#Tecate Peak

[desert-oracle]

EPISODE #203: SAMHAIN STORIES FOR ALL HALLOWS' EVE

Here comes the ancient festival of Halloween, as the world begins to die again … as it does at the tail end of every year. The leaves fall and decay, the green things wither, the sun hides away. And we remember the Dead. Tonight: Samhain tales of changelings and fire, and the Holy Mountain along the Mexican-American borderland. New (& classic!) soundscapes by RedBlueBlackSilver. Written & hosted…

[louisupdates]

[Translated from Spanish]

Louis Tomlinson makes history in Mexico: this was his biggest solo concert

The British singer ended up sealing an unbreakable pact with his Mexican fans, in a historic show that impressed the whole world

by Luis Angel H Mora

Photo by marianaghoto

Last night, one of the most historic concerts recorded in Mexico City was held. Usually, it is said that fans surrender to their artist, but this time the dynamic turned out to be different: Louis Tomlinson surrendered to his Mexican fans.

The British singer who began his career in a British reality show, with the only dream of becoming an artist, gave the biggest show of his career in Mexico. There were approximately 70,000 attendees who gathered at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez to consecrate Tomlinson as a soloist and to make it clear that Mexican fans are the best in the world.

Louis Tomlinson began his steps as part of the One Direction group, that boyband that left us for almost a decade, breaking the hearts of millions. Its members did not cease in their search for stardom and artistic expression. The aforementioned singer became a soloist, managing to win over his well-known followers, and many others.

Photo by Joshua Halling

Tomlinson has a special and important connection with Mexico. He has visited our country on several occasions, being part of something that we can call "The Mexican Dream". Louis has lived every possible Mexican experience: from taking a Tecate Light in a can, traveling in "combi" to transport himself from one place to another, or to stepping on the Mexa ground in the middle of the Dry Law and election season.

For Mexican Louises, the artist could well be their president. They constantly show an unconditional love for the native of Doncaster in the United Kingdom. From that time when he chose our country as part of his exclusive tour to present his documentary (there were only three nations), until when he first appeared at the Pepsi Center WTC in the capital with three dates declared sold out. A pact was sealed between Louis and the Mexicans.

The pact was sealed between Louis and the Mexicans

Photo by @marianagphoto

Now, Louis Tomlinson chose Mexico City to perform the biggest concert of his career, but not only that, but he also chose it as the indicated show to be filmed by an impressive production team, which would broadcast it live to all corners of the world.

After that livestreaming event was announced, all the eyes of the world were on Mexico and Mexican fans behaved to the height. Able to have an understanding and an overwhelming union on social networks, they also demonstrated this ability by being together in the same place.

The "Kill My Mind" moment was a proof of this. It was on that occasion that the fans showed an absolute synchronization with the culture of Louis Tomlinson. The lights of the cell phones of all the attendees shone up and down to the rhythm of the song. Although this practice was born in Chile and was transported to other countries, it was in Mexico that it reached its peak and its absolute resolution.

Photo: Veeps

Likewise, the Mexicans did not disappoint by singing loudly, clearly, and without forgetting the lyrics, the moment: "For every question why, you were my because" from the song "Walls". And that phrase gave the title to the worldwide broadcast event that took this concert to homes around the world.

On the other hand, Mexican fans organized to paint the sea of people with the colors of the flag of Mexico. Something that was achieved perfectly during the song "She Is Beauty We Are World Class". A sublime moment that managed to excite the singer: "That shit with the lights was fucking incredible, thank you for that, I will never, ever forget it, thank you."

The emotion of the British singer was totally noticeable. With his voice choppy, he confessed that he was nervous about this presentation, not only because it was something important in his career, but because for days he had been a little "croaky" in his throat.

Photo: Josh Halling

However, Louis Tomlinson gave everything on stage, singing his hymns as a soloist, such as "Holding On A Heartache", "Out of My System", "Night Changes" - a song by One Direction -, or "Bigger Than Me".

"You are something out of this world. I'm trying to keep my feet on the ground. Seriously, after all this. Thank you. I wish I had more words— well, I do, but right now I just want to keep singing before I burst into tears. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you," Tomlinson said.

Photo: Joshua Halling

In the end, Louis Tomlinson closed his concert of just over an hour and a half with "Silver Tongues" in the middle of fireworks and a rain of eye-catching papers that many fans desperately took to take home.

This concert left several unforgettable memories. 70,000 people in one place, all of them unconditional fans of the artist. A show that was broadcast live to everyone, the consecration of a fandom that conquered the media and social networks of many countries, but above all the confession of Louis Tomlinson in which he said that he will dream forever of tonight:

"I don't want this show to end. I'm giving it my all today. And I want to tell you that I'm going to dream about tonight, I'll never forget it. Thank you very, very much."

[bluemoonperegrine]

One Giant Leap - Part I

This is a silly yet angsty one-shot in the Hallmark by Knight universe that combines an idea @vicarious-rebel and I had kicked around with Jake being the one to finally tell Jack about the system's DID. This isn't how it will go down in HbK canon. It's an AU to the AU, if you will.

Translations of the handful of Spanish phrases are at the end.

Jack frowned on his perch atop the Giant Dipper, the old wooden rollercoaster he hadn’t ridden since the whole family had visited Belmont Park when he and Lissa were teenagers. Mostly to distract from his urge to help Marc, he said through his balaclava to the mic clipped on his T-shirt, “Bebé, this isn’t natural.” 

The spiky creature the size of a tractor trailer got its webbed feet under itself as Moon Knight, grass-stained and soaked from fighting in Bonita Cove, flew straight at it. A Bluetooth earpiece carried Marc’s reply. “YA THINK?!?” 

Marc slammed into the beast, sending both of them into the miniature windmill of an already mostly trashed mini-golf course. Authorities had evacuated the area an hour earlier, when the monster had lumbered out of the Pacific. One of Marc’s contacts had alerted him, which immediately changed their plans for the day.

“Frogs can’t tolerate salt water,” Jack informed his partner, who probably wasn’t listening because the giant frog had wrapped its long tongue around him. “Bebé! Let me—”

“No!” Marc cried as he took to the air again despite his pinned arms. The tongue pulled taut but held, pulling a thrashing Moon Knight toward its gaping maw. “Stay safe!”

Finally! Jack thought, half sliding and half climbing down the ladder he’d used to get to the rollercoaster’s peak. “Stay safe” had a lot more wiggle room than “Stay there.” Although Khonshu would bring Marc back from death, Jack wasn’t about to stand back and watch his partner die if he could intervene.

The earpiece carried increasingly frantic cries as Jack neared the bottom of the ladder with his back turned to the fight in progress. With twenty feet left to go, Jack pushed off the ladder, twisting around in mid-air and hoping to find Marc breaking free.

The monster’s wide mouth snapped shut on white cape as Jack’s feet hit the ground. Wet, stomach-turning noises replaced Marc’s screams. 

Jack's wolf side roused, furious and lethal, and he found himself at a dead run aimed at the predator. His halves had reached an unspoken agreement: his human mind was needed to save his mate. If that was unsuccessful, he’d bite and slash and kill as the wolf.

With forty feet between him and his target, Jack jumped a custodian’s cart, grabbing a broom along the way. The broom head was useless, but the handle could skewer the monster’s eyes.

Twenty feet.

The huge amphibian turned and trudged east, toward the cove’s sandy shore.

Holding the broom overhead, Jack leaped while roaring as best he could with human vocal cords. A similar cry sounded in his ear—one he hadn’t heard since the Tecate mission—as the wooden pole pierced a tire-sized eyeball. Then the frog’s enormous webbed foot lashed out and Jack was hurtling backwards. He hit the ground hard and rolled.

With the gory sounds of a brawl straight out of a horror movie in his ear, Jack looked up to find the frog writhing from something within. 

The sound of blood rushing in his ears nearly swamped out what he heard from the earpiece. He murmured, “Bebé?”

The frog’s mouth opened and poured out blood.

“Más o menos,” Marc gasped.

Half of a gold crescent blade jabbed through the creature’s flesh and slashed a wide arc. The frog bellowed as blood and bile flowed, then collapsed.

The wireless earpiece carried Marc’s panting and swearing in Spanish as he pushed through the cut he’d made through the monster.

Beaming, Jack rushed up to him, wishing he could take off his balaclava and Marc could remove his bloody cowl and mask. Although no people were around, surveillance cameras surely were, not to mention the helicopters and drones overhead.

“Corazón,” Jack sighed as he wrapped his arms around his partner despite the ichor. Marc’s hug seemed hesitant; he must be injured. 

Jack let go and took a step back, noticing how the suit’s mask and some of the linen wrappings were now black instead of their usual white. Chuckling, he said, “Being swallowed by a giant frog inspired a new look?”

------------

[ This isn't a scene break. I need to get some work done, is all. I was inspired, so I banged this out. ]

bebé = baby Más o menos = More or less corazón = darling, dear (literally "heart")

[puppet-does-things]

Cup parent doodles!

So the entire reason I made Cup parents in the first place was because my friend that's primarily on TikTok under @ oneeyedwarrior17 had made some a long time ago (Their names are Coco and Earl if you're curious, they're PEAK) and I ask her if she would be upset if I did the same thing

And she said "nah dawg, go for it". So then I did :D. I showed them to her and she was like "Coco and Manzana would totally be besties" and I said "fuck YEAH they would". Plus, Earl and Tecate communicating in different languages yet understanding each other perfectly was hilarious to me.

So, I doodled the four interacting and they came out great so I figured I'd share them :D

Oh yeah, here are some doodles of Tecate and Manzana being cute

[whatifsandspheres]

So glad there's a small passenger plane as part of this second season of TWD Daryll Dixon. I thought about getting one if I was able to get a plot of land near enough or big enough itself to accommodate a runway and a small hangar. Partially subterranean to brave the winds and the temperatures, Earthship style. La Rumorosa, between Tijuana/Tecate and Mexicali in Baja California, Mexico.

Google AI:

“No plan survives contact with the enemy” is a quote attributed to Helmuth von Moltke, a 19th century German military strategist and field marshal: 

The full quote is, “No plan of operations reaches with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main force”. It appears in Kriegsgechichtliche Einzelschriften (1880). 

Moltke believed that planning and practice were essential for learning how to react in any situation. He also believed that it's rare that anything goes according to plan, and that plans shouldn't be expected to work immediately when an incident occurs. 

The quote has been simplified to "no plan survives first contact" or "everyone has a plan until they get punched in the nose". 

----- Before that, it was life in the tropics, devoted to generating fungi foods and biodiesel and charcoal starting with bamboo. Before that it was a hybrid of that one and a seasonal migration routine between Tijuana and Nayarit to run a 24/hr coffee shop/bookstore inspired by some of the coffee shops, and Lestat's specifically, in San Diego College area. Before that it was a little of those two, but with the business in San Diego, and not a cafe. Also biofuels. Before that, it was Oregon or somewhere near enough the Sierras on the West Coast with the longest possible growing season and useful cultivation days and precipitation that this side of the continent has in the temperate zone. I found a region in Eastern Russia with similar qualifying characteristics. Both places have a very conservative and slightly xenophobic propensity which I won't generalize or confirm first-hand, but I've read too much about. Now? It's been almost 17 years since global peak oil. I feel like some of you freaks do about "the zombie apocalypse," but I like to deal in reality, and the reality is worse than "aim for the head." I don't think humanity will come out of this with its mental sanity unscathed. You have no idea what's happening even as it's happening all around us. I hope you have enough clarity in hindsight, but I'm telling you right now. Wake up.

[southotheborder]

SIEMBRA

A Sequel to Narcos

Chapter 7: Oaxaca

Title: Oaxaca

Rating: 18+ (M)ature

Warnings: Cursing, violence, death

Word Count: 2790

Pairing: Javier x Female OC, Female OC x Male OC

Masterlist || Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This marks the end of Part I. I am so excited for next chapter! Translations and notes are at the bottom.

Men are nothing, principles are everything.

When Eduardo spent months doing his master’s research in Oaxaca, he was led by the incessant urge to visit the places frequented by one of his inspirations – Benito Juarez, first Mexican president of indigenous origin and national hero that helped create a democratic federal government during La Reforma.

Like Eduardo, Juarez was once an exile in the United States seeking political reform in his native country. As Eduardo explored Oaxaca, he was captivated by the well-preserved pre-Columbian sites. As he stood before the pyramids, he thought about all the natives that lost their lives, their customs, and their identities when the Europeans invaded. Eduardo felt a sorrow in his heart – a sorrow he couldn’t express with words.

He was a proud Mexican, but despite his fervent patriotism, he was always reminded of his Spanish ancestry – whether it was because of the paleness of his skin, the greenness of his eyes, the soft waves of his shoulder-length brown hair, or the comfortable social class he was a part of.

None of his ancestors lived in Mexico during La Reforma or La Revolucion, and yet he was insistent on calling it his struggle – his struggle to help improve the living conditions of millions of indigenous Mexicans who were still second-class citizens in their own country as a result of his ancestors’ conquest.

•••

Javier lost count of how many times he yelled at Angie. The girl wouldn’t talk. Not at first. Her boyfriend was smart. Even if he was in danger, he’d find a way to get out of it. But when Steve Murphy showed up at her door with a DEA badge…she talked.

It was a thirty-minute drive from Kingsville to Agua Dulce. Lucky for both, Javier’s truck was able to make the journey to Cantina Los Gallos.

They sat at the bar and ordered a beer, eying the dark skinned, dark haired, slim young man taking their orders.

There were a few locals conversing with the plump woman wearing an apron. As he slid the Tecate to Javier, Murphy slid his badge over the counter and discreetly shushed him. “Steve Murphy. DEA.”

“Lo reconoces? (Do you recognize him?)” Javier showed him a photo of Thomas.

Before responding, the young man quickly looked over his shoulder, making sure his mother was still distracted by the customers. “Quien eres tu? (Who are you?)”

“I’m the one who’s gonna make sure there isn’t a bullet in your head for being un huevon. Answer the question.”

“Sí,” he fidgeted. “He’s okay, right?”

“You tell your mother you’re goin’ to take the trash back there and meet us outside. You got that?” Steve put the badge in his suit pocket before walking towards the back of the Cantina.

“Como te llamas?” Javier took off his tinted glasses.

“Anibal.”

“How do you know Thomas?”

“He’s my sister’s boyfriend.”

“And the reporter?”

Silence.

“Habla! (Talk!)"

“I think it’s better if I show you…,” Anibal led the men up the stairs to his family’s house and peaked before motioning them to follow him.

He pulled a shoebox out from below his bed and gave it to Javier. Inside was a disorganized stack of newspaper articles, typewritten sheets, drafts, correspondence memos, and photo cutouts.

“How long have you had this?” Murphy raised his voice.

“Not long! He told me to safekeep it…that it’s always good to store a copy somewhere…”

“Thomas gave you all this?” Javier was in disbelief as he rummaged through all the documents.

“No, Floriano Beltran did.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Steve blurted out.

“The reporter...”

Murphy grabbed Javier by the shoulder and pulled him to the side.

“Reports from Mexico City state the reporter’s name as Eduardo Gallegos. Either this kid is fucking with us or the kid got played…”

Javi stroked his mustache in silence, thinking. His gut told him the kid was telling the truth. Why would anyone hide this shit for fun?

“The kid’s telling the truth, Murphy. Think about it, this Floriano guy…he knew people were coming after him. Why would he give his real name? The question isn’t whether he was playing anyone. The question is why he chose that pseudonym.”

“Do you know where this Floriano is?” Murphy turned to face Anibal.

“No. When he gave me this, it was late at night…he ran out from his truck, gave it to me out back, and told me to protect it. Said he didn’t know when they’d be back. Then they drove off.“

“They?”

“Floriano and Thomas.”

“Fuck!” Javier dragged his hand along his face.

•••

Thomas’ stomach clenched at the sight in front of him. Eduardo dropped the keys, too scared to walk any closer. The flies swarmed around the couch in the grimy apartment.

Cesar’s mouth was covered in a white foam. His body - lifeless. On the floor beside him - ripped apart documents along with shattered glass. The door hinges of both rooms were broken. Eduardo could see his typewriter from the corner of his eye was smashed against the wall.

Both men slowly approached Cesar. There were no noticeable signs of trauma, but his mouth smelled like bitter almonds. Whoever wanted him dead didn’t want to use brute force.

“We need to call the police, man.” Thomas paced around nauseously.

“We can’t. Not now. We need to get the paperwork first.”

“Floriano, there’s a dead man on your couch!”

“And we’ll be next if we don’t hurry. Whoever killed him…killed him as a message to us… A man fucking died because of us...” Tears rushed down his cheeks as he stormed into his room to collect what survived. Most of it was stored in a safe behind the wall.

“Us?”

“Yes. Us! Your name is also on those reports.”

Eduardo packed his fake identification papers into a backpack along with a folder of drafts, and letters meant for Ximena.

He stopped himself from taking a pack of cigarettes. The killer could have poisoned those too. The rest of the documents in the safe were copies of his files. He stuffed those in a shoebox and handed it over to Thomas before grabbing a bottle of bleach and wiping down the surfaces in the apartment.

“Seriously? It’s not like we killed him!”

“No…but whoever did isn’t going to incriminate themself. I’m not taking any chances. Clearly, whoever poisoned him wasn’t just any idiot. They’d somehow have to know…where he was…what he looked like…what to mix in his drink…”

“Floriano, it’ll be worse if you wait too long to call the police!”

“Listen. There’s no record of me entering the United States. I crossed the border with false papers…if I call now, I get arrested. Do you understand that?”

“Then I’ll call.”

“Why are you so stubborn! I need to clean. You need to go somewhere safe. Once this is done. I will call from a payphone and get out of here.”

Thomas couldn’t think of a safe place. Wherever he went, he’d put others in danger. He couldn’t do that to Angie or his single mother.

“I…I don’t have…anywhere to go.”

Eduardo washed his hands and turned to face him. He recognized the look in his eyes, the fear of having nowhere to turn.

“Have you ever been to Mexico?”

•••

“Hey man, anything new since you got to the library?”

Javier spent his weekend scanning the university stacks for any relevant leads. A few students had chased him down, tried to make short conversation. He said he was thinking about writing a book. It was bullshit, but it was the first thing that came to his mind when asked why he was still there after all those hours.

“Nothing. The files and drafts in here; they don’t point to anything new. I’m not sure what I’m even doing here anymore. We lost him, man. We lost Thomas!”

“Jav, listen. We’re gonna get him. But I need your help,” he paused. “Come to Mexico with me.”

“You’re outta your fucking mind if you think that’s gonna happen.”

The librarian glared at Javier from the corner of her desk.

“Man, just listen. You know I wouldn’t be asking something like this from you…Just hear me out. One of my guys, he tracked another lead to the Valencias. The man presumed to be supplying them with synthetic drugs… he’s gonna be at an event in Jalisco. DEA authorized us to-“

“Does the kid not mean shit to you? Murphy, his life is in danger, and you’ve already moved on to another lead?”

“Listen man, I know this is your student and you’re worried. But right now, we’re juggling a shit ton of stuff and if it gets us closer to the Valencias…I’m taking it. We’ll find Thomas. We will, but we gotta be smart…and you’re the only partner I trust on a mission like this. C’mon, whether you admit it or not, you know DEA would jump in a heartbeat to have you back.”

“Fuck you!”

Javier hung up and shoved the phone into his briefcase, swearing under his breath after receiving another angry look from the librarian.

•••

Mi flor, I had a dream that you were sitting on my lap, looking at the Pacific. I stroked your hair and kissed your shoulders. You didn’t say anything, you just looked on, listening to the crashing waves. When I woke up, you could imagine my desperation when I realized that you were gone…that the sea was gone, and that I was alone in this world.

The coffee scalded his tongue as he absentmindedly read the typewritten letter over again. It had slipped out of one of the Mexican newspapers in the shoebox.

Javier felt like his eyes were intruding in on something that he didn’t have a right to. He became curious about the man behind the letter, curious about the woman it was intended to, curious about the heartfelt emotion behind the correspondence.

What did it feel like to love another person like that? To be loved in return?

He imagined a faceless couple on the beach, wanting nothing more than be with each other while knowing that at one point or another, they’d have to separate…without a clue of when they’d see each other again.

He continued to read, trying to find clues about the woman intended to read those words.

I hope you had time to think about what we spoke. Will you be my Erifila? The world already thinks I’m mad…for throwing it all away on a revolutionary dream…so why not let them believe it is true? Will you meet me where la mujer Zapoteca sleeps?

He read it over…and over once more, massaging his temples, before scribbling on his notepad:

La Mujer Zapoteca, Erifila, Pacific Ocean

Javier forged the best smile he could and walked towards the librarian.

The Zapotecs were native to Oaxaca. They called themselves ‘the Cloud People’ because they believed they had descended from clouds that were once primordial deities. Several tribes lived in isolation due to the vast mountain ranges, but the geography was an advantage. It played a factor in allowing them, better than most other indigenous peoples of Mexico, to preserve their language, customs, and sites even after the Spanish arrived.

What Javier was about to do wasn’t easy. It was a matter of swallowing his pride, of doing something he told himself and the world he wouldn’t ever do.

“Murphy.”

“If you want to hide in Mexico, you hide in Oaxaca,” Javier read from the book. “The southern state with 370 miles of Pacific Coastline is the most diverse in the country—”

“I take it this is an apology?” Steve sneered.

“I think they’re in Oaxaca. That’s where you need to go. Not Jalisco.”

“How do you know they’re in Oaxaca?”

“Floriano…he wrote a letter to a woman. I think it’s his girlfriend...or a woman he’s in love with… He asked her if she would meet him where la mujer Zapoteca sleeps. It turns out it’s based on an indigenous legend from Mitla, in Oaxaca. Then check this out. He asked her if she would be his Erifila…saying that he was already crazy…I read it over a few times. When I asked the librarian if the names Floriano, Beltran, and Erifilia stood out, she led me to the stacks on Spanish plays. Madness in Valencia by Lope de Vega. Floriano and Beltran are the same character…Floriano disguises himself as Beltran after killing a prince. He is in love with an heiress named Erifila. To cut it short, they both pretend to be insane so that they can be taken to a mental asylum…because it’s the only place they can be together without society trying to break them apart.”

“Jesus Christ...as if this shit wasn’t already a mess. This can’t be a coincidence. For all we know he’s tryin’ to kill one of the Valencias...and run away with one of their daughters?”

“What do you think it is that makes a guy do a thing like that?” Javier couldn’t understand it.

“Why wouldn’t he? Those bastards are ruining his country.”

“No I mean…risk it all to run away together…”

“You read the letter, didn’t you? Whatever it is about her…he’s in love. Smart guys like him aren’t immune from it.”

Silence.

“So… DEA’s already authorized the mission in Jalisco. You want me to find your boy? I can and I will, but I’m asking that you come with me.”

“Not a chance. I’ll give you everything I know so far, but I’m not stepping a foot in Mexico. I’m done with the DEA.”

“Hear me out. The man we're after...his name is Rogelio Iturbide. As of now we have no official proof he’s supplying synthetic drugs to the Valencias. But…what we do know is that he will be attending a gathering at an hacienda a few miles north of Guadalajara…Some sorta convention full of tequila producers, businessmen, and influential people.”

“And what? You’re gonna show up as a random gringo at this hacienda? The fuck are you thinking?”

“Not as any gringo… as an investor, looking to get a foot in the tequila importation business. Already got the fake names, fake contracts, fake business associates. It’s all figured out…I just…I just need my partner.”

"Forget it."

“Answer this, Jav. What do you care more about? Your image or saving this kid’s life?”

•••

Chucho dressed in his best clothes to receive his son that Sunday morning. Javier was somewhat evasive when he said he had something important to say…but not over the phone. It had to be in person. Chucho, being the man he was, thought that such an event merited a good meal and good company. So, he invited Jenny.

She put on her favorite blue dress, a shade lighter than her cowboy boots. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail. Cute. Not too formal. She was more concerned about her cooking. The food would never compare to Mama Peña’s, but that was something she had already accepted.

Chucho read the newspaper while Jenny arranged the table. She had already cleaned the house.

Javier walked through the door wearing a short sleeved yellow button-down with a luggage bag in his hand. She began to suspect more than ever that maybe he would come back to Laredo at least for the summer semester. His phone call with Chucho sounded so urgent that she couldn’t tame the butterflies in her stomach. What is he here to tell us?

He followed the inviting aroma and found her in the kitchen with his pop. Jenny kissed him with enough intensity to show him how much she had missed him, but with enough self-control to not look inappropriate in front of Chucho.

Javier smiled at her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve smelled something this good.”

He went to go hug his father.

None of them could evade the feeling of expectation as they ate. They looked at each other from time to time, but it wasn’t until Chucho spoke up that anyone said anything longer than a sentence.

“Mijo, you gonna keep me and Jenny waiting? What’s the occasion?”

Would it be the moment his son finally decided what's good for him? Decided to settle in Texas with the girl who spent hours cooking for him?

“I could ask the same. What’s the occasion…cooking ma’s recipes now all of a sudden?”

Jenny grabbed his hand. “Just happy to have you back in Laredo, that’s all.”

Javier caressed her fingers and hesitated.

Her heart beat faster as he to put his other hand in the pocket of his jeans.

He pulled out a folded piece of paper. "What can you tell me about the distribution center the engineers at your job are building?"

She shrugged, confused and upset by his sudden disregard. "Why?"

“Because I'm going to Mexico.”

Next Chapter

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

La Reforma – The Reformation (Mexican Liberal Reform of the 1850s)

La Revolución – The Revolution (Mexican Revolution that lasted from 1910-1917)

Huevon – Mexican slang meaning dumbass

Como te llamas? – what is your name?

Mi flor – my flower

La mujer Zapoteca – the Zapotec woman

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Lope de Vega – Spanish playwright, poet, and novelist of the Spanish Golden Age of Literature. Known to be a promiscuous lady’s man…even after he join the priesthood… that didn’t last long.

Madness in Valencia – (Los Locos de Valencia) play by Lope de Vega is a theatrical romantic comedy of two lovers who seek refuge in an asylum.

Zapotecs – indigenous people concentrated in Oaxaca, but also lived in the southern highlands of Mesoamerica, originating in the 6th century BCE.

Mitla – town in Mexico, known for the Zapotec ruin of the Palace at Mitla. The town was a main religious center and believed to be the gateway between the world of the living and the dead.

Oaxaca - pronounced Oahaca

Introductory quote by Benito Juarez

------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @a-trial-run-on-paper @blueeyesatnight @drabbles-mc @radiowallet

[selevaldo]

"Simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures. Simple in actions and thoughts, you return to the source of being. Patient with both friends and enemies, you accord with the way things are. Compassionate toward yourself, you reconcile all beings in the world." - Lao Tzu - - - - - #cuchuma #kuchumaa #mountain #mountains #peak #sunset #horizon #cloud #clouds #sky #skyporn #nature #natureshots #naturephoto #naturephotography #mtb #stravaproveit #stravaphoto #cycling #tecate #tao #laotzu #taoteching #zen #simplicity #patience #compassion #watchthisinstagood #california (en Tecate, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bte3eNLAybv/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=17vmb863wc2ay

[hummm76]

Tecate Peak Trail Such a great hike!! This trail is located in the border between the USA and Tecate, Mexico, featured on their iconic beer cans. Enjoyed lunch and beer in Tecate afterward. Hike 43/52 for #52hikechallenge #tecate #tecatepeak #tecatebeer #sandiego #sandiegohikes #sandiegohiking #sandiegomountains #sandiegolife #sandiegoliving #52hikechallenge #california #californialove #Californiaadventure #californiadreaming #hiking #hikingtrail #hikingadventure #hikesandiego #cocktailhiker (at Tecate Peak) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjV5OQeP4CZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[lifeofadreamer7]

en Tecate Peak

[paigedesignresearch]

Giants, Kikito US-Mexico Boarder 2017

After news that there would be a permanent wall between the united states and Mexico JR created a gigantic installation supported by scaffolding at the border fence in the Mexican city of Tecate. 

Drove around the boarder and went and spoke the family in the house closest to the boarder on the Mexican side. 

As he was leaving he saw the two boarder patrol officers looking at the image and photographed them. 

He went back to New York and posted it on social media giving the location. 

People started going to the location to view it and take photos with it or of it. 

People where passing their phones through the wall to people on the other side to take photos for them. (this is normally illegal, people could get arrested for it). Boarder patrol were allowing it to happen. 

Image is of Kikito a todler who lives right next to the US Mexico boarder, His house overlooks the boarder. 

Image shows him playfully peaking over the fence toward the US boarder. 

Took 20 Days to dig the land to be a flat surface to build the scaffolding on. 

Work was up for one month (how long the scaffolding had been rented for). 

On the last day the work was to be displayed JR organised a picnic at the boarder where hundreds of guests (including Kikito and his family) from Mexico and US came together to share a meal.

People gathered around a long table stamped with a set of JR’s iconic eyes and that stretched across both sides of the fence, and as they ate the same food, shared the same water and enjoyed the same music (half the band played on each side) the division disappeared for a few hours.

Trying to change the views people have of the Mexican people, Americans look at people in Mexico with the stereotypes put upon them and tent to disregard that they are just regular people. (steriotypes being that they are dangerous, cause drugs and crime entering America). Kikito showed innocence and playfulness. 

“I think a child does not find malice when he is looking to play” - Kikito’s mother

“The image is to make people realise we are not criminals, we are people who work, honest, sincere, we try to strive, we are looking for prosperity”. Kikito’s Father

Photographed Kikito, Relationship with him and his parents.

Image made into halftone to make it large scale. 

 Scaffolding with wooden board attached to it where prints were pasted onto.

https://www.jr-art.net/projects/giants-border-mexico

[huefinder]

Liberec x Juárez x Toronto

Hardly anyone could make the same comparison and there’s not actually much reasons for anyone to do so. But let me try to show you what can you expect on the journey from small European town through warm desert city into freezing agglomeration on the coast of Ontario lake. You can learn much on the way and look into each city by my particular experience.

To make this more weird let’s make every location a personality. Even though I have just one month since meeting with sir Toronto, who has certain amount of style and elegancy and series of bad habits, I will start with his complex character. He’s around his forties (officially 183, but being human..) on the peak of his career with strong self confidence. His persona shares knowledge of variety of cultures and doesn’t brag about it. Schedule of sir Toronto is tight and for lack of time it’s not easy to care about all the aspects of life. He wakes up early into freezing winter and eat an unrealistic amount of bagels for quick breakfast (understand commuters from GTA). Through the day, there’s nothing but work, breaking news (which are not breaking) and loads of coffee. After work he goes to meet couple friends for a quick pint and then relax on the sofa in his two apartment house, which he kindly rent for great amount of money to an immigrant. Thinking about party falls asleep. On the weekends he could go skiing but more usually he just visit friends about which he’s not sure if they still exist.

With señor Juárez it’s much more complicated relationship, since I actually never lived on my own, thanks to my lovely girlfriend and her awesome parents. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t have the pleasure to shake hands. Señor Juárez just recently went back from a rehab and it’s going well for him. Everything started to be more optimistic, he found more friends and also international attention is more positive. He works in food truck and his food is legendary all over the world, which he’s spectacularly proud of. His daily routine is wild just went it comes to traffic, otherwise he’s calm as newly born lamb. He knows that he has to work hard to get something, but he loves it, because he does it for his family. When he’s not at work this Mexican gentleman spends time with his beautiful wife and three kids watching telenovelas or making one for real or with his cousins sipping Tecate in the warm desert winds. The weekends are wild and there’s hardly anyone who wouldn’t notice nonchalant moves and loud singing of this guy in the club.

This one is tough, I know this guy for more than 20 years so I can’t go easy on him. Liberec is just an immature brat who got his wealth too young and now he found out that his piggy bank is not what is use to be. These days, he’s just trying to find alternative ways how to get back on the horse so he can compare with much more mature Prague. It’s not a fair fight and this guy will never admit that there’s actually one. His relationships across the boarders are going well for him and he’s trying to put on face of well traveled man in his mid 30′s. But so far it looks like a grim when 23 y.o. takes a selfie in trashing hangover. There are signs on well thought activities but some of them just feel like he forget what is their purpose. Recently he got addicted to wild flavours of expensive coffee and his look changed toward hipster youngsters trying to cover his unfashionable steps from the past. His daily routine varies by the activity he just recently discovered. But he never forget about sport. He breathes for it, dress for it and wears it with certain amount of style which is cool if you’re on vacation in eastern Europe.

Living side by side with these guys made me realize how important is to travel and change air. It’s healthy and fun way how to find out what truly matters. It sounds like a cliché, but that doesn't make it any less truth. No matter where you are you should surround yourself with healthy minded people which brings joy into your life. If you stay open you’ll find loads of them anywhere, even though it will take more time on some places and it gets you so far of your comfort zone that it’s hardly visible. (#seas-mamon-part)

It was fun meeting these dudes more in person and I can’t wait to meet my next dude. Which is going to be? That’s a surprise for everybody. Stay tuned.

[aootle-blog]

 Spa - Top 10 Best Destinations Around The World

 Spa - Top 10 Best Destinations Around The World With the fast and stressful lifestyle that we are leading, a wellness break from time to time would be more than welcome to unwind and afford a moment of happiness and escape. Certainly, the renowned destinations for the spa and relaxation have become the trend for choosing your next stay.Discovering the world is wonderful in care, but if you do it for relaxation, you will find oases of choice perfect to be completely zen. Here is a list of the 10 best spa destinations around the world to inspire you to your next destination and offer you the escape and relaxation you really need. Bahamas: One & Only Ocean Club The Bahamas: One & Only Ocean Club is a resort with an exotic spa that evokes the Caribbean plantations spread along the long stretches of beach of the aptly named Paradise Island.

Its decor, its atmosphere and the profusion of its gardens will make you feel the equal of a queen in these places. All guests can enjoy daily yoga sessions on the beach at no charge. Other activities, tennis, and golf in a maritime setting are also available. The One & Only Spa offers luxurious rituals like the detoxifying ocean bath, friction and coconut wrap, and of course the seaside massage in your private open-plan villa. British Columbia: Wickaninnish Inn The Wickaninnish Inn is perched on a rocky promontory Chesterman in Tofino on Vancouver Island, in a pastoral and sophisticated decor. Surrounded by forest vegetation overlooking the sea, this secluded inn offers the most rejuvenating getaway to dream about.

The mature cedar spa specializes in re-energizing guests with exquisite treatments such as ocean hydrotherapy, Monticelli thermal mud therapy, and seaweed exfoliation. Activities can also be enjoyed, from kayaking, hiking or just too long walks on the sandy beach. California: Calistoga Ranch Nestled in the heart of the mountain forests of Napa Valley, Ranch Calistoga offers techniques and treatments that take advantage of the healing properties of the mineral waters available on site. The ranch is planted in a natural environment of oak groves, and organic remedial treatments are provided. The accommodation is luxurious and exquisitely rustic that helps to make guests forget the tensions and stress of urban life. At Ranch Calistoga, the overall experience includes wine tastings, hiking trails, and soothing yoga sessions. Mexico: Rancho La Puerta The Rancho La Puerta de Tecate in Baja, California offers an integral experience for the mind and body with vacations-spa and fitness packages. Guests can benefit from the expertise of expert coaches, world-class gyms, and guided hikes.

The relaxing treatments at Rancho La Puerta's spa are designed to regenerate the body after a day of exercise and workout. The stay includes nutritious meals created from seasonal organic foods produced right here on ranch farms. Cooking lessons are even available so guests can extend their experience of a new lifestyle at home. Wyoming Teton Mountain Lodge and Spa Discover Teton Mountain Lodge and its spa nestled in the majestic Jackson Hole Mountains. This accommodation and escape site to Yellowstone, National Elk Refuge and Grand Teton National Park blend with the rustic and evocative beauty of the natural environment.

Guests can practice yoga in a panoramic rooftop studio with views of the surrounding mountain peaks, or restore their inner harmony with the spa's natural herbs, salts, mud and hydrotherapy treatments. In season, the surrounding mountains offer ski enthusiasts a thrilling experience. Arizona: Mii Amo Spa, Enchantment Resort

Suspended in the scenery of the Sonoran Desert Red Rocks in Sedona, this world-class resort destination offers nothing less than the perfect spa experience. All packages offer stays for three, four and seven nights, including three meals a day and two treatments at the spa. Guests can choose from five spa treatment programs created to suit individual needs. They invite guests to appreciate rare and sought-after treatments such as hot cinnamon facial, clay wraps and body scrub with blue corn. Outside the spa, visitors can choose from a variety of ongoing activities including qi gong gymnastics, organic gardening and spirit dancing workshops. California: Inn Post Ranch Inn The Post Ranch Inn is lost in the breath-taking scenery so typical of the Big Sur and the feeling of being transported to another world. Clinging to the cliffs on the ocean, all of the accommodations are inspired by the unique ambiance of the site and are designed to ensure each guest has an unforgettable experience.

The Post Ranch Inn has unique attractions such as tree-lined cottages, cliff-top pools and shamanic sessions that give this destination its reputation for unconventional luxury. Spa treatments are also inspired by the surrounding nature with its wildflower facials and smooth pebble treatments, produced from the geology of local beaches. Wisconsin: The American Club

The American Club belongs to the environment of the small village of Kohler along the Sheboygan River. One of the most remarkable spa resorts in the American Midwest, the American Club fuses sophistication and country charm. At the renowned Kohler spa, there is a strong belief in healing and regeneration with minerals and water. The most popular spa treatments and services include RiverBath, which remineralizes body and skin, and BodyTalk, an extraordinary energizing therapy. For a perfect breakout, the four championship golf courses nearby must be included in the equation. Florida: Ponte Vedra Inn and Club

The popular Florida beaches are also home to many resort destinations and spas, but the Ponte Vedra Inn and Club seems to stand out from the crowd. This spa is the largest in North Florida and offers more than 100 relaxing therapies and services in caves for therapies, including espresso wraps. When the guests are not busy regenerating themselves, they can go horseback riding, ride a bike or visit the shops in the welcoming village of Ponte Vedra Beach. Maine: Inn by the Sea The Cape Elizabeth Resort & Spa is an oasis by the sea providing the ultimate relaxation getaway. The Beachfront Inn offers spa treatments and luxurious amenities in the classic charm of New England. All regenerative treatments are inspired by the sea and its benefits for the sole purpose of awakening your senses and relaxing. When guests do not explore the beaches along the harbor or the lighthouse area, they can visit Portland village shops.

So here is the selection, which other destinations can be recommended for travelers looking for relaxation and relaxation? Hope, you have enjoy reading it! https://aootle.com/10-exotic-holiday-destinations-around-world/   Read the full article

[jonathanbelloblog]

Exploring the Southern Border in a 2017 Ram Power Wagon: San Diego to Nogales

We see the plume from 10 miles out, the long, white-sand road billowing skyward. There’s barely room for one truck let alone two, and we know we’re in for a stop long before the agent slows his green-and-white truck. There’s no one out here but buzzards, Border Patrol, and us.

We shove the 2017 Ram Power Wagon off the road to make room and drop our windows to give the guy a better view of who and what’s inside. The air-conditioning vanishes immediately, replaced by dust and viciously dry heat.

The agent is in the waning days of his young years. His close-cropped hair is light brown, strands of gray gleaming along his temples in the Arizona sun. The corners of his eyes are creased with constant narrowing. He’s fit. The muscles along his jaw ripple as he chews a piece of gum. He does not introduce himself.

“You guys have a gun?”

The city of Tecate, Mexico, sits against the low, sheetmetal fence. No map can prepare you for how many towns the international line splits in two.

We’re on the burning edge of the United States, halfway across El Camino del Diablo, a 250-mile stretch of Sonoran Desert that’s part of one of the oldest trading routes in North America. It’s the same road that was first heeled by Native Americans a millennium ago. Spaniards from the Coronado Expedition followed in 1540. And now us.

We tell the agent we don’t have any weapons, and his brow shoots up over the gold rims of his glasses.

“Why the hell not? Jesus, you’re two miles from shit-ass Mexico right here. You should at least have a rifle. Hell, two. That truck would make somebody a pretty trophy south of the border. You know what I mean?”

The United States isn’t a country that knows its borders. There’s so much of this place, and it feels like we can go anywhere without the burden of declaring our purpose or submitting ourselves for inspection. Many of us will live our lives without even glimpsing another country. It is an amazing, wonderful, tragic fact of being an American.

Heavy Metal: Normandy-style barriers like these outside of Columbus, New Mexico, make up the vast majority of the border’s physical barrier.

The westernmost border marker sits behind two layers of fence on the American side at Border Field State Park outside of San Diego. We were there two days ago. The primary barrier is 18 feet tall, made of the concrete and rusted steel, and it became the border’s hallmark in 2006 when President George W. Bush’s administration built some 700 miles of it at an average cost of $2.8 million per mile. It wades out into the Pacific Ocean and comes to a stop just this side of the break. The waves have no problem making a mockery of the steel standing there. They halve themselves on the fence as they slide to shore, saltwater foaming and dancing between the slats.

For decades, a barbed-wire fence stretched between the two countries. Border Patrol erected the first physical barriers in 1990, starting with around 14 miles of fence between San Diego and Tijuana. Twenty-seven years later, the barrier between the two nations is far from homogeneous. It changes with the terrain and the demands faced by Border Patrol. A few miles east, it withers to a lower structure of stacked corrugated metal plate, each rusting section marked with a three- or four-digit code for easy identification.

There are hundreds of remote miles along the line, inaccessible by anything other than helicopter or hiking boots. Hundreds more require a capable vehicle—one with ground clearance, four-wheel drive, and plenty of range. It also must have enough cargo room for additional fuel and water plus all the spares and recovery gear you might need when you’re the only person for four hours in any direction. Enter the Power Wagon.

The Power Wagon is at home everywhere we go, perfectly camouflaged, as appropriate for meetings with federal agents as with reclusive ranchers. Perfectly American.

It has not deviated from its work-horse mandate since Ram resurrected it in 2005. With its body on a boxed frame and three-quarter-ton stick axles front and rear, its only real concession to automotive evolution is a set of coil springs. There’s a brawling 6.4-liter V-8 up front, an unflappable six-speed automatic transmission bolted behind it, and a manual-shift, two-speed transfer case lurking ahead of the rear driveshaft. It is the last of the truck world’s old guard, unapologetic in ancestry and execution.

There are more modern pickups that are more comfortable or more capable off road but none quite so well-suited to run its fingers down the full length of the U.S. border. To explore the forgotten line. The truck is massive, giving us a clear view of everyone’s roof rails as we lumber an hour east out of San Diego to Tecate, the next closest port of entry.

The Mexican town of the same name is pressed so close to the border we could smell a hundred suppers cooking from our position on the dusty northern access road. We heard children laughing and playing, nothing between us but 30 feet and a few sheets of steel. Anyone with even an ounce of determination could be over the low fence quickly. It wasn’t until the border began climbing its way through the rocky desert that it switched back to the more formidable version of itself. We wound our big truck up the rutted and twisting forest road that runs to a mountain known as Tecate Peak just in time for the first low wisps of marine layer to scrape their bellies on the hills around us.

It’s so strange to see the fence slink its way over the horizon, baffling to grasp the meaning of it. That we are allowed here but not there. It only gets more bizarre a few hours east, where the line slips its way through the Algodones Dunes.

Authorities have found 110 tunnels since 1990. the most recent discovery began in Nogales, Mexico, and stretched 43 feet into u.s. territory.

They make up the largest dune ecosystem in the U.S., looming 300 feet above the desert floor in places. The dunes are home to the impossible fence, one of the triumphs of the second Bush administration’s barrier.

It isn’t fixed to the earth beneath it because there is no earth to fix it to. The yellow sands move and wander with the desert wind, consuming or shifting otherwise stationary objects. Instead, the fence floats on top of the sand. It’s made of 16-foot-tall, concrete-filled steel tubes attached to wide, triangular steel bases. The sections are chained together, rocking and swaying.

The Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area can flood with 200,000 visitors at a time, all of them packed against the border. Fleets of buggies and full-size trucks, ATVs, and motorcycles roam America’s Sahara on a busy weekend, but we found only one RV at the Buttercup Ranger Station when we arrived there midweek. Just three guys on quads taking a break from work to play in the sand. We lowered our tire pressure, they gestured in the general direction of the fence, and we set off.

The big Ram floated along, up one dune and down the next, our windshield filling with a rotating view of sky and sand. When we ran out of valley, we had a decision to make: Retrace our steps or push farther into the dunes.

It was late afternoon. The sun had already begun to long for the low horizon to the west, and although it was still miserably hot, the truck’s shadow grew at our feet. Without a map or a clear indication of how to navigate the sand, we should have turned back. We didn’t. We idled our way farther south, climbing the long slope of a massive dune before coming to the crest to find a sprawling bowl on the other side.

“I think it’s a big solution. Talk to Border Patrol. They’re all for it. They can’t handle their job. They need help. A wall will help them. They also need more guys. You can still get over a wall.”

I broke the one golden rule of sand travel in a big, heavy, full-size truck: Do not stop. All 6,996 pounds of Power Wagon sank immediately. This is not a machine without a few tricks up its sleeve. What it lacks in intelligent crawl mode, it makes up for in hardware, including locking differentials in both axles. With the truck in 4WD Low, lockers engaged, and traction control off, I tried to ease the Ram out of the situation I had put it in. We only sank deeper. We had to push the sand back to open the doors.

The Power Wagon holds fast to its three-quarter-ton duties. It can tow nearly 10,000 pounds, almost two tons more than the Ford Raptor. It uses the same electronic sway-bar disconnect system as found on the Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, and the clever Articulink knuckle in the three-link suspension design up front allows for an impressive amount of articulation, but it’s a work truck first and a toy second. That tow rating is a product of stiff springs, and old damper technology does nothing to sweeten the ride. The Power Wagon still uses Bilstein 4600 shocks, likely in an attempt to keep operating costs low, but in an age when Fox external bypass units are common sights on production off-road rigs, the dampers show their age.

Line in the Sand: Tecate Peak gave us our first view of a pattern we’d see repeated again and again: a thriving Mexican town pressed against the line.

Likewise, the Power Wagon sits on Goodyear Wrangler Duratrac tires that don’t do much to help the big, heavy truck off road. They’re aggressive and loud, and while they’re fine in mud, they lack the versatility of other all-terrain options. They’re also small, measuring out to around 33 inches tall and 11.5 inches wide. By comparison, the Raptor’s stock tires are a full 2.0 inches taller and 1.5 inches wider.

None of that explains why I buried the truck in the sand less than a mile from the Mexican border, but I had plenty of time to think about it as I shoveled. It was quiet and hot, my nostrils full of the rare and unmistakable smell of silica, my sweat-slicked skin gritty with grains of California.

We hadn’t been at it long when the three guys from the parking lot showed up, ripping up the big dune on paddle tires like it was nothing. After a communal acknowledgment of just how stuck we were, they introduced themselves and began digging.

The Algodones Dunes, the largest dune ecosystem in the U.S., gave the Power Wagon its only trouble. The sand is powder fine, and one loose nut behind the steering wheel had us buried to the frame.

Chandler Macomber, Dutch Conner, and Joey Soto all live in Tucson. Soto’s from Nogales, Arizona, originally, the even cadence and pronunciation of the local dialect clear on his lips. He spent some time as an Army engineer in Afghanistan before catching some shrapnel in his back and being sent home to his family, he said. He showed us the scars, deep purple pocks and gouges in his tan skin.

We took turns with the shovel. It looked bleak until a Border Patrol agent rode up on a quad. He said he wasn’t supposed to help out in situations like this, but he went and found a fellow officer with an F-150 EcoBoost anyhow.

The Power Wagon comes with a 12,000-pound Warn winch, and with the Ford as an anchor, the truck clawed its way out of the hole I’d dug. Our savior agents were kind enough to keep their amusement to low smirks as they waved and rode off. It was getting dark, and our headlights played over the sand as we worked our way back to the parking lot, the quads racing up one dune face then another as we went.

The guys set about getting a grill hot for dinner while we aired up the truck’s tires. I asked them what it’s like living in Tucson, a little more than an hour from the border.

“It affects our lives, you know, in so many ways,” Conner said. “They come over [from Mexico] and take jobs. There’s a lot of competition. They’ll come and do it for a cheaper price, and they’re not licensed.”

Macomber nodded.

“A lot of Mexican families have been here for 20, 30 years. I encourage them to do it right,” he said. “But these criminals need to leave.”

Is a complete border wall the solution?

“I think it’s a big solution,” Macomber said. “Talk to Border Patrol. They’re all for it. They can’t handle their job. They need help. A wall will help them. They also need more guys. You can still get over a wall.

Conner nodded. Soto kept quiet. I asked him if he agreed.

“There’s never going to be a permanent solution,” he said. “Somebody’s going to build a wall, somebody’s going to fortify it, but there’s always going to be a way around it. Just like in Nogales. Nogales is full of tunnels. They say if there was ever an earthquake in Nogales, the whole town would fall.”

Authorities have found 110 tunnels in the city since 1990. The most recent discovery began in the Nogales, Mexico, cemetery and stretched 43 feet into U.S. territory.

We’d be through there in a few days, we said, but only if we got moving. We couldn’t say thank you enough for from Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4 http://ift.tt/2AbxK40 via IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

Exploring the Southern Border in a 2017 Ram Power Wagon: San Diego to Nogales

We see the plume from 10 miles out, the long, white-sand road billowing skyward. There’s barely room for one truck let alone two, and we know we’re in for a stop long before the agent slows his green-and-white truck. There’s no one out here but buzzards, Border Patrol, and us.

We shove the 2017 Ram Power Wagon off the road to make room and drop our windows to give the guy a better view of who and what’s inside. The air-conditioning vanishes immediately, replaced by dust and viciously dry heat.

The agent is in the waning days of his young years. His close-cropped hair is light brown, strands of gray gleaming along his temples in the Arizona sun. The corners of his eyes are creased with constant narrowing. He’s fit. The muscles along his jaw ripple as he chews a piece of gum. He does not introduce himself.

“You guys have a gun?”

The city of Tecate, Mexico, sits against the low, sheetmetal fence. No map can prepare you for how many towns the international line splits in two.

We’re on the burning edge of the United States, halfway across El Camino del Diablo, a 250-mile stretch of Sonoran Desert that’s part of one of the oldest trading routes in North America. It’s the same road that was first heeled by Native Americans a millennium ago. Spaniards from the Coronado Expedition followed in 1540. And now us.

We tell the agent we don’t have any weapons, and his brow shoots up over the gold rims of his glasses.

“Why the hell not? Jesus, you’re two miles from shit-ass Mexico right here. You should at least have a rifle. Hell, two. That truck would make somebody a pretty trophy south of the border. You know what I mean?”

The United States isn’t a country that knows its borders. There’s so much of this place, and it feels like we can go anywhere without the burden of declaring our purpose or submitting ourselves for inspection. Many of us will live our lives without even glimpsing another country. It is an amazing, wonderful, tragic fact of being an American.

Heavy Metal: Normandy-style barriers like these outside of Columbus, New Mexico, make up the vast majority of the border’s physical barrier.

The westernmost border marker sits behind two layers of fence on the American side at Border Field State Park outside of San Diego. We were there two days ago. The primary barrier is 18 feet tall, made of the concrete and rusted steel, and it became the border’s hallmark in 2006 when President George W. Bush’s administration built some 700 miles of it at an average cost of $2.8 million per mile. It wades out into the Pacific Ocean and comes to a stop just this side of the break. The waves have no problem making a mockery of the steel standing there. They halve themselves on the fence as they slide to shore, saltwater foaming and dancing between the slats.

For decades, a barbed-wire fence stretched between the two countries. Border Patrol erected the first physical barriers in 1990, starting with around 14 miles of fence between San Diego and Tijuana. Twenty-seven years later, the barrier between the two nations is far from homogeneous. It changes with the terrain and the demands faced by Border Patrol. A few miles east, it withers to a lower structure of stacked corrugated metal plate, each rusting section marked with a three- or four-digit code for easy identification.

There are hundreds of remote miles along the line, inaccessible by anything other than helicopter or hiking boots. Hundreds more require a capable vehicle—one with ground clearance, four-wheel drive, and plenty of range. It also must have enough cargo room for additional fuel and water plus all the spares and recovery gear you might need when you’re the only person for four hours in any direction. Enter the Power Wagon.

The Power Wagon is at home everywhere we go, perfectly camouflaged, as appropriate for meetings with federal agents as with reclusive ranchers. Perfectly American.

It has not deviated from its work-horse mandate since Ram resurrected it in 2005. With its body on a boxed frame and three-quarter-ton stick axles front and rear, its only real concession to automotive evolution is a set of coil springs. There’s a brawling 6.4-liter V-8 up front, an unflappable six-speed automatic transmission bolted behind it, and a manual-shift, two-speed transfer case lurking ahead of the rear driveshaft. It is the last of the truck world’s old guard, unapologetic in ancestry and execution.

There are more modern pickups that are more comfortable or more capable off road but none quite so well-suited to run its fingers down the full length of the U.S. border. To explore the forgotten line. The truck is massive, giving us a clear view of everyone’s roof rails as we lumber an hour east out of San Diego to Tecate, the next closest port of entry.

The Mexican town of the same name is pressed so close to the border we could smell a hundred suppers cooking from our position on the dusty northern access road. We heard children laughing and playing, nothing between us but 30 feet and a few sheets of steel. Anyone with even an ounce of determination could be over the low fence quickly. It wasn’t until the border began climbing its way through the rocky desert that it switched back to the more formidable version of itself. We wound our big truck up the rutted and twisting forest road that runs to a mountain known as Tecate Peak just in time for the first low wisps of marine layer to scrape their bellies on the hills around us.

It’s so strange to see the fence slink its way over the horizon, baffling to grasp the meaning of it. That we are allowed here but not there. It only gets more bizarre a few hours east, where the line slips its way through the Algodones Dunes.

Authorities have found 110 tunnels since 1990. the most recent discovery began in Nogales, Mexico, and stretched 43 feet into u.s. territory.

They make up the largest dune ecosystem in the U.S., looming 300 feet above the desert floor in places. The dunes are home to the impossible fence, one of the triumphs of the second Bush administration’s barrier.

It isn’t fixed to the earth beneath it because there is no earth to fix it to. The yellow sands move and wander with the desert wind, consuming or shifting otherwise stationary objects. Instead, the fence floats on top of the sand. It’s made of 16-foot-tall, concrete-filled steel tubes attached to wide, triangular steel bases. The sections are chained together, rocking and swaying.

The Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area can flood with 200,000 visitors at a time, all of them packed against the border. Fleets of buggies and full-size trucks, ATVs, and motorcycles roam America’s Sahara on a busy weekend, but we found only one RV at the Buttercup Ranger Station when we arrived there midweek. Just three guys on quads taking a break from work to play in the sand. We lowered our tire pressure, they gestured in the general direction of the fence, and we set off.

The big Ram floated along, up one dune and down the next, our windshield filling with a rotating view of sky and sand. When we ran out of valley, we had a decision to make: Retrace our steps or push farther into the dunes.

It was late afternoon. The sun had already begun to long for the low horizon to the west, and although it was still miserably hot, the truck’s shadow grew at our feet. Without a map or a clear indication of how to navigate the sand, we should have turned back. We didn’t. We idled our way farther south, climbing the long slope of a massive dune before coming to the crest to find a sprawling bowl on the other side.

“I think it’s a big solution. Talk to Border Patrol. They’re all for it. They can’t handle their job. They need help. A wall will help them. They also need more guys. You can still get over a wall.”

I broke the one golden rule of sand travel in a big, heavy, full-size truck: Do not stop. All 6,996 pounds of Power Wagon sank immediately. This is not a machine without a few tricks up its sleeve. What it lacks in intelligent crawl mode, it makes up for in hardware, including locking differentials in both axles. With the truck in 4WD Low, lockers engaged, and traction control off, I tried to ease the Ram out of the situation I had put it in. We only sank deeper. We had to push the sand back to open the doors.

The Power Wagon holds fast to its three-quarter-ton duties. It can tow nearly 10,000 pounds, almost two tons more than the Ford Raptor. It uses the same electronic sway-bar disconnect system as found on the Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, and the clever Articulink knuckle in the three-link suspension design up front allows for an impressive amount of articulation, but it’s a work truck first and a toy second. That tow rating is a product of stiff springs, and old damper technology does nothing to sweeten the ride. The Power Wagon still uses Bilstein 4600 shocks, likely in an attempt to keep operating costs low, but in an age when Fox external bypass units are common sights on production off-road rigs, the dampers show their age.

Line in the Sand: Tecate Peak gave us our first view of a pattern we’d see repeated again and again: a thriving Mexican town pressed against the line.

Likewise, the Power Wagon sits on Goodyear Wrangler Duratrac tires that don’t do much to help the big, heavy truck off road. They’re aggressive and loud, and while they’re fine in mud, they lack the versatility of other all-terrain options. They’re also small, measuring out to around 33 inches tall and 11.5 inches wide. By comparison, the Raptor’s stock tires are a full 2.0 inches taller and 1.5 inches wider.

None of that explains why I buried the truck in the sand less than a mile from the Mexican border, but I had plenty of time to think about it as I shoveled. It was quiet and hot, my nostrils full of the rare and unmistakable smell of silica, my sweat-slicked skin gritty with grains of California.

We hadn’t been at it long when the three guys from the parking lot showed up, ripping up the big dune on paddle tires like it was nothing. After a communal acknowledgment of just how stuck we were, they introduced themselves and began digging.

The Algodones Dunes, the largest dune ecosystem in the U.S., gave the Power Wagon its only trouble. The sand is powder fine, and one loose nut behind the steering wheel had us buried to the frame.

Chandler Macomber, Dutch Conner, and Joey Soto all live in Tucson. Soto’s from Nogales, Arizona, originally, the even cadence and pronunciation of the local dialect clear on his lips. He spent some time as an Army engineer in Afghanistan before catching some shrapnel in his back and being sent home to his family, he said. He showed us the scars, deep purple pocks and gouges in his tan skin.

We took turns with the shovel. It looked bleak until a Border Patrol agent rode up on a quad. He said he wasn’t supposed to help out in situations like this, but he went and found a fellow officer with an F-150 EcoBoost anyhow.

The Power Wagon comes with a 12,000-pound Warn winch, and with the Ford as an anchor, the truck clawed its way out of the hole I’d dug. Our savior agents were kind enough to keep their amusement to low smirks as they waved and rode off. It was getting dark, and our headlights played over the sand as we worked our way back to the parking lot, the quads racing up one dune face then another as we went.

The guys set about getting a grill hot for dinner while we aired up the truck’s tires. I asked them what it’s like living in Tucson, a little more than an hour from the border.

“It affects our lives, you know, in so many ways,” Conner said. “They come over [from Mexico] and take jobs. There’s a lot of competition. They’ll come and do it for a cheaper price, and they’re not licensed.”

Macomber nodded.

“A lot of Mexican families have been here for 20, 30 years. I encourage them to do it right,” he said. “But these criminals need to leave.”

Is a complete border wall the solution?

“I think it’s a big solution,” Macomber said. “Talk to Border Patrol. They’re all for it. They can’t handle their job. They need help. A wall will help them. They also need more guys. You can still get over a wall.

Conner nodded. Soto kept quiet. I asked him if he agreed.

“There’s never going to be a permanent solution,” he said. “Somebody’s going to build a wall, somebody’s going to fortify it, but there’s always going to be a way around it. Just like in Nogales. Nogales is full of tunnels. They say if there was ever an earthquake in Nogales, the whole town would fall.”

Authorities have found 110 tunnels in the city since 1990. The most recent discovery began in the Nogales, Mexico, cemetery and stretched 43 feet into U.S. territory.

We’d be through there in a few days, we said, but only if we got moving. We couldn’t say thank you enough for from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 http://ift.tt/2AbxK40 via IFTTT

[selevaldo]

It's been a while but #nature keeps reminding me that there is a #path and you just need to follow it - - - - - #natureshots #naturephoto #naturephotography #bike #mtb #stravaproveit #stravaphoto #thenewmexicanbikemafia #cycling #cuchuma #kuchumaa #tecate #mountain #mountains #sunset #clouds #sky #skyporn (en Tecate Peak)

[eddiejpoplar]

Exploring the Southern Border in a 2017 Ram Power Wagon: San Diego to Nogales

We see the plume from 10 miles out, the long, white-sand road billowing skyward. There’s barely room for one truck let alone two, and we know we’re in for a stop long before the agent slows his green-and-white truck. There’s no one out here but buzzards, Border Patrol, and us.

We shove the 2017 Ram Power Wagon off the road to make room and drop our windows to give the guy a better view of who and what’s inside. The air-conditioning vanishes immediately, replaced by dust and viciously dry heat.

The agent is in the waning days of his young years. His close-cropped hair is light brown, strands of gray gleaming along his temples in the Arizona sun. The corners of his eyes are creased with constant narrowing. He’s fit. The muscles along his jaw ripple as he chews a piece of gum. He does not introduce himself.

“You guys have a gun?”

The city of Tecate, Mexico, sits against the low, sheetmetal fence. No map can prepare you for how many towns the international line splits in two.

We’re on the burning edge of the United States, halfway across El Camino del Diablo, a 250-mile stretch of Sonoran Desert that’s part of one of the oldest trading routes in North America. It’s the same road that was first heeled by Native Americans a millennium ago. Spaniards from the Coronado Expedition followed in 1540. And now us.

We tell the agent we don’t have any weapons, and his brow shoots up over the gold rims of his glasses.

“Why the hell not? Jesus, you’re two miles from shit-ass Mexico right here. You should at least have a rifle. Hell, two. That truck would make somebody a pretty trophy south of the border. You know what I mean?”

The United States isn’t a country that knows its borders. There’s so much of this place, and it feels like we can go anywhere without the burden of declaring our purpose or submitting ourselves for inspection. Many of us will live our lives without even glimpsing another country. It is an amazing, wonderful, tragic fact of being an American.

Heavy Metal: Normandy-style barriers like these outside of Columbus, New Mexico, make up the vast majority of the border’s physical barrier.

The westernmost border marker sits behind two layers of fence on the American side at Border Field State Park outside of San Diego. We were there two days ago. The primary barrier is 18 feet tall, made of the concrete and rusted steel, and it became the border’s hallmark in 2006 when President George W. Bush’s administration built some 700 miles of it at an average cost of $2.8 million per mile. It wades out into the Pacific Ocean and comes to a stop just this side of the break. The waves have no problem making a mockery of the steel standing there. They halve themselves on the fence as they slide to shore, saltwater foaming and dancing between the slats.

For decades, a barbed-wire fence stretched between the two countries. Border Patrol erected the first physical barriers in 1990, starting with around 14 miles of fence between San Diego and Tijuana. Twenty-seven years later, the barrier between the two nations is far from homogeneous. It changes with the terrain and the demands faced by Border Patrol. A few miles east, it withers to a lower structure of stacked corrugated metal plate, each rusting section marked with a three- or four-digit code for easy identification.

There are hundreds of remote miles along the line, inaccessible by anything other than helicopter or hiking boots. Hundreds more require a capable vehicle—one with ground clearance, four-wheel drive, and plenty of range. It also must have enough cargo room for additional fuel and water plus all the spares and recovery gear you might need when you’re the only person for four hours in any direction. Enter the Power Wagon.

The Power Wagon is at home everywhere we go, perfectly camouflaged, as appropriate for meetings with federal agents as with reclusive ranchers. Perfectly American.

It has not deviated from its work-horse mandate since Ram resurrected it in 2005. With its body on a boxed frame and three-quarter-ton stick axles front and rear, its only real concession to automotive evolution is a set of coil springs. There’s a brawling 6.4-liter V-8 up front, an unflappable six-speed automatic transmission bolted behind it, and a manual-shift, two-speed transfer case lurking ahead of the rear driveshaft. It is the last of the truck world’s old guard, unapologetic in ancestry and execution.

There are more modern pickups that are more comfortable or more capable off road but none quite so well-suited to run its fingers down the full length of the U.S. border. To explore the forgotten line. The truck is massive, giving us a clear view of everyone’s roof rails as we lumber an hour east out of San Diego to Tecate, the next closest port of entry.

The Mexican town of the same name is pressed so close to the border we could smell a hundred suppers cooking from our position on the dusty northern access road. We heard children laughing and playing, nothing between us but 30 feet and a few sheets of steel. Anyone with even an ounce of determination could be over the low fence quickly. It wasn’t until the border began climbing its way through the rocky desert that it switched back to the more formidable version of itself. We wound our big truck up the rutted and twisting forest road that runs to a mountain known as Tecate Peak just in time for the first low wisps of marine layer to scrape their bellies on the hills around us.

It’s so strange to see the fence slink its way over the horizon, baffling to grasp the meaning of it. That we are allowed here but not there. It only gets more bizarre a few hours east, where the line slips its way through the Algodones Dunes.

Authorities have found 110 tunnels since 1990. the most recent discovery began in Nogales, Mexico, and stretched 43 feet into u.s. territory.

They make up the largest dune ecosystem in the U.S., looming 300 feet above the desert floor in places. The dunes are home to the impossible fence, one of the triumphs of the second Bush administration’s barrier.

It isn’t fixed to the earth beneath it because there is no earth to fix it to. The yellow sands move and wander with the desert wind, consuming or shifting otherwise stationary objects. Instead, the fence floats on top of the sand. It’s made of 16-foot-tall, concrete-filled steel tubes attached to wide, triangular steel bases. The sections are chained together, rocking and swaying.

The Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area can flood with 200,000 visitors at a time, all of them packed against the border. Fleets of buggies and full-size trucks, ATVs, and motorcycles roam America’s Sahara on a busy weekend, but we found only one RV at the Buttercup Ranger Station when we arrived there midweek. Just three guys on quads taking a break from work to play in the sand. We lowered our tire pressure, they gestured in the general direction of the fence, and we set off.

The big Ram floated along, up one dune and down the next, our windshield filling with a rotating view of sky and sand. When we ran out of valley, we had a decision to make: Retrace our steps or push farther into the dunes.

It was late afternoon. The sun had already begun to long for the low horizon to the west, and although it was still miserably hot, the truck’s shadow grew at our feet. Without a map or a clear indication of how to navigate the sand, we should have turned back. We didn’t. We idled our way farther south, climbing the long slope of a massive dune before coming to the crest to find a sprawling bowl on the other side.

“I think it’s a big solution. Talk to Border Patrol. They’re all for it. They can’t handle their job. They need help. A wall will help them. They also need more guys. You can still get over a wall.”

I broke the one golden rule of sand travel in a big, heavy, full-size truck: Do not stop. All 6,996 pounds of Power Wagon sank immediately. This is not a machine without a few tricks up its sleeve. What it lacks in intelligent crawl mode, it makes up for in hardware, including locking differentials in both axles. With the truck in 4WD Low, lockers engaged, and traction control off, I tried to ease the Ram out of the situation I had put it in. We only sank deeper. We had to push the sand back to open the doors.

The Power Wagon holds fast to its three-quarter-ton duties. It can tow nearly 10,000 pounds, almost two tons more than the Ford Raptor. It uses the same electronic sway-bar disconnect system as found on the Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, and the clever Articulink knuckle in the three-link suspension design up front allows for an impressive amount of articulation, but it’s a work truck first and a toy second. That tow rating is a product of stiff springs, and old damper technology does nothing to sweeten the ride. The Power Wagon still uses Bilstein 4600 shocks, likely in an attempt to keep operating costs low, but in an age when Fox external bypass units are common sights on production off-road rigs, the dampers show their age.

Line in the Sand: Tecate Peak gave us our first view of a pattern we’d see repeated again and again: a thriving Mexican town pressed against the line.

Likewise, the Power Wagon sits on Goodyear Wrangler Duratrac tires that don’t do much to help the big, heavy truck off road. They’re aggressive and loud, and while they’re fine in mud, they lack the versatility of other all-terrain options. They’re also small, measuring out to around 33 inches tall and 11.5 inches wide. By comparison, the Raptor’s stock tires are a full 2.0 inches taller and 1.5 inches wider.

None of that explains why I buried the truck in the sand less than a mile from the Mexican border, but I had plenty of time to think about it as I shoveled. It was quiet and hot, my nostrils full of the rare and unmistakable smell of silica, my sweat-slicked skin gritty with grains of California.

We hadn’t been at it long when the three guys from the parking lot showed up, ripping up the big dune on paddle tires like it was nothing. After a communal acknowledgment of just how stuck we were, they introduced themselves and began digging.

The Algodones Dunes, the largest dune ecosystem in the U.S., gave the Power Wagon its only trouble. The sand is powder fine, and one loose nut behind the steering wheel had us buried to the frame.

Chandler Macomber, Dutch Conner, and Joey Soto all live in Tucson. Soto’s from Nogales, Arizona, originally, the even cadence and pronunciation of the local dialect clear on his lips. He spent some time as an Army engineer in Afghanistan before catching some shrapnel in his back and being sent home to his family, he said. He showed us the scars, deep purple pocks and gouges in his tan skin.

We took turns with the shovel. It looked bleak until a Border Patrol agent rode up on a quad. He said he wasn’t supposed to help out in situations like this, but he went and found a fellow officer with an F-150 EcoBoost anyhow.

The Power Wagon comes with a 12,000-pound Warn winch, and with the Ford as an anchor, the truck clawed its way out of the hole I’d dug. Our savior agents were kind enough to keep their amusement to low smirks as they waved and rode off. It was getting dark, and our headlights played over the sand as we worked our way back to the parking lot, the quads racing up one dune face then another as we went.

The guys set about getting a grill hot for dinner while we aired up the truck’s tires. I asked them what it’s like living in Tucson, a little more than an hour from the border.

“It affects our lives, you know, in so many ways,” Conner said. “They come over [from Mexico] and take jobs. There’s a lot of competition. They’ll come and do it for a cheaper price, and they’re not licensed.”

Macomber nodded.

“A lot of Mexican families have been here for 20, 30 years. I encourage them to do it right,” he said. “But these criminals need to leave.”

Is a complete border wall the solution?

“I think it’s a big solution,” Macomber said. “Talk to Border Patrol. They’re all for it. They can’t handle their job. They need help. A wall will help them. They also need more guys. You can still get over a wall.

Conner nodded. Soto kept quiet. I asked him if he agreed.

“There’s never going to be a permanent solution,” he said. “Somebody’s going to build a wall, somebody’s going to fortify it, but there’s always going to be a way around it. Just like in Nogales. Nogales is full of tunnels. They say if there was ever an earthquake in Nogales, the whole town would fall.”

Authorities have found 110 tunnels in the city since 1990. The most recent discovery began in the Nogales, Mexico, cemetery and stretched 43 feet into U.S. territory.

We’d be through there in a few days, we said, but only if we got moving. We couldn’t say thank you enough for from Performance Junk Blogger 6 http://ift.tt/2AbxK40 via IFTTT