We returned from Colorado into the hottest weather of the year. But I had something to look forward to: World Bicycle Day. On June 3 every year, bike collectives organize a massive ride in Ciudad Juárez to celebrate el Día Mundial de la Bicicleta. This was my third year attending.

The first time I saw someone bike over the U.S.-Mexico border, I was reporting on a protest in Mexicali in 2017. A guy rolled up to the border crossing on his bike and continued into Calexico, California. You can bike across the border? I thought. I want to do that.

I rode into Juárez a few times on my own during my first year in El Paso. But World Bicycle Day was the first time I rode over with a group.

The first year I went, in 2023, I made small talk with strangers as we waited to ride from Bowie High School into Mexico together.

We climbed the Córdova Bridge and rode under the Bienvenido a México signs. El Paso and Juárez are essentially one city, cut in half by one of the most surveilled and militarized borders in the world. Pedaling over that boundary is one of the few moments I can imagine an alternative, where these two cities are stitched back together.

Fast forward to 2025, and I’m joining the group at Bowie again, this time with Joseph and a few friends. Melissa, one of the organizers of Critical Mass El Paso, rallied the group before we start the ride. It’s not far to the meeting point in Juárez, at the Paso del Norte cultural center. We cross over the trickle of the Rio Grande into Mexico. When we arrive hundreds of cyclists are already congregating in the concrete rotunda. A rock band is playing and a craft brewery has taps flowing.

Cycling is a subculture further divided into sub-subcultures. Are you a roadie? Gravel? Mountain biking? Commuter? Fixie? Low-rider? BMX? This is the one ride all year that attracts every kind of rider. Teenagers doing tricks on BMX bikes, parents hauling their kids in trailers, mountain bikers on chunky tires, fixie guys and girls doing track stands. The first year I timidly skirted the edges of the crowd; this year I’m bumping into friends.

On group rides in Juárez, I’m transported back to the vibrant Mexico City cycling scene I was enmeshed in. Living in El Paso, I’m a roadie (road cyclist) and occasional commuter. In Juárez I can pretend I’m still fearlessly riding through the megalopolis, rain or shine, on a single speed fighting traffic and cat callers. The Spanish in my ear now has a norteño cadence, not the cantadito of CDMX, but the memories still come flooding back.

The ride takes off at 8pm. With hundreds, if not thousands, of riders getting out of the road, a bottleneck forms. But once the mass of people has taken the streets, there is no turning back. Cars have no choice but to wait as we flow by. Riders play hiphop and salsa out of portable speakers. One guy is trailing a dog on a leash. The low-riders cruise by, effortlessly cool. Members of the Bastards collective, which I profiled for the El Paso Times, go by wearing their “We Ride As One” jerseys.

Jorge, a leader of the group, told me in an interview that the group’s name emerged from their experience growing up in Juárez. “A city that grew rapidly out of the desert, a place where cultures and countries collide,” I wrote at the time.

"With Juárez, there isn't a positive association with our city. People say we don't have any culture here," Jorge said. "But being the Border Bastards ... that's something we can be proud of."

"We want the collective to be one of many cultural outlets for Juárez," he said. "So that the people our age know there is another option instead of just going to work for maquiladoras."

On this balmy June night, upwards of a thousand of us are showing there is something else to do in Juárez. The last light of the day casts the Franklin Mountains in silhouette. We trace some of the city’s busiest avenues, wresting them from cars for a few hours.

When I have the option, I prefer riding to Juárez. When you’re on a bike you can skip the stress of sitting in the line to cross (and beat the long walk across the bridge in the sun). I would compare transit between El Paso and Juárez to Jersey City and Manhattan. The cities are right next to each other, only separated by a river. But now imagine that crossing from into Manhattan required waiting in a line that could take anywhere from 15 minutes to two hours, handing over your passport, getting questioned what you had been doing in New Jersey, and having your biometrics recorded.

For some people, crossing between Juárez and El Paso is a daily activity. Others can go years without crossing, or never cross at all. Mexicans who don’t have visas, Americans who are scared off from going to Juárez, U.S. residents without documents. It’s so close. But it’s also so far.

Back on the ride, we cover about 12 miles in an hour. Then it’s time to get home. Our small group heads to the bridge, passing a baseball game and park full of skaters on the way. It’s almost 9:30pm. El Paso is getting ready for bed but Juárez is still humming with activity. We ride up the sidewalk to the port of entry and show our documents. We beat the rush and breeze through, back into El Paso, back into the United States.

Not bad for a Tuesday night.

Miscellanea

Since I wrote this in June, El Paso had a blistering two-week streak of heat, topping out at 109 degrees. Then the rains came. In two weeks I think I saw more rain in El Paso than in the previous three years. I spent a lot of time watching how the water moves across my property. My cool friend Kasi Muñoz is working with us to develop a landscaping plan that incorporates rainwater harvesting. (Check out her work!) The recent rains have given me hope that we can transform our sandy, eroded yard into something beautiful.

Unfortunately, the rains fell too hard across much of West and Central Texas earlier this month. The news out of Kerr County is devastating and I, like many people, have not been able to look away. I hope that all levels of government can learn from this failure. This Texas Monthly story is the most visceral account I have ever read of a disaster. These floods should be a reminder to all of us that events we thought were impossible, will be possible because of climate change and mal-adaptation. I have been thinking a lot about the particular risks in El Paso (drought-induced dust storms, extreme heat, flash floods) and what we can do to prepare.

Before the floods, I covered Custom and Border Patrol’s plans to build a border wall on Mount Cristo Rey in Sunland Park, New Mexico (outside El Paso). I had previously reported on a Mexican gray wolf that was thwarted by the border wall in New Mexico (shoutout to Mr. Goodbar). But it wasn’t until I reported this story that I learned a Mexican wolf once wandered up from Chihuahua and near Mount Cristo Rey. This is what we’re losing when we severe a biological corridor in half.

I also broke the story at BP’s former spokesperson on the Gulf Coast in the aftermath of Deepwater Horizon is now the chief of staff for EPA’ Region 6 office, in Dallas.

I recently read Heat Wave by Eric Klinenberg and it has transformed how I think about extreme heat and risk in cities. I wish I could make every public official in Texas read it. I also really enjoyed Dagoberto Gilb’s short story collection Gritos. Gilb’s view of El Paso and the Southwest is spot on and refreshing. I can’t wait to read more of his work.

On the podcast front, I was riveted by The Guardian’s podcast Missing in the Amazon, about the murders of Dom Phillips and Bruno Pereira.

Thanks for reading this far!