. Not wishing to kick a gift horse in the mouth, but considering the state of the room it's hard to believe anyone would pay for it anyway. However, this is not just lucky, it's vital. Prices have risen very sharply yet again since I entered Sinaloa State. Culiacan is more expensive than Mexico City, and even the locals can't understand why the prices rise the further north you go. Carlos would complain it costs him seven times more for a kilogramme of coffee in the North than in the South.

Once secured in my box I begin the struggle again. Finding myself sitting alone all day, sinking like a ship. I just eat and eat, as if it’s something to do. I have noticed that the girls in this region appear to be a couple of grades up from the rest of the states. I seem to smell perfume everywhere and there are some real hot girls out there... I was beginning to wonder where they were. Anyway, I really could do without them just at the moment as I'm still pacing the floor with my thoughts of Catty every day. I'm also having a hard time with regards to my son, Adam. I have missed so much of his life now I bet I would hardly know him. He means so much to me but what can I do. I just have too much time alone, too much time sitting stewing over things. It's not as if I have a choice right now.

I spend the next day sitting in silence as well. I told myself I was moving today but just didn't quite get around to it. In fact I end up sitting in a 'Pizza Hut'. It's the only place I can get away from those bloody flies, and not have them crawling around me and into my food. Places like this are kept clean and away from the street scene... it's the only place in town that is. Here I linger until I'm forced to return to my open sewer of a room. God, it stinks. It's dark, festering and full of flies and mosquitoes. I just can't stand to be near it right now. Can you believe I have my tent erected on top of the bed. The mattress is so rancid I wouldn't trust my grotty sleeping bag near it.

Today is not a complete waste of time as I meet up with a couple from the US, Idaho. It was good to have a chat and as a bonus they live on my route north so I have a contact in Pocatello, north of Salt Lake City. Dean and Nancy even left me with $20. This donation is a definite plus as I had been delving into the funds voraciously and eating again at the 'Pizza Hut' was a big no-no. However now it's get those pizzas on boys.

The chaps back at the hotel think I'm the second coming of Jesus Christ. When I'm in the place they follow me around and if I'm in my room they sit in the doorway watching. They seem to think I have the answers to all the world problems, and how they go on and on..... Nice blokes, but Christ they drive me insane! Tonight they have to go to the beach to set up a stall and sell tacos to the holiday makers. It's All Saints Week and everyone is down at the beach. My disciples keep apologising for having to leave me, and even write me a poem. They give me the small plastic figure of a saint, that looks like it came from a box of breakfast cereal, but in fact came straight from their hearts. Just before they leave they also give me some food and one of them takes hold of my hand and won't let go, his eyes full of tears, as he tells me I'm the best thing the world has ever produced, how important I am for the world and how I will change things. Luckily he stops short of volunteering to carry my child. Anyway, apparently I'm a messenger from God and will spread his word of peace.... and so it goes on. I suppose all this power could be hard to live with, but somehow I'll cope.

By midnight the 'Hotel' has swapped roles and becomes a whorehouse. Outside my room drunken locals fight over whichever troll has taken their fancy (and money), their adventures continuing in the room next to mine. This goes on until three or four o'clock in the morning, when things eventually quietened down.

Friday, 26th April 2002. 31° 16’north, 110° 56’west.

There's a strong wind blowing today, so much so my hat just won't stay on my head. The roads are better now though, somewhat flatter and straighter. I find it's time for a toilet stop and have to hide away in a very tight spot between a large cactus and some thorn bushes. Squatting in an unseemly position with my trousers around my ankles I end up with my long hair being caught in the thorns...Aaarrrgh!... For Christ's sake! Then a thorn pierces the top of my ear... Ouch! and suddenly I can't move...Aaarrrgh! Gritting my teeth I make an effort to struggle free, but only end up backing my bare backside into the cactus...AAARRRGH!! These 2-3 inch needle sharp spines are tipped with something like tiny barbs, just the merest touch and they stick like 'Super Glue', piercing the skin so easily. Now I'm in a real state, pants around my ankles and stuck fast to both a thorn bush and large cactus. The pain is almost indescribable, and certainly no joke as I'm bleeding from all over the place. Whatever I try to disengage myself it only made things worse. Hell's Teeth, how my eyes water. It takes me an absolute age to disengage myself from that cactus, which had managed to get spines in both my backside and thighs. Just to finish of the exercise nicely I end up with fingers full of holes as I painstakingly remove myself from this rather embarrassing situation. As it's handy, I then administer first aid with toilet paper in an attempt to stop the bleeding from a multitude of tiny puncture wounds. Thank God no one stopped while I was stuck there. The good thing about these cactus, (if there are any good things), is that unlike the thorn bushes the cactus spines don't snap off, leaving you with more problems. I spend time every day trying to remove festering thorns from my hands. It's advisable to wait until they start to 'puss' up, as they then come out very easily, rather than operating with needle and knife.

Despite the odd painful mishap the day's a good one. There's a certain amount of tension as I'm now so close to the US. This morning I pick up my first US radio transmission on the MW band. Almost indiscernible, but still there! Once on the move it disappears.

It didn't seem long before I reach an airstrip, which is a good indication that I'm getting pretty close to the outskirts of Nogales. I decide to find somewhere to stop for the night, however it would appear I left it a little too late and I'm closer to the town then I thought. It's quite heavily populated and hiding away is seemingly out of the question. Not far on from there though, just as I reach the outskirts proper, I spy a possible bolt hole. Scrambling down an embankment, cutting through a fence and then climbing into a re-entrant I have good tree cover. Under the trees it's a little open so I cut some of the foliage for extra camouflage. I seem to be getting away with it as from time to time people walk along a track on the spur above and fail to see me.

On the road I'd been given a large watermelon by some locals and this was my source of food for the night as I'd now run out of everything else. As night fell the temperature dropped rapidly, and as soon as it was dark I walk up on to the hill from where I could look down on to the city, lit up below. I spend some time there, not quite able to grasp just how important this is. Tomorrow is the 'Coming in day' of 'Coming in days'! Nogales, this is it! The end of Latin America! The end.... it just doesn't seem real.

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