My sled, on the Old Bridge, the Rio Grande in the background or ¨Rio Bravo del Norte¨ as the Mexicans call it.

It was unforgivable.
The migration office was empty except for the  two officials sitting behind the glass window. I stood at the island table studying the “tarjita de turista” form the one on the right had given me to fill out. I’ve been feeling out of sorts, an issue back home had been at the forefront of my mind all day, nothing was receiving my undivided attention. I put the pen to the paper and began to print each letter of my name in the block allotted for it. Halfway through printing my name, I noticed that beneath the glass countertop, was an example form filled out with a fictitious person’s information to demonstrate how the form was to be completed. I realized that I had printed my last name first, when I should have printed my first name first. No big deal, all I need is a fresh form and I’ll get it right the second time. I turned and walked towards the officials saying “I made a mistake”. They did not understand what I was saying (if I had said it in Spanish they would have understood) so to demonstrate that I had made a mistake I tore the form in half. When they saw what I was going to do, they both rose out of their chairs simultaneously and shouted the same word in perfect unison: NOOOO! But it was too late. I stood there dumbfounded with one half in each hand. The guy on the left clapped both his hands to his head and put his head on the table and started rolling it around. The animosity that the other one was directing toward was palpable. I was glad they was a glass window between us. I passed the two pieces under the glass and offered him a “Lo siento, no se”. Trying to control his anger, he said, “you have destroyed an official government document, and I will NOT be giving you another”. Like I would ask for one, I felt awful about tearing the form. One would think that a little bit of tape would have resolved the problem; but their reaction told me that there might be some repercussions that I didn’t know about or could imagine. Mexico is a land where jobs are scarce and therefore taken very seriously and documents, especially if they have a lot of rubber stamps and seals on them, are to be respected. If I had been feeling a little better, my experience and intuition probably would have warned me not to tear that document in half. I backed away to the door repeating “I’m sorry sir” all the way. I got on my fully loaded bike and instead of riding into Matamoros, I turned back North and rode over the bridge to Texas to find a room and grieve over the torn document and the rest of the stuff I’ve screwed up in my life.

 The next day was better, I appealed my case to the Mexican Consulate. When I told them that I had torn a “tarjita de turista” form in half, she said “so you’re the guy” (just kidding, they had not heard about the incident…yet). They were sympathetic, but could not help. They suggested that maybe crossing at a different bridge would work, Brownsville has three. So, I rode over the B&M bridge and inquired at the Aduana building. They said I had to go to the Old Bridge; I didn’t enlighten them as to why that was not possible. The last bridge was New Bridge; it was the interstate 77 crossing that all the trucks used. I had to ride through Matamoros to reach it and that was good for my head. For all it’s bad reputation, there sure were plenty of people flashing smiles, waving to me and shouting “adonde va?” or “buenos tardes”. It reminded why I came here. I stopped and ate a couple of barbacoa tacos with a street vendor. The immigration folks at the New Bridge granted me permission to ride my bike in their country for 180 days and wished me safe travel. At this point, I felt like I had done my penance and I didn’t feel so bad about yesterday’s events. Worse is going to happen, I have to keep things in perspective.