Central and North America (6).

We had definitely descended from the Mexican mountains, where we had for weeks on end, gone up and down between cacti and pines, through constantly changing valleys still with different indian tribes, unbelievably varied. Now we were in a small town and the heat was like a greenhouse. When we entered the town we saw someone welding and that came in handy: my rear wheel still the Argentinean - was torn - and the front luggage carrier and the mudguard broken. With sputtering sparks, everything was molten together again, the wheel got an enormous bulb through overheating, which had to be hammered out.
In the hotel room, in streams of sweat Henny sat on the floor, replacing spokes and repairing other things. We threw water on the bed before we went to sleep and at night we woke up to take a cold shower and in the morning we were glad to get on our bikes again because we could feel the air flowing over us, which brought at least some coolness.

e had been queuing up for 5 hours and after that we sat for 1½ hour, for that visa of he US, but then we could easily enter the country. Texas was equally hot, dry and without trees, just as in North-Mexico, but there were no further similarities. The traffic was a great improvement, no hooting, no stench, no noise, busier that's true, but it whizzed softly on the multi-lane roads, without overtaking one another.
Paraffin oil, formerly you could buy any quantity, now only in one-gallon package. Milk also was only available in one gallon (4 liter) cartons, but in the heat that was no problem for thirsty cyclists.
The thing we had to get used to was the fact that you saw hardly any people outdoors, cities and villages seemed deserted, at the supermarkets you saw flashes of people hastily getting out of airco cars into airco shops. "How hot it is" they said to Henny who was waiting outside, obvious when you live in air conditioning. I had a bad cold because I had to do the shopping, going inside was as if went into a fridge and when you came out as if you went into an oven. The gathering of fresh food mostly was small. "Everything is canned here", I said to Henny. "Even the people" he said.
In Houston there was, at long last, a good bicycle shop. whose address we got from the Hemis-tour in Panama. Where we could repair things really well. With the parts sent to us we had had a lot of bad luck in this part of the world: either we didn't receive anything or it was the wrong material, "send fatigue" of our home base?. After two days of repairing and cleaning and we could go on, no longer bothered by numerous punctures, endlessly breaking spokes, slipping chain wheels and brake blocks who were worn down in one day and on top of that had milled the tyre!
En passant we managed to buy some good maps and so we began cycling on country roads. Often forest roads, and quiet roads. They only were not signposted, so at a junction we sometimes had to ask the way. You didn't have to count on a walker or a cyclist, so we tried stop a car. To our surprise almost nobody stopped; fear, suspicion? "What are you doing on this small road", we were asked unkindly and often suspiciously, the fact that you were cycling for pleasure, nobody could imagine that!
Camping sites were not at cycling distance of course, moreover above our budget, which we needed entirely for our food. Free camping was not forbidden, but practically impossible since everything was fenced: "Stay away, access prohibited" signs everywhere. That is to say, at the farmers. This meant, every evening a number of refusals and one admission.
"My mother is allergic to foreigners"
"No" said an old woman, " I am on my own"
"After 20 miles is a camping site"
"We have no drinking water"
"I am afraid of fire"
"When someone comes out with a gun, you had better buzz off"
"I would advise you not to put up the tent there"
Or simply :"No, move on."