Two Kilometers Past The Point Of No Return – Mexico

Two Kilometers Past The Point Of No Return
Mexico

You took highway 54! At night! In the rain! Are you crazy? You guys just did the equivalent of 2 tours in Nam! As the comments came in about our choice of routes, the last one’s my personal favorite. Then there was the story about the gringo guy, that everybody knew, who had recently driven down to Central America and on the way back up his VW broke down leaving he and his dog and his belongings vulnerable to highway thieves. His body was found, his belongings were not. The missing dog was listed by the police as a “clue”. Apparently we had chosen a major drug and gun running route through the Mexican outback for our route to paradise.

Get Me Outta Here!

The highway lines on the map were equally bold and red. Clearly the line on the left circumvented the two big cities we had yet to get to before we could even think of closing in on Guadalajara. We were at a cuota road turn off, studying the Mexican map that had been published by the Mexican auto insurance we bought at the border. We agreed the one on the left was the most direct and after 4 days of sitting in a space of approximately 2.5 feet by 6 feet, wedged against the neck of the guitar, the food bag, and four bungeed backpacks, the concept of direct was huge! After awhile we reluctantly admitted that the road seemed to get worse instead of better. It even went away for several kilometers. Then it poured. Every kilometer held the life-threatening choice between a head on with a barreling oncoming one-eyed Mexican truck or a pothole the size of a Fridgedair. It was still light and at about 5 p.m. we calculated we’d be at the lake by 10:30 and asleep by 11:00. We were motivated. Ok, we can do this; we’ll just keep going. We won’t be spending that much more time on the road in the dark, piece of cake.

Darkness fell about 8 and since we figured we had only a couple more hours to go, we broke all cardinal rules about driving in Mexico after dark. Six glassy and bloodshot eyeballs, if you count the two nervous hairy ones in the back seat, were riveted to the windshield scanning for wandering horses, cows, burros, dogs, and humans. We pressed on. At ten, we pulled into a Pemex station and interrupted a conversation between two Propane deliverymen to get the worse news of our five-day trip. “Oh no, you are only here, you have all this way to go yet.” They said as they pointed and studied our map, frowning with genuine concern. Then they said “We never drive this road at night, you shouldn’t either.” “It’s very dangerous.” “Muy peligroso.” We decided to turn around and go back to Aguascalientes when they said “You are two kilometers past the point of no return, don’t go back.” “About two towns from here you might be able to rent a hotel room, you should.” Grácias, we muttered, depressed and scared knowing now that we probably had many more hours of driving to go. How could this happen? We weren’t rookies, we’d both logged thousands of miles on Mexican highways in our days. Some trips were even more risky than this. Pulling over to sleep in the car was not an option, we’d be defenseless sitting ducks.

Ok, there’s the hotel. . . closed. Closed up tight, not even the slightest chance of hospitality evident. Fuelled by Pepsi, we pressed on. Chuck was on his 16^th hour of excellent solo driving and not a moment went by without my appreciating his decision to help me make this drive. “I used to live on a boat”, he’d say everytime I raved about how well he had packed the car. I was moving to Mexico and bringing my Mexican consulate approved load of household goods into the country without paying duty. I could do this only once, every cubic inch was critical. In the end, stuffed to bulging, we left four boxes and one clothes bag laying on the porch railing. I miss my bathrobe!

Midnight was excruciating, we were hungry, cramped, and beyond exhaustion. If the car broke down we were dead. A disabled California SUV, out in the middle of nowhere, in the wet, inky, darkness, stuffed with computer equipment, guitar, money, Visa cards, ATM cards, and lots of other US goodies would be more temptation than some could walk away from. At about 2 we crested a hill and saw the giant blanket of lights of Guadalajara. Wow, we did it, we’re here now! Woo, hoo! We bad!

After an hour or so, jubilation wore thin. Drizzle turned to rain and back to drizzle. No lights had been seen since the amazing and inspiring hilltop view an hour ago. Now what happened! Discouraged, all we could do was drive up and down the hills and around the bends on the twisty-windy jungle highway. An occasional wild animal would arouse us. We were nauseous. Finally, palapas on the sides of the road. They became closer together, then a bus stop. We were entering the city! At 3 a.m. we were confounded by glorietas that spun us off into the downtown area and dropped us on main streets throughout the city. There was no traffic. An occasional late partier and an occasional cop. Each trying to ignore the other.

Look! There it is! A sign to Chapala! Thank God, we’re home now, minutes away, just down the hill, I kept chanting to Chuck. By now Chuck had had all the conversation he could take and was only capable of staring blankly through the windshield, the glazey look in his eyes was disturbing. We started down the hill to Lake Chapala and the view became familiar. Yes! Finally, I knew where we were and it really was only a few minutes to my new life.

We saw them at the same time, gasping in unison. I know with great certainty we would not be alive now if I had been driving. The first thing I noticed, as we rounded the bend, was the bright whiteness reflected in the headlights. Then the black. The pattern was definitely cow! We were closing in on them on the slick highway, and they weren’t moving. We slid to a stop alongside the monster that straddled the white line. Chuck cursed it and quizzically it stared into the driver’s compartment back at him. Apparently, sleeping on the warm pavement in the rain is cozy to cows. Then its hooves clattered and slid as it struggled to its feet. Taller than the car, it lumbered about the pavement until finally joining the others, now huddled in the mud on the side of the road. They stared in disdain, we sighed and rolled on. Even the cows had survived our two tours of Nam.