Start – 7823.3 km
Finish – 8197.1 km
——————–
373.8 km or 224.28 mi

The highlights: crossing the Continental Divide, watching the sunset in the mountains of Apache National Forest in Arizona, wiping out (and getting bruised all over) in the mountains of Apache National Forest in Arizon, Scooter overheating 50 miles from anything on a road where I saw one car the two hours I was on it, and finally…. entering the last time zone!!!!

Let’s back up to the day before, though; the day I woke in El Paso, went into Juarez, Mexico and drove to Columbus, New Mexico. I had decided that since I was so close to the border that I should really go into Juarez, if only to buy cigarettes. And that’s pretty much exactly what I did.

I parked Scooter in the southern part of El Paso close to the border and went across the walkway into Mexico. (Sorry Scooter, to leave you behind.) As I crossed the border, I realized, Mexicans love plastic bags. Everyone carries one. I also realized I kind of stood out. I looked like American Tourist Guy. Naturally, I would be approached by everyone trying to sell something.

“You need a taxicab? Info? You want to see monuments? A hotel? Medicine?”

“You need a massage? Beautiful women? I have beautiful women. They can give you a massage.”

“No, I just want a pepsi really. Can you tell me where I can get a pepsi? Also, I’m in need of some plastic bags.”

I buy a pepsi. I plop my butt down on a milk crate, one of a hundred on the street, and the only free one around that I can see. I appreciate its sturdiness and think about how well it would sit on the back of Scooter. I wonder how Scooter is doing across the border in El Paso.

I drink the ice cold Pepsi. I rest for a while and watch the people.

Time to get on the road. I stop to buy some cigarettes. Cheap. Very cheap. I leave. I spend 45 minutes in customs to come back to the US.

“The purpose of your visit?”
“Buy a pepsi and some cigarettes. And you know, I was so close to the border, I thought I should come over. Do you know Christian? He’s Mexican, I think. He doesn’t live in Mexico, though. He lives in Miami. No? Ok.”

As I enter the US, I look at a sign saying that cigarettes not bearing a Texas mark on them should not be brought across the border. I’ve broken a law and I’ve barely crossed the border. Thankfully, I’ll have burned through all of the evidence before anyone finds out.

I leave El Paso and begin the drive to Columbus. Highway 9 is desolate. It is one long straight road. There is nothing. No buildings with the exception of a US Border Patrol Facility as I got onto Hwy 9. As I drove that stretch of road, I would frequently pass parked patrol trucks. White with green lettering and red lights. Many would fly by me going in one direction or another. Except for them, I saw maybe five cars in sixty miles.

Along the road, I pass these interesting stone structures. I stop, take photos. These structures dot the road for the next several miles.

I reached Columbus, sitting just on the border of Mexico. The lights of Palomos, Mexico, were visible in the distance at night. An old man stops me and asks me a lot of questions. I answer them. He gives me directions to the deli and bar in town.

I setup camp and drive to the deli/bar. Two border patrol officers eating pizzas. A big empty room playing “I like Big Butts” sits over to my right. I have the cheeseburger and fries. I head back to camp, read, pass out.

Day 27 arrives. I drive up to the library, amazed that the town had one. Even more amazed that they had wifi. Of course, the wifi wasn’t working so I left there at 10am and headed north to Deming.

The drive is miserable. Cross winds across flat lands leave me and Scooter struggling to maintain a speed of 30mph. It’s tiring. I stop often.

Jehovah’s Witnesses make the soft sell to me at McDonalds. Give me directions to the library. Wifi finicky at the library so I use one of their computers. Welcome to 1998. I get directions to Safford Arizona, a long stretch. I would head north on 180 through Silver City and then take 78 to 191 into Safford. I would be going far more north than I had planned. I would’ve used Google’s walking directions to shorten the trip but at this point, I didn’t want to risk running into roads that weren’t roads. I take the shortest route possible, which as it turns out, is the long way.

More impossible winds leaving Deming. The drive is mentally exhausting and physically draining. South of Silver City, I pass through two small mountain towns. In the second town, Bayard, I make a wrong turn and head 10 miles out of my way. It doesn’t sound like an enormous deal, but when you’re traveling 20-25mph on mountain roads, making a wrong turn isn’t something you really want to do.

I eventually make my way back to Hwy 180. I drive through Silver City. About 50 miles out, I cross the Continental Divide. (For those who don’t know, the Continental Divide is where the Indians originally split America into West America and East America. It’s a fact.)

Throughout the drive, I am having to stop often to rest; the climbs, the slow speed, and the weight of the pack are wearing me down in every possible way. I think Scooter will make it, but I never will.

I reach Hwy 78 and turn left. I have been climbing hills and mountains for miles now. I have been running him full throttle. A mile down Highway 78, Scooter cuts out on me. I think, “I’m not going to die of thirst, I’m not going to starve… I’m fine.” One car passes by and stops.

“You need help?”
“No, I’m fine. Scooter just overheated; need to let him cool down.”
“Are you sure? Because there are no cars on this road.”
“I’m fine, thanks, really.”
“Alright,” he says with uncertainty before driving off.

That was the last car I would see on that interminably long stretch of road. Twenty minutes later, Scooter is ready to roll.

I had looked at the terrain map beforehand and knew I would be crossing the highest mountains on this drive while on Hwy 78. And I did. Halfway through the mountains, I enter Arizona. At the state line, I stop and put on my pullover, put on my jeans. It’s noticeably colder. I pack up my camera as the sun is nearly down. The last decision turned out to be one of the smartest.

As I’m making the descent through the mountains of Apache National Forest, the scenery is insane. And then, all of a sudden, there’s a scenic overlook across the road and the view is magnificent. It’s upon me instantly and so I nearly slam on my brakes to cross the road where I would stop and take pictures. I cross into the overlook, Scooter probably going 20mph and he falters underneath me on the gravel and dirt and rock area I have entered.

I go face down, the weight of the backpack slamming against me as I hit the ground, and every large rock before me goes into my chest. I slide forward on the gravel, Scooter slides with me. And on top of me. Eventually, I realize everything has stopped and I’m in pain. My left wrist is killing me. My chest is killing me, and my left foot is pinned underneath Scooter and the crate. Scooter is still running.

I can’t simply pull my foot free. I can’t bend to free it with my hands as the backpack is preventing me from moving around. I take off the backpack and slide my way closer to the scooter. I get my foot out and get scooter up.

I’m instantly grateful for my helmet as my head had slammed down into the ground. I’m also grateful for the gloves. And I’m grateful for having put the pullover and jeans on. Scooter’s back brake handle is partially broken. I feel for him. I’m okay. Just seriously, seriously in pain.

I pull out the camera and take shots. I think, “These shots better be masterpieces for all of this effort.” They aren’t. But they are my memory instead of wiping out on the side of a mountain in Arizona.

My left wrist is killing me. I get back on Scooter and braking is torture on my wrist. My chest hurts near my neck. I wonder if I’m bleeding internally. I wonder if I’m bleeding underneath my shirt. I wonder if I picked up the Swine Flu in Juarez. I beat myself up for not being more cautious.

I’m down the mountain and it’s night. I come to some crossroads town. Safford is 40 miles away. I don’t know if there are mountain roads ahead. I don’t know if it’s flat. I know there is little traffic. I decide to drive on to Safford.

I wind up and down hills. Guard rails on my right. Slow traffic lanes. I’m sure I’m on mountains. Few cars, but enough to make me nervous as I’m uncertain about the emergency lane. I eventually make it to Safford after seeing the lights of the town in the distance from miles away. I don’t know where I’m staying, only that there are numerous state parks in the area.

I see a sign for Roper Lake State Park. I stop at a gas station, ask how far it is. 4 miles. I drive to the park and, to my surprise, a ranger is on duty at the gate. I get a site, we talk, I am exhausted. I apologize profusely for arriving so late. He tells me of the natural hot springs hot tub that I can relax in, if I want. I’m too tired for that. I notice the clock in the station and it says 10 til 10.

“Is that the correct time?”
“Yes. We’re on Mountain Daylight Time.”

I have reached the final time zone. Day 27, complete.

About the photos: I have SOOOOO many photos to go through now (from Juarez, Mexico to Safford, Arizona)… I’m going to do an upload later today when I stop to rest. Today isn’t going to be crazy driving as the other days. I’ve uploaded a few of the photos (where they always are) here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.