After riding for ten hours, the crick in my upper back was bothering me more than usual, and my visor wouldn’t stop fogging up. It had rained nearly all day and even more consistently after dark. I hadn’t accounted for the change in climate on the Altiplano, and it had become much cooler than the night before. Now cold and wet, noticing the onset of hypothermia from my chattering teeth, I pulled into the Pemex gas station to fill up and, more importantly, warm up. My decision not to stop earlier and to press on had been torturing me for the last hour, but luckily my bodily discomfort was masking my anxiety about whether I would make it anywhere at all tonight. I stepped of my bike and felt the water squish through my boots, and I scrunched my toes a few times to make sure they were still there. I really should have bought those waterproof Alpinestars before I left.
It was nearly one in the morning and I was fortunate to meet Omar and Leonel at the rest stop, returning from the weekend moto trip to the beach. They must have been as crazy as I was for riding in these conditions, although, they had the excuse of getting home before the work week. I didn’t really have one, other than to get to Mexico City. Being a foreigner, a bit bedraggled and out of place, I must have looked a bit desperate. The chilango bikers offered to guide me downtown to the zócalo where I could try to find a place to stay. I doubted my ability to navigate the unfamiliar city streets in the middle of the night anyway, and I was thankful for the company.
I forced my sopping-wet gloves back on my hands, cleaned my visor one last time, and we departed. As we raced down the 51D toll road, my 650 Enduro struggled to keep up with their Ducatis, and I knew they were probably holding back. The complex city pathways looked confusing on the map, but as we changed from one highway to the next, crossing over a few blocks only to join with another avenue, it only became more disorienting. The streets were like a tangled network of spaghetti. I never expected the world’s third largest city to be so dark and deserted. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like a ghost town. The police perched themselves on nearly every corner, and my guides didn’t hesitate to fly through every red light we came to. They explained later that the streets aren’t safe at night, and that it was acceptable to run lights when there wasn’t any traffic. I think it was more likely due to their impatience than safety, but needless to say, I put this advice to good use on the rest of my trip (it never seemed reasonable to wait at these lights anyway).
I wondered what I had in common with my newfound friends. The average travelers don’t pick up an unfortunate gringo at a rest stop. What motivates this adventurer spirit? Some people imagine travel as flying to far off locations, staying in comfortable hotels, and having top-rate service. I don’t find any fault in luxury, but I find it hard to classify this as travel. Only in the Age of Globalization can you go to the far corners of the world to stay in a Holiday Inn, eat a hamburger and fries for lunch, and come into an air-conditioned room to watch HBO in the afternoon when the weather is too hot to bear It seems that these people want to bring their reality at home to the rest of the world. Maybe this helps them prove their delusional notions that the rest of the world isn’t so different. I have never found this vacationer’s approach very enticing. I idolize the exploits of Sir Francis Drake as he rounded Cape Horn and later pillaged the Spanish or the expeditions of Louis and Clark as they trekked into the uncharted West. These frontiers no longer exist in this modern world, so we have to find adventurer from what is available. I think Omar and Leonel would share the same perspective.

As we dived into the darkness of the city, I didn’t know what lay before me. There were two tail lights in front of me that danced past the few cars that lurked the streets and 2,500 miles of road behind me. I knew that there was something new and unexpected waiting, and at this moment, that was all that really mattered. For a period of time, I think I became caught up with novelty, the shinier thing around the corner. I could never settle with what I had because it was never good enough. I don’t know why insects like light bulbs, but when I think of this, I picture moths chasing street lamps. When one light goes out, the moths flock to the next one down the line. Some people equate this to being unhappy with what you have – always needing the new best thing. There is a stark contrast between running to something and running from it. The moths will always flutter to the light that is in front of them. People know what they don’t want much more clearly than they know what they do want, and yet they still chase the obvious. I have found comfort in running from the past because I can discard the things unwanted and search for something new. This is what makes adventure so appealing. It is a constant push into the unforeseen. It isn’t the chase of the glittery or the gaudy, but the deviation from it, into the curious unknown.
For me, it was the thrilling blackness of a city that looked more ominous the closer we got to its core. Some parts of the plaza were blocked off from traffic, so we had to circle the block and double back at least ten times before we figured out where we were going. Even more police paced the streets, now on foot, and their stares only became more inquisitive every time we looped around. They probably thought we were cruisers. The Catedral Metrapolitana hung over the square like some great guardian beast. I began to feel that my adventure had finally arrived and that I was meant to explore these deserted city streets on this particular Sunday night and that this was the reason I had ridden so many miles to a place I knew nothing of. After arriving to my hostel, we exchanged numbers, promised to meet up in a few days, and said good-bye. As they rode off and I was left alone once again, I wondered what these empty shops and streets would look like in the morning. I wondered if there would be moths plaguing them. I was tired. I would have to find out when I woke up.