26 Camacho's
Place One mile1.6km from the exit of
111 at 1:05pm13:05
a motor police passed us.
He pointed me to stop at the side
of the road, behind his motor bike.
He stepped from his bike and removed
his helmet. It was a woman! Weird that
I was so surprised about the fact that it was a woman! She had
spine-like blond hair and a serious but sympathetic face. She took a pencil and notebook which made me
worry a little.
“Sir, can you give me a good reason
what you and your bicycle are doing on this interstate and not on that parallel
road,” pointing at the highway running ten yards, parallel to the interstate. “Sorry
madam, you’re completely right, but today we left from Gila Bend and for a part
there is no alternative than cycling on the I8. Coco and I are a kind of used to cycling on
Interstates. In Texas we used the I10, which often was the only road between
two cities.
From Casa Grande, Arizona we used
the I8. Today
we started in Yuma and the only way to go West was the I8.
During cycling we’re in some kind
of trance so we did not check for alternatives. But you’re
completely right, I hope you will accept our apologies” I saw a question mark on her face when she
asked. “You’re talking about ‘we’ and ‘Coco’ but
where is Coco.” “Sorry,
you probably will think I’m crazy, but Coco is my bicycle.
We’ve already been travelling for
two and a half months, starting at Miami. So, I talk to my bike and talk about ‘her’ and
‘we’ as if she is my travel companion.”
“Indeed, you are weird, awkward,
crazy, but also amusing and admirable. Nevertheless,
I need your identification papers”
She investigated my papers and
made some notes. After a few minutes she gave everything back together with a
ticket. I
looked worriedly at the ticket. She told me not to worry too much about it. “You will probably never hear from it again.
It’s just that I love to show the ticket and the story behind it to my colleagues. What’s your destination for today?” I told her we were heading for the KOA Campground
on the 111 or maybe
the Motel 6 at El Centro. Why Coco,” she asked “It’s simple, Coco stands for Coast
to Coast. Is there a cheap, nice local restaurant in El
Centro, it has to be cheap, cozy but it does not have to be fancy,” I asked her. “Yes, I know one, I visit it three times a week,
and it’s a little out of town but the oldest in whole California.
As a matter of fact, I will have dinner there this evening. If you’d
like, you can join me.
“That would be great, I’d love it,
how late and where!” “I have to work till five, let’s
say seven at my place, here is my card with my address. From my house to the restaurant
is a fifteen-minute drive, but it is worth it. Love to hear your stories.”
Fifteen minutes later I was standing
in front of the entrance of the KOA park. I placed Coco in front of the reception
building and went inside. The lady at the reception was busy talking
over the phone with, from what I could hear, her mother. It looked like she was not intending to stop
the call, so I waited patiently. It took a while and I heard she was in a fight
with the person on the other side.
To kill the time, I went through
some tourist folders. Meanwhile,
I kept an eye on the lady who became red in her face.
After ten minutes my patience was
over, so I pushed the bell on the desk in front of her. This time she looked furious at me while she
was yelling to the person on the other side of the phone. It almost looked like she was yelling at me, but
I could not prove it, it was embarrassing. Nevertheless,
my action was successful; she stopped the argument abruptly and hung up.
With anger in her whole body, she
counted till ten before she politely asked me if she could help me.
“I, my tent and my bicycle want to
stay a night at your wonderful KOA resort.” The receptionist took a form from under the
desk. She filled
in the date, time and a few other things and asked me to fill in the rest. It was
a form to rent a place for a trailer or mobile-home with all the facilities for
$8,-. I politely told her, I am travelling with only
a bicycle and a small tent.
“I do not need all the facilities
and space that is necessary for a mobile-home.” “But, that’s what we’ve got. We make no difference between trailers, mobile
homes, small cars or even a bicycle.” I’d had
it with this camping and I knew that for $2 more I could have a room at Motel 6
with my own toilet, shower, bed and television.
“Thanks for your efforts, however,
I think today I will do a $2 upgrade to a motel in El Centro.” I gave her the unfilled form and I left the
reception, saying “Goodbye!” I felt
her angry eyes piercing in my back and I smiled a sarcastic smile. My roadmap showed me that the Ross Avenue, next
to the KOA would bring me near Motel 6. Thanks
to Ross it was an easy trip to my upgrade. A half-hour
after my goodbye, I was standing on Smoketree Drive in
front of Motel 6. Today we’d
had an easy trip with a pleasant temperature of 68°F20°C. The nice temperature was probably because El Centro
was situated below sea level. It was 2:00pm14:00 when I had
settled myself in. I spent my afternoon walking around in the city
center and bought new-year cards, fruit and a map of Florida. In my room,
I investigated the map and found out that this town was 100ft30m below
sea level and tomorrow I first had to climb to 4500ft1371m and from
there it would be a long way down all the way to San Diego. The distance
from where I was now, and San Diego was 115mi185km and with also a rock
in between, finishing tomorrow was not a realistic option.
Looking at the map of California I
found a resort at Live Oak Spring a
town halfway from San Diego and at 4500ft1371m altitude.
It meant we had to stay overnight
high in the Rocky Mountains where it would be cold during the night, so I had to
be sure I could get a room. I
called the resort and reserved a room. Even with the overnight at the top tomorrow it
would be a real challenge because it would be a 54mi88km long climb to
the top. Thinking about it, it slipped my mind that
the 2.5 months cycling was just a training program for this last ultimate obstacle. The next thing to do was to write a short
summary for on the postcards. I wrote
cards to Linda (Lake City), Elaine (Tallahassee), Jama (Houma), Mason & Angelina
(Austin), Sr. Riemann (Fort Stockton) and Martha (Balmorhea), all with almost the
same text. I wrote a Dutch version of the text to my
family in Holland. The last thing on my to-do list was calling a
number of some dear friends telling them the good news that Coco and I would finish
next Monday. At 3:30pm15:30 I called Ashley from Jeanerette. A roommate
of her picked up the phone. She told me that Ashley was not living in Jeanerette anymore, but moved to her sister in Phoenix.
The girl at the other side of the line did not
want to give me Ashley’s phone number in Phoenix. My second call was to Stephan. When
his phone rang a few times, it switched to an answering machine. I gave him an update telling him I would probably
finish on Monday. My last
call was reserved for Flo. My heart
pounded when I heard her voice. I startled
myself by how much I missed her voice and the whole her. Her voice felt like a warm bath and her voice told
me she was more than happy and surprised I called her. “Flo, I’m almost in San Diego, on New Year’s Eve
I should be viewing the ocean!” I told her quite exuberantly. “That’s a perfect timing! New Year’s Eve! It could not be better!” After her enthusiastic reaction, she kept silent
for a few moments but just when I wanted to start talking she managed to pull
herself together. “Peter,
I want to be there when you arrive on Monday. So, I will pack my bare essentials and will drive
on my motorcycle to San Diego, early tomorrow.” “But Flo,
do you realize it is around 1500mi2414km,” I reacted happily surprised but a little worried.” “Peter, I’m used to driving long distances,
I love it. For me
it is the ultimate freedom and ‘the reason why’ will let Flo fly.“ She laughed sweetly of her own pun. “Tomorrow
I start at 6:00am6:00, period! I can drive 1000mi1609km in 18
hours. With a
good rest in a motel I can start on Monday at 7:00am7:00 again and if all goes well I’ll be in San Diego before your arrival.” The more
she talked about it the happier she sounded. She went on even more enthusiastically “I deserve
a short vacation, so I want to stay in San Diego a few days, at least if you
like to spend New Year’s Eve with me? “ “I’d love it, that’s great,” I answered. “But listen
Flo, I have one little bummer, we have to keep those days very basic because not
only my journey is almost at its end but, also my budget. So my stay in San Diego
has to be simple and short.” She acted
like she did not hear it. “Peter,
you probably do not realize but I have a map in my bedroom with the route you are
cycling and each time you called me or wrote a postcard I updated the map, so I
knew that you would finish within a few days and I was waiting for your call. I was worried,
anxious and even sick of the idea that you would not call me. It scared
me how you are in my thoughts since you left Houston. But now
I’m at a point that the only thing that is important, is to enjoy those two days
in San Diego together with you. The rest is for later. But enough of this emotional stuff,
I also have a practical advice for you. I’ve already been in San Diego for a short vacation
a few times and I think that when you are cycling through Balboa Park, you should
use the south exit via the Park Boulevard and cycle till Broadway and go West on
this famous road. The last mile1.6km to the Ocean would be a triumphant march and the Atlantic Ocean a worthy
finish. I will be there at the finish line!” Because we would be meeting in two days and
she wanted to arrange a few things, we kept the call short. It was dinner time, from the card the policewomen
gave me, I knew her first name was Polly.
Coco and I left the motel-room in
time to meet Polly at seven in front of her house. It was
five minutes cycling to Desert Gardens Drive where Polly lived. It was a nice small house where the slanted roof
started a little above my head. It only had a ground floor.
It was a corner house on a circled plaza. When I walked to the front door, she already
opened the door and welcomed me. I do not think I would’ve recognized her if she
had passed me by somewhere on the street. When you meet somebody with a police-uniform
or in this case in a police motor suit and
a few hours later you meet the same person without that impressive outfit your will
be very uncertain if it’s the same person.
She was wearing old and wide
clothes that did not fit with her looks. She had a nice, friendly face, but without any
makeup and jewelry. It
almost looked like she did everything to make herself as unattractive as possible. “Sorry, I cannot invite you in; it is a mess in
here, old furniture, ugly carpet and old curtains. I did not yet have time and money to refurnish
everything.
It sounded like she was somebody
who wasn’t interested in worldly things. We went to the garage, placed my bike in it
and got into her car.
Even her car was an oldie with a lot
of rust spots, dents and the glass of the left tail light was broken. When I
sat down next to the driver’s seat the seat belt at my side did not work.
In her glove compartment I saw a bible and a chants booklet. From her radio
I heard the sounds of an evangelical toned station.
Soon after we passed the I8 we left the village. “Where are we heading,” I asked Polly? “We will
visit the Camacho family.
They opened Camacho's Place about
thirty years ago. They built the restaurant in the middle of nowhere
with their bare hands and in this restaurant, they serve old family recipes. Don't be
fooled by the exterior, it's actually very welcoming. It’s where the locals go, and that’s what
you asked for. Every Sunday after church we visit the restaurant
in our Sunday Finest.” We were driving in, what looked like, farmland
with nothing around.
Surely there can't be a restaurant
in this desolated farmland, so close to the Mexican border?
But suddenly, there it was, a sign
saying “Camacho's place”.
To me it looked just like the yard
of a farm, but the large sign also mentioned ‘superb
Mexican food’. The interior was a collection of old crap, the
chairs gave it a dilapidated look. For this reason, it looked dingy. On the walls there was a mishmash of historical
photos and other memorabilia. Polly was
welcomed by the owners with a warm embrace, as part of their family or as a very
good family friend.
They were extremely personable and
attentive, and Polly and Mrs. Camacho interchanged some family info. The Camacho’s looked a little suspicious towards
me as if they were worried of the fact that Polly was accompanied by a strange man.
Seconds later they also gave me a warm welcome.
Polly walked straight to, what probably was,
her favorite spot and I went for the seat opposite her. Mrs. Camacho
followed us, and Polly asked for the card which probably was something unusual because
Mrs. Camacho looked surprised. Polly also noticed it and told her that she wanted
to explain the menu to me.
With the help of the card Polly
explained the menu options and advised me to take the Albondiga soup as a starter. She would take the Quesadilla with guacamole
so I could try those too.
She first ordered two Negro
Modelo and one Quesadilla with guacamole. I wrote the names she just mentioned down in
my scratch-pad. At the same time I explained to her why I made those notes. After I finished my notes and my comment Polly’s
friends served the Negro Modelo, Albondiga-soup together
with the Quesadilla.
The Modelo
turned out to be a dark beer with a slight sweet taste. The Quesadilla were two 8-inch tortillas with
some ingredients in between and cut into pieces. Directly
after our first taste of the beer and tortillas Polly moved the subject of conversation
almost unnoticed to her religion. She talked about her belief and her religious
society. To make the conversation not too uncomfortable,
I told her that I was raised as a protestant Christian which is not a lie. I did not tell her that I’m not really practicing
because I noticed how important the church was in her life. After she told me everything about her faith
she tried to get me talking about the role of religion in my life. However, she noticed that I avoided her questions
and only answered in general terms about religion and not about my personal experience. The soup was very spicy, with a lot of soup balls. It was
delicious. After a half hour we decided to order three different
main menu options, Sonoran
Enchilada, Verde Chile pork and Cabbage and salsa on a soft tortilla.
I needed the menu card to write it correctly
in my notes.
Surprisingly enough, she ordered two more Negro Modelo.
I thought it was strange because
the beer had 5,8 ABV meaning Alcohol by volume. She
was a policewoman and had to drive back? I
wisely did not ask about it.
The food was superb and I tasted
all three menus. Oh my God, it was so good! The
last sentence was in my thoughts.
Toward her, I skipped the word
God. Despite
the fact that her faith was so important to her, she did not stay on the subject.
With real interest and enthusiasm, she asked
me to tell her all about my cycling trip.
I told her the expurgated version of my cycling
story and I saw she enjoyed it very much. Although the start of the evening was a little
bit uneasy the rest of the evening was very relaxed, and we left the restaurant
in a good mood. It was
already 11:00pm23:00 when we arrived at her address.
As expected, she did not invite me
inside.
I took Coco out of her garage and
after a warm but somewhat prude handshake I cycled back to my motel.
It was a blessed evening and as often
during my journey I met some very nice people. Dear Note This journey throughout America is not only a continuous
chain of exciting experiences. Even more important is that this journey changed
me from a timid guy without much self-confidence into a confident guy knowing that
people find me interesting, nice and trustworthy. How valuable is this!! The fact that Polly, after five minutes talking with
me, gave me her address is very special. But the same goes for all the other people
I met during my trip. I’m a complete stranger but people still invited me into
their homes and women trusted me more than normally is wise. But I’m also realistic and I know that my relationship
with Coco is the key which opens doors which usually stay closed. A tall guy with
a strange dialect and a red sweatpants, calling his bike Coco and crossing the USA
with his iron horse as a travel mate can probably compare with a man that has a
little baby on his breast, sedative and harmless. Thanks again for listening, dear Note! |