As the sun peaks over the mountains and a cold breeze blows, the thermometer reads -5 degrees outside. When I slip out of my sleeping bag the task at hand begins to weigh down on me – I must ride horseback through the Chihuahua desert. This desert, the largest in North America, is plagued with long stretches of nothing, a complete lack of water and, in past years, devastating crime.
Luckily my father, Luis, is here to ride with me. He is the one who gave birth to this dream I am currently living. It is only right he share it with me. Together we begin grooming the horses and suddenly we experience our first setback. Frenchie is missing his back right shoe. For a moment everything is put to a halt. Just when I thought I would finally start riding south again, here is another problem in my way. But as this trip has proven many times before, every problem has a solution. In a few minutes a worker pulls out a spare shoe and we nail it on Frenchie. We are ready to begin!
As my father and I make our way out of Ojinaga, we talk about everything. It has been a year since we have last seen each other. He catches me up on everything – family, friends, our hometown. It feels great to be together again.
When we stop to water the horses under a bridge, 3 jeeps full of soldiers come to a screeching stop behind us. The men, dressed in camouflage with only their piercing eyes showing, walk towards us carrying guns.
“What are you doing here,” one soldier fires my way.
“I am riding horseback from Canada to Brazil,” I shoot back in my broken Spanish.
The soldier now has the same look on his face as I did seconds ago. “What do you mean,” he asks. I explain my trip to him which makes his eyes soften as the soldiers behind talk amongst themselves. He asks what I am carrying on Frenchie’s back. I tell him clothes and food. He believes me and wishes me good luck before jumping into the jeep with his counterparts and zooming away.
Just like that my father and I are reminded of exactly where we are. Northern Mexico has become one of the most dangerous places in the world in recent years. Drug lords have killed one another fighting for territory and many innocent lives have been lost as a result.
“This road you are traveling can be very dangerous, many people don’t like to travel at night,” Eduardo Ramos, our host in La Mula told me over a coffee. According to him, the police have found many bodies dumped by the cartels on the road from Ojinaga to Camargo in recent years.
Eduardo was an amazing host! He fed my father and I plus our horses and brought us into his home. He has too beautiful daughters and a lovely wife. They live a simple life but are simply happy. It was a breath of fresh air spending time with them. At night we were hosted by another resident of La Mula – a friend of Eduardo.
Auden Lopez is still in his 30’s but he has lived a hard life that can be seen in his gaze. With his head hanging low he told me about how he spent 6 years in Prison in Pecos, Texas, where I just rode through a few months ago. Auden, like many Mexicans in this area, grew up with little opportunity.
“It is very hard to find work here in La Mula,” he told me.
One day he became friends with a man linked to a cartel who offered him $3,000 to mule Marijuana into the US – Auden took the chance.
“It was a lot of money and a way into a better life. I did it 4 times and got caught on the last one,” he said.
Auden explained how he walked for 6 nights through the desert to arrive in Pecos with the drugs. Resting during the day.
“It was very hard work. We always travelled with more than 4 guys at a time,” he told me before we slept in his home.
After leaving La Mula my father and I rode into a colony of Canadian Mennonites farming in the middle of the desert. It was like a mirage. In the midst of nothing we began to see large fields of corn, cotton with huge irrigation systems. Fifteen years ago a group of Mennonites came to this area and discovered that there was a lot of water under the soil. They dug huge wells and tapped into it, using the water to grow anything they desired. Through the years many more families have come and today there are huge colonies stemming across this area.
That night we discovered an empty corral on the edge of one of the fields. After much searching we located the owner who told us his horse had been stolen that morning. We couldn’t believe it. He told us we could keep our ponies there and that they would be safe because the gate would be locked at night and we would sleep right next to the corral. We took his word and in the morning to our relief, Frenchie, Bruiser and Dude were waiting for us.
From the Mennonite colony we continued south passing many more farms. With the weather warming up, the heat made traveling harder during the day. At around 4:30pm with only one hour of sunlight left, we finally rode up to a ranch. Tired, hungry and thirsty, we made our way down a long driveway to the house. As we approached the building I could see a figure watching us through the screen door. A man stood his ground with a big cowboy hat – he did not look happy. When we got to the door he finally opened it and asked what we wanted. I explained what we were doing and if he would be kind enough to allow us to spend the night with our horses. He looked my father and I up and down and said, “sorry, we have no room for more horses here.”
Our faces sunk with our hearts. It had been 20 miles since we had seen anything and there were probably 20 more before we reached another ranch. The thought of camping on the side of the road with no water for the horses hit like a pile of bricks. I looked up at the man and asked if we could at least give the horses some water before we left. He agreed. As we walked down to the corrals I could see him thinking. He smelled the desperation on us like cheap cologne. After a few minutes standing while the horses drank he looked at us and said, “I think I can make some room. You two wont reach the next ranch before nightfall and it’s too dangerous to be out there at night.” Music to our ears! Our sad faces immediately opened into a gigantic smile. We put the horses away and soon we were all good friends. Luis Olivas now understood we were not gringos but Brazilians and most importantly that we were good people like him.
“This area is dangerous you see, I was worried you two were up to no good when I saw you with a pack horse,” he later told us over dinner.
Alongside his wife, son and grandchildren we enjoyed a nice plate of bean burritos and a warm coffee. It was amazing to see the transition from the moment we arrived to the time we left. We became friends and shared many stories. The next morning Luis’ son saddled his horse and accompanied us a few kilometers down the road.
The days that followed were long and hot. We celebrated my father’s 53rd birthday drinking cokes and eating a hamburger from a small tienda – a delicious treat. The horses kept strong and ate like kings every night. We always managed to arrive at some small ranch and after explaining the trip, were treated with much love.
On the morning of our 7th day, we awoke more tired than ever. After sleeping on our saddle blankets one more night, my father and I were ready for a real bed and most importantly a shower. This was to be our last day on the road before a much needed break. That was until Frenchie freaked out and fell back breaking the packsaddle. I couldn’t believe it. Not today. I removed the saddle from his back and my father and I analyzed the size of our problem. We quickly realized that we could fix it temporarily before we arrived in Camargo. Using a vice we pushed the structure back to its original place. In half-an-hour the horses were tacked and we hit the road.
It was only after the sun set over the mountains that we arrived at the corrals where we were leaving the horses that night. It was an amazing feeling. I thanked the horses for their hard work and a new friend, Fernando, drove my father and I to a motel.
Since arriving in Mexico we have spent time with people who have very little and some who have a lot. We have seen the smiles of children and felt the love of mothers. Mountains have guided our way as we rode for miles down roads that stretch as straight as an arrow. Doors were opened into homes where happiness is brewed with the morning coffee.
We are being treated like family here. Muchas Gracias a todos en el estado de Chihuahua. I will never forget your generosity. From Canada to Brazil we all share this America with a capital A. We are all brothers and sisters. We are all equal.
