'Murica

Crossing the border between Mexico and the United States really makes you appreciate what it means to feel safe and secure. And so, after two and a half months, I was ready to give up that feeling and come back home. This was my first time in Texas, and as far as I'm concerned it deserves its own stamp in my passport. With the Black Lives Matter and equality stickers on the bike, I was genuinely on edge, far moreso than I'd been at any point in Mexico. The first gas station was called "FUEL AMERICA" and "UNDER GOD" was plastered on every window. The marquee advertised "food, souvenirs, clothing, and crosses."

The first billboard to accost me belonged to "Lawgun", a personal injury firm. I presume their clients are mainly people trying to sue themselves for accidentally discharging ARs into their own groins. Perhaps the only form of contraception we can all agree upon.

Texas was a mixed bag for me. I was delighted to be done with ninja speedbumps, but there were cops hiding everywhere. Gas was cheaper, but the pumps played advertisements. I could understand what everybody around me was saying, but... I could understand what everybody around me was saying. Arby's has a happy hour, but -- nothing. That is excellent.

In actuality, throughout Texas I was met with nothing but kindness and hospitality. Though I'm certain this generosity isn't afforded to everyone (as recent legislation affirms), I'm well aware that, in this case, I am actually the asshole for mocking those who treated me so well.

In Mexico, while researching routes between Grutas Tolantongo and Xilitla, I came across the blog of 2ridetheglobe . I sent them a question about the route, and a week later I was staying with them near Austin (which is an oasis of sanity in a state that has otherwise lost its fucking mind). I stayed for two days, trading stories with Pat, who has already ridden around the world, and is currently on his second go. I then headed into the vast expanse of west Texas. I spent the first night at a campsite where someone had taken a dump in the shower. Lines on a map be damned, this is the moment that I knew I was back in America.