hay malo gente y bueno gente. yo soy bueno gente

I rode out of Xpuzil feeling good about riding back into the selva towards the triple frontier of Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala then onwards into Belize. I was heading towards Justo Sierra Mendez not anticipating many problems, just follow the signs out of Xpuzil. I asked around about the distance but had a hard time getting a direct answer. Nothing surprising, most people do not travel very far and this was about 100 km away in a remote corner of Mexico. The road sign in Xpuzil was the last and within 60 km nothing was matching my maps. Some of the towns were on the map but on different roads than what i thought i was on . . . but i was on the only road stretching out through the jungle winding over the low hills. A black top snake to the borders inviting the poor landless deeper. Land was cheap - you could buy 60 hectares for the price of a lot in other areas of Mexico - of course it was all selva. Selva slowly falling to machete and burning in piles, the omnipresent smell of burning leaves, slash and burn agriculture. At least the road was new and decent quality.
I stopped in the pueblito of Unidad y Trabajo, drank a coke and watched sheep and pigs grazing by. Pigs are not fat here, if you are a hog then i can see your ribs. By 3 in the afternoon rain clouds were growing bigger as pueblos grew smaller and selva loomed larger. A truck i had been playing hop scotch with slowed to a stop in front of me and then backed up. I was stashing large bills and my debit card into my bike shorts. He offered me a ride down the road to Cibalito, I considered for a second then threw my bike in the back. I watched the selva roll by and pueblitos with names like El Sacrificio, collections of thatched huts carved out of the jungle. The driver periodically leaned over to feed a beer to the guy sitting in the passenger seat, who appeared mentally handicapped. I hopped out in Cibalito, noted the small store, and got directions to Justo Sierra because my maps were useless. Justo Sierra was close but when i arrived i wondered why the hell have a road sign for this place 100 km away? Nothing is here. I spoke with a collection of folks including a local teacher asking about the road to Belize on my map. One it was not there but in Pioneros del Rio, and two i did not want to go there because they would assault me . . . and then they laughed.

I heard this type of thing before about the people down road. The cannibal syndrome. Oh, you don't want to go there they are cannibals. Yet, there is no confirmed documentation of humans killing other humans for food in the world (aside from gold miners and soccer players). A universal taboo equals a universal insult. Reminds me of the Arab/Israeli conflict – both sides say the other drinks the blood of children. But I digress and this was different.
I rode back to Cibalito to stock up and find a place to camp. On the edge of town i was hailed in English to have a beer. Jose seemed harmless, the beer was cold, and I needed information. In the end i was invited to spend the night with a family that had founded Cibalito 25 years earlier. Perfect! If you are going to stay in a community then you need to be invited for the sake of security.
Towards the end of the evening i was getting hungry and others were getting drunk, so time for all to turn in. Jose leans over to warn me to watch my back. He half ass invites me to stay with him and his father saying all is not as it appears. I am taken aback . . . what does he want? . . . more beer money? . . . the concern somehow seems genuine but what can i do at this point? Unfortunately, he was right.
It was close to midnight when Nacho, the 16 year old son, came over drunk saying he needed 100 pesos for some reason . . . then it was down to 50 pesos for two caugamas (liter beers). I said no and he got belligerent. Not a swinging belligerence but a whiny belligerence that says conniving and dangerous. He tells me guys are talking about coming over in the morning to slit my throat and take my stuff. . . I owe him. . . He is protecting me. . . You are in my house. . . Adrenalin courses. I am ready to get physical but that would make things worse. Nacho tries to put a buddy buddy arm around me but I am not in a buddy mood. He sees my anger and leaves. But now what? Rain, thunder and lightening are beginning. If i leave where do i go? Being on the road makes me a target. Maybe he is just full of shit . . . I think of Jose's warning.
I barricade the door to the thatch hut with my fully loaded touring bike, wedge a cinder block down low, and a fence post up high then tie a rope across the whole ensemble. I find a very stout 6 foot staff, keep my emergency whistle handy, and pocket my knife. If anyone makes it through that door it is going to make a racket to raise Cain, then i do. I did not sleep. A periodic succession of people came and went trying to get in. I followed their shadows through the slats in the walls, telling them to leave, and watching their retreat through the same slats, as i stand in the middle of the 100 square foot thatch hut staff in hand. At one point, the electricity fails during the storm and i am plunged into blinding darkness losing my view of the outside. Blessed morning comes after an eternity and the rain stops. I notice movement outside as people wake and there is a small gathering of young men outside my hut . . . here we go . . . but they dissipate as i hear Nacho talking shit. I pack things up, get caffeinated (cold instant coffee), and get out the door ready to ride or rumble. Nobody is about. . . then Jose shows up and says lets go. I have a cousin in Pioneros del Rio who is a good man and he will take you over to Belize . . .
A moment of decision. Do i trust Jose? Is he in on this? I decide to trust him. Otherwise, it is go it alone through town on the open road. I pay 20 pesos for him to borrow a bike from a guy bleeding from his eye because drunks jumped him the night before, and we pedal off into the early morning to Pioneros del Rio. Along the way i buy Jose/me a caugama, and he tells me about Pioneros. Keep my head down, mouth shut, and keep moving. Jose is a funny guy that puts me at a relative ease . But a funny guy with sadness and disappointment hidden under alcohol and smiles. As we come into Pioneros i figure out that he sees this cousin maybe once a year . . . he better be a really good man.

Alberto comes out of his house and agrees to take me over to Belize but we must wait for the pueblos water tank to fill because he is supervising the pump. Meanwhile, I can rest in the house in his hammock out of sight. He is concerned that I stay out of sight until late afternoon. I am hesitant and tempted to try to ride out of there to lord knows where . . . Alberto and Jose sense my hesitation and I level with them about my doubts. Alberto reassures me that he is a man of his word and I can place faith in him – confianza. I am a little short in the faith department.

I am exhausted and take his word. As soon as I step into the home I am reassured. The family is happy, smiling and loving. I forget his wife's name because he refers to her as my love. The five children ages 6 to 16 adore their father. After some eggs and tortillas I rest for awhile, but unable sleep, I join Alberto and Jose in the back yard to drink a bomba of cana with coca cola. They are surprised I drink cana. Nothing wrong with cana, 50 proof cane liquor, but being cheap has class connotations.

Alberto then tells me that we cannot leave as planned . . . the Federales are on the border in Pioneros for a once a month swing through and we will have to wait until early morning. Honestly, what next?, but they will be gone by morning all is tranquilo. Incidently, it is Alberto's 39^th birthday so I help purchase a large chicken and many bombas of cana for the party that night.

I pass the afternoon writing some and talking with Betin, the middle child, who has many questions about where I live and my travels. Late in the afternoon I give Jose 200 pesos for a phone call and help pay for the chicken. Jose leaves and does not return – no doubt he is home and roaring drunk by party time. Alberto is not surprised, nor am I.

Alberto returns with a chicken around 8pm and I lend my knife to slaughter the chicken and prepare dinner while people start to show up for the party. I try to make myself useful while a borrowed boom box and electrical light gets hooked up. I am able to help with the boom box because nobody knows how to operate it. Eventually, we eat, I chat with the local school teachers, while some look at me with undisguised dislike. I turn in to try to sleep but incessant booming banda music makes it impossible as the party goes on. I rise at 3:30 am after maybe 2 hours sleep. Alberto is still up partying with many bombas of cana later but he assures me that we go at 4:30am.

True to his word, without a wink of sleep, and loaded on cana we head out into the night. Lights off so the people in the pueblo will not see us. I do my best to keep up with Alberto as we ride along the rutted path occasionally walking with our dim lights. The border is completely unsecured but the deep ruts testify to the earlier presence of heavy vehicles, the Federales. At one point we stop while Alberto scouts and signals me on, within 30 minutes we pop out of the selva onto the camino blanca. We are in Belize and back on our bikes riding along the border passing roads that shoot back into the selva for Guatemala. Howler monkeys herald the dawn as we ride through ranch land into Belize proper. Exhausted but relieved I have a full day of riding ahead of me before passing out into fitful sleep at the D Victoria Hotel in Orange Walk, Belize. As Alberto said, "hay malo gente y bueno gente, pero yo soy bueno gente." He was right.