BRENDA SERRANO

In all honesty, there were moments when we were hanging on by a thread. I went into this experience with all openness and with the expectation that I would face challenges but I had my best friend next to me so I would be fine, right? Well, that’s the thing, even your best friend can cause you to want to ride your bike into traffic. I’m telling you this with a significant amount of warmth and love towards De. Anyone close to me would tell you my humor runs dark, not knowing when to laugh or be concerned, I want you to laugh. 

I am writing this not to throw De under the bus, or to tell you about all my faults because let me tell you I have several. But to share my honest experience about bikepacking with a significant other. Writing about some challenges that rarely get discussed amongst the bikepacking community (It’s not all smiles and shredding!) But also to highlight the moments of extreme satisfaction and bliss when both of you persevere. The celebration is all so worth it next to your best friend. 

This was my first time traveling outside the country with a significant other. Before this, we had a road trip for a couple of weeks, and a few bike rides. I couldn’t have asked for a better travel companion than De. Everything went perfectly. We worked well as a team. I was taken aback by how well we complemented one another during our road trip. So why would this trip be much different? Well, we were riding our very heavy bikes through some beautiful but challenging landscapes in Mexico and Guatemala. Our love for adventure, travel, challenge, and curiosity was the foundation for this trip.

It was all so incredibly breathtaking, and I mean literally. I struggled tremendously on the first days/weeks, having difficulty catching my breath. I watched De ride, what I thought were incredibly challenging climbs, with breeze. I would catch up to De with tears in my eyes and cracks in my voice. The first set of arguments began to seep through. This was unknown territory for us as we spent a whole year before this with ease. It had to happen eventually. And I would rather it happen with a stunning backdrop.

I was upset about my partner’s lack of patience and consideration of me, I wanted to throw in the towel. I wanted to throw it at him. The apologies came forward from De and my anger settled. This only lasted for a short while as my anger and irritability grew. Everything fucking hurt. I mean everything. With this unbearable amount of discomfort, I was not the most pleasant human to be around. De wasn’t either. It was all too comical, I mean, I willingly chose this. We willingly chose this.

There were several nights of shitty sleep. Cramped into a hoax of a 2-person tent, we managed to escape without suffocating one another. I cannot help but chuckle, recounting the night when we woke up lying in puddles of water. De was lying in a puddle, to be clear. I was comfortable on my air pad. We had entered the rainy season of Southern Mexico, and there was no escaping it. I wished for that night to be over, as the thundering and lightning grew bigger and louder next to us. That night came and went, and I accepted this was also part of the adventure. Only a small part of the adventure.

I can chuckle and have a sigh of relief, now. However, at that moment, I was frightened, with sheer amounts of panic, as we found ourselves at the border of Guatemala with no money, physical money. I had an issue with my passport and without giving any thought to it, I handed over all our Pesos to the border officer. I was clear to go, however, the terror grew more and more, as I realized there were no ATMs in sight, and credit cards were nowhere to be accepted. We spent the remainder of the day with no food, and little water, in a very sketchy camping spot (in between the two borders, behind some bushes), and De upset at me.

We had no other option than to pedal back the miles we had just covered to the last town. That morning we left the doomy Bordertown. I watched De scrape together all his coins. We shared very few words that morning. With all his spare coins he managed to purchase some water and some snacks for both of us. Love is shared through actions. After we had gobbled down some cookies and drank some water, we were off to backtrack our miles, in hopes of finding an ATM. What was supposed to be only ten miles, ended just shy of thirty miles. The first ten had completely drained us, with incredibly steep climbs. Thankfully a kind gentleman agreed to give us a ride the rest of the way. Thank you.

Yes, the last few months were hard, but we continued to choose each other. When shit hit the fan, we had to lean on one another. When the rain had transformed into hail, and we found ourselves soaked from head to toe, and pushing our bikes, we were there ensuring one another was warm. When either of us found ourselves with awful food poisoning, the other sourced out medication, and comforting words, and listened without judgment through the paper-thin walls of the bathroom, and sometimes through the bushes. We were forced into vulnerability, letting all our guards down, I felt like I had become transparent. Nothing was off limits, and we let go of all shame. We laughed and gagged at each other’s odors, and grew fond of each other’s new level of grotesqueness. This is our partnership.

No one can begin to understand what you go through while traveling in this way, with a partner unless you’ve gone through it yourself. Friends who had done something similar expressed excitement and concern. Ultimately, each of them shared that it was hard, but if you can outweigh the good with the bad, it’d be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I’m sure glad it was. All the good had outweighed the bad.

The bad moments came and went, easily overtaken by our small victories and big victories. Anytime I started riding despite the pain in my legs, it was a victory. When we hit our mile mark, it was a victory. Whether we celebrated internally or gave each other a high-five, we were in constant celebration. When we reached a city, we shared some delightful and well-deserved meals. We would often reflect on how well we had done that day. We laughed, drank, and ate mouthwatering food, all in hopes of doing it again.

We adopted a routine of riding our bikes, being in pain, and smelling like crap. We shared our silence, groans, and paths, all together, and we survived without riding our bikes into oncoming traffic. That’s worth celebrating, and I hope to continue sharing this path with you.