After Quartzsite, I went south to Yuma and spent the night, then on the next day down 85 to Ajo, a small community I found disappointing. This close to Mexico I had expected some Mexican restaurants, and wanted to get some tortillas, hopefully local ones. Nada, it was all anglo stuff, so I continued on down to the National Monument and campground. In the 80 some miles from Gila Bend on 85 I saw so many Border Patrol vehicles I quickly lost count. They were at least half of the vehicles I passed going the other way. There were two checkpoints in the 80 miles, and at neither was I motioned to stop. Coming back and going away from the border, it was a different story.
The campground was large, spaces for a little over 200 campers, RV's and tents. I took a 5 mile trip on a side road before parking for the afternoon.
The desert is lovely, in a stark way. Looking out at the miles and miles of nothing, no roads, no water, I wondered about the experiences of those Mexicans who choose to come to El Norte via that route, guided and perhaps deceived by the 'coyotes', and what awaits them. It can't be pleasant, and the motivations must be strong indeed.
The campground had only about 8 campers, this included two part volunteers, affable and pleasant to talk with. The night was quiet, the moon almost full. Stars abounded, but it got nippy, down to the upper 30's, and I was grateful for the two down comforters I have. I doubt those out in the desert walking north have those.
This morning I was up and drinking coffee for the sunrise, and was on the road back north before 8am. The first border check was about 25 miles north, before the town of Why. I'm sure there are several backstories to the name. I was the only vehicle being checked; traffic was sparse, I only saw 4 or 5 going south, all Border Patrol.
6 young men awaited at the checkpoint, I stopped and one came around to the driver's side. After exchanging pleasantries, he looked at the camper. "How many people do you have in there, sir?" For whatever reason, I started laughing. I was joined by two of the agents on the passenger side. I was going to do a witty response, but didn't. I didn't say anything. "Carrying drugs then, sir?" "Alas, no." I said. He nodded. "You have a good day, sir." and waved me on.
They all looked to be in their late 20's to early 30's, and all had a bearing that comes from military service. I could easily see my son Henry in that job. Watchful, but polite. Never turned their backs. I have mixed feelings about our border policy, but nothing but respect for those young men and women who try to carry out our policy.
From Why I went east on 86, through the Native American nation of Tohono O'Odham. A reservation I suppose. I passed through some communities, small, a few houses and huts. They would not have looked out of place in the 1940's central Mexico, and a villager leading a burro with a wood load on it's back would not have looked odd. I was going to stop and take some pictures, but then noticed that the few places that had doors all had iron bars gating them. And passing a school saw a sign that read "No guns, drugs, or gang attire allowed." Thinking about it, I didn't want to take pictures. What I was seeing was not picturesque, it was abject poverty. And despair.
So I continued on to Tucson, and am staying at a place on the east side that seems friendly enough. I'm old enough to know there is poverty in the world, and misfortune. It can happen to any of us in a heartbeat. The people who live in those places on the reservation today have no chance. They are doomed. Some lucky, rare few may escape, at least I hope so.
Not a cheery post, but perhaps the pictures were nice.
