Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Least unattractive option

December 7th, 2011

Daylight fading rapidly, Ken contemplates his options.. Choosing the least unattractive option..

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Bordering Mexico

December 7th, 2011

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Much of California, Arizona and New Mexico had, explained the storekeeper in Boulevard, once been part of Mexico proper. But, if the border had ever been on shifting sands, it was now firmly fixed. A stark, high fence. But not continuous. Gaps on some of the steep hillsides.

Heavy US Customs and Border Protection presence. Vehicles frequently parked up in the scrub. Part detection part deterrence. Accounting for close on half the traffic on the highway. Roadside checkpoints. Whether the focus was counter-narcotics or people-trafficking I wasn’t sure. Either way, it didn’t bear well for wild camping.

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View into Mexico

December 7th, 2011

Ken catches a glimpse of Mexico. Looks just like Southern California. But a bit poorer..

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Ken catches a glimpse of Mexico. Looks just like Southern California. But a bit poorer..

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Borderline sunset

December 7th, 2011

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Sunset over the Mexican border. Close to Jacumba, Southern California

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Along the border

December 7th, 2011

Ken stumbles upon the Mexican border. Eric Honecker would be proud… Probably…

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Cacti

December 7th, 2011

Ken usually finds flora and fauna a bit elusive. But not this time. Cacti. Mind you, it can hardly run away

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Cafe closure

December 7th, 2011

Ken finds the cafe closed. And he’s an idea why…

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Laguna Summit

December 6th, 2011

Ken finally finds the genuine article. Highest point on the route between San Diego and Phoenix. Laguna Summit. There were signs…

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Pine Valley

December 6th, 2011

Ken takes a brief break in Pine Valley. Contemplating the road ahead.

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Alpine encounters

December 6th, 2011

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"An armed society is a polite society"

Regaled in Alpine attire – Lederhosen, traditional hat sporting a feather tucked into the band on one side, long stockings – he’d entered the cafe through a side door, picked up a newspaper and found a seat in the corner. Late seventies. German immigrant I thought, but he never spoke so I was left unsure. Didn’t look much like a retired car worker.

I’d stopped in a Fifties styled diner in the small town of Pine Valley. Imagery of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, of classic cars, on the walls. On the road since seven, it was now gone ten and I’d only managed sixteen miles. Struggling with the climbs. Realising my intended night’s stop at Brawley was quite out of reach. Only question was how much further I’d get tonight.

Leaving San Diego a bit later than planned, progress up into the hills inland had been tediously slow. By four, less than an hour of daylight left, I’d managed little more than thirty five miles. Barely crawling into the town of Alpine. Desperately tired. The hills hadn’t helped but it was mostly my own fault. Chatting until gone midnight. Now a compelling need for sleep.

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I liked the diner. Tasteful. It felt homely. Locals drifting in, some sitting along the counter, others at tables. Two men in Sheriff’s Department uniforms. Ill-fitting. Radio on the table, barely audible chatter. No firearms or utility belts. Then the realisation these were volunteers. Left wondering what use they’d be in an armed society.

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