Reflecting upon thoughts that have been simmering in my mind since my passage from Mexico into Texas, it all finally came together two weeks later while having breakfast at the quaint Rose’s Sugar Shack Café situated along the Pacific coastline of Southern California. My order – a modest spread of two sunny-side-up eggs, hash browns, crispy bacon, and toast slathered in blueberry jam, all washed down with copious amounts of coffee.
At this point, I was well into a 45,000km solo motorcycle journey that had its beginnings in Puerto Williams in Chile’s southernmost tip, and would end in Deadhorse, North Alaska. An adventure of this scale spread over eight months, and covering such diverse landscapes, gifts you ample time for introspection, and observation. Things that may usually fade into the background in the company of others, stand out and become part of your thoughtful journey.
The Sugar Shack proved to be a charming little refuge of brick and timber, aptly painted in hues of ocean blue, pastel pink, and white, nestled right along the Camino Real, just a touch south of the affluent San Clemente. It was the sight of the café’s attendants that caught my attention, and gave shape to my previous ruminations.
The café was run by a group of half a dozen, maybe eight ageing women, if my memory serves me right.
It was this sight that raised a question – why were these women, obviously in the twilight of their lives, toiling in a bustling, compact café, rather than enjoying a well-earned retirement?
A pattern had been emerging. It seemed like every café, restaurant or retail shop I had visited since Texas, and subsequently in New Mexico, Arizona and finally California, was predominantly staffed by those of retirement age, particularly women.
In the hospitality sector, it would not be surprising to find young adults working their way through college or saving for a year off. However, it appeared to me that in the US, many elderly people are compelled to stay in employment due to an insufficient pension, or worse, the absence of one, forcing them into an involuntary extension of their working years.
Some may choose to do it willingly due to the companionship it provides or for giving a sense of order to their otherwise monotonous days. However, many are compelled by absolute need, or so they informed me whenever I questioned them. In the catering industry, their principal earnings come from gratuities.
On that day, my journey began from Oceanside, a generic area roughly 40 minutes to the north of San Diego. I travelled there from Yuma in Arizona, designated as the ‘most sun-drenched city on the planet’ by the Guinness World Records. I circumvented San Diego with a grand detour, avoiding entering it and continued directly along the Pacific shoreline.
At Oceanside, I paused for the night, a rarity for me to stay in a US motel due to their high costs. A basic room is rarely available for less than $100 a night while a hefty sum of more than €200 can be quickly racked up. Therefore, my choice of shelter was mostly camping at Recreational Vehicle (RV) parks, or in State and National Parks. The RV parks typically charge around $45 a night to have a tent spot with amenities like bathrooms, a shower, and occasionally a small convenience store. The parks typically charge between $20 to $25 and usually offer toilets and no shower, nestled in stunning, wild landscapes, often by the water and with a firepit.
The following dawn, I resumed heading north from Oceanside along the motorway. I noticed a sign suggesting San Clemente and El Camino Real. Intrigued about the Camino, I diverted my route. Essentially, it’s a thoroughfare navigating from southern California northwards to San Francisco, merging notable locations connected to the region’s Spanish/Mexican ancestry.
Then I encountered the Sugar Shack Café. I decided to halt, parking my heavily-loaded BMW R1200 GS Adventure motorbike. Upon entering, I collected a complimentary copy of the Orange County Register at the entryway.
A headline from an internal page heralded the resignation of Gene James, an ex-mayor and former military police officer turned security expert, from his local council post. Having reached retirement, James, a staunch Pro-Trump Republican viewed as a tough character, had grown tired of crime, homeless vagrants, congestion, and the consistent encroachment of urbanisation. Instead, he opted to embark on a new adventure in the vast wilderness of Wyoming where he planned to sustain himself by living off the land.
James, speaking to the Register, disclosed the chief factor influencing his move—”the liberty to own, keep and bear arms devoid of concern for an oppressive state poised to confiscate them”. One could say that at 69 years of age, the same age as myself, James’s retirement relocation hinges significantly on maintaining his freedom to possess and handle firearms.
Reflecting on my nearly three-month trip across the U.S., traversing states such as Oregon, Washington and Alaska through Canada, it’s apparent that the levels of anger and discontent are quite pronounced. There is fury over Biden and Trump, over liberal and conservative ideologies, and a general outrage against groups perceived as the ‘other’. This includes Mexicans, immigrants, city elites, undereducated country folk, and over-confident university graduates. Essentially, many people are filled with rage about those who are fundamentally different from themselves.
The subject of firearms, however, emerges as the focal point of all these heated sentiments. Americans have an enormous preoccupation with guns—I’d known this, but experiencing this fascination firsthand is something else entirely.
In Bandera, Texas, dubbed the “Cowboy Capital of the World” and home to a mere 839 residents, I learned that virtually every vehicle likely contains a firearm. While I didn’t verify this claim, Texas is an “open carry” territory, allowing residents to display their guns publicly, holstered, without any specific licensing requirements.
While journeying to Marfa, an Art Deco town nestled in West Texas near the Mexican frontier, another biker and I stopped for breakfast at a place called Magoo’s in Alpine. Before parting ways in the parking lot, we had a captivating discussion on the subject of guns.
He affirmed he did keep one on him when I questioned him about it. Tucked into his fuel tank bag for immediate reach, ready for when necessity arose. Has he ever needed it, I probed. His simple response was a negation, but asserted you never can predict… hence, it’s always better safe than sorry. I let him know that I’ve journeyed through South America, from Tierra del Fuego, via Peru, Colombia, Central America right up to here, and even though I had encountered quite unsettling circumstances, I never quite felt dubious or compelled to require a firearm.
I wasn’t fully convinced he accepted my standpoint.
In the city of Tucson, Arizona, where I arrived after a few days, the practice and acceptability of guns were notably widespread. The timing of my presence there coincided with one of the city’s prevalent gun shows held in the ExpoCenter. I found it quite peculiar that a sign at the entrance strictly prohibited the entry of guns. Another sign posted on a car windscreen sarcastically declared that Joe Biden was out of touch with reality.
The exhibition hall was a spectacle of vivid T-shirts baring the American flag, soaring eagles, and slogans proudly endorsing God, Family, Guns and Freedom. Among these were many asserting the Second Amendment, the clause in the American constitution which gun enthusiasts often invoke to justify their ownership of lethal, military-grade firearms.
The exhibitions of weapons were quite commonplace for the event, but novel to me – endless tables piled high with an array of knives, military accessories, handguns, ammunition, even semi-automatic rifles including the notorious AR15 – the traditional choice of weapon in countless American mall and school shootings. Interestingly, some firearms had ‘TRUMP’ intricately engraved on their handguard.
The venue was bustling with activity. Kylen and Cody were inspecting for a bargain on an AR10. AR signifies ArmaLite, the company which initially manufactured the rifle, refuting the widespread fallacy AR stands for ‘assault rifle’. Kylen, appearing to be in his early twenties, already had a collection of five firearms but was keen to expand. They found one to their liking and set off mentioning their plan to hunt mule deer.
Lee Dayley was a firearm manufacturer who specialised in producing his own variant of the AR15. His past saw him spending a period of his life in Dublin, actively promoting the Church of Latter Day Saints, or as it is more commonly known, the Mormons. A friendly and warm-hearted individual, Lee and I engaged in a pleasant conversation. He voiced his disagreement with the term “mass shooting”, which is characterised as a shooting incident with more than three victims, arguing that the implementation of armed guards and X-ray screenings at school entrances could potentially prevent such incidents.
During my travel up through California, I was greeted with selfless generosity and found companionship with other motorcyclists whom I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with. Engaging in a lengthy discussion with another individual, I was struck by the rigid stance taken by gun lovers. I challenged this person with the fact that no other country experiences the frequency of mass shootings as the US does. The latest statistics illuminate a dire situation, with over 48,800 people falling victim to gun violence in 2021 – marking it as the deadliest year in recorded history. Notably, 54 percent of that figure is attributed to suicide, signifying that approximately 24,000 individuals, an equivalent to the population of Athlone, lost their lives either in heated moments or accidental circumstances.
When questioned on why such a problem seemed exclusive to the US, he firmly responded, “Because we have more freedom in America.”
Debating such firmly held beliefs seemed futile. The presence of logic, reason or evidence-based discussion appeared inadequate against such adamant views. It simply becomes necessary to move onwards. Intriguingly, those who endorse this mentality, prop Trump’s policies and criticise Biden as the worst president in US history, could also be amongst the friendliest, welcoming, and personally generous individuals you would ever encounter.
Navigating California on my motorbike, I was embraced by unparalleled hospitality and got to know other motorcyclists that were a pleasure to accompany. The puzzling contradiction seems unresolvable. The only discernible pattern suggests that the more enlightened and worldly experienced individuals endorsing Trump do so for selfish motives. Trump’s policy of tax reduction appears to be a major factor for their support, leading those supporters to vote for him again without hesitation.
Peter Murtagh embarked on a motorcycle journey traversing from the southern peak of South America, Tierra del Fuego, to Alaska, the northernmost point of North America. His book, From Tip to Top, that chronicles this odyssey, is released by Gill Books.