Long Haul: Good Fun

I exited the car with arthritic thump--after 8 hours in my truck, and the last three in grid lock traffic, well, things had gotten a little tight during my clutchin' and shiftin'. The dogs whined from inside the dust laden car; they too were feeling the pinch of a long haul. As I sorted myself out, I let dem dirty dogs out to relieve themselves. They both quickly pissed, and made a B line for my front door...apparently they were as happy as I was to be home. Now don't get me wrong, the day was amazing, but it is one of those reliefs of the familiar--a warm blanket of goodness.

I made plans earlier in the week to head out to Cholula with my friend Julia and her faithful spud nugget, Lucio. We loaded up around high noon and made our way for the hills. Now, foreign as it is to me, I have seen several people engage in the act of alcohol consumption, while in a moving car. Now in the States, if so much as a cracked bottle appears in the car, you are liable to be swimming in deep poo poo. However, here, given the extreme hap-hazard nature of all things, it is okay for passengers to drink a beverage as long as the driver is not. So, as we hit the Viaducto out of town, Julia cracked a brew, and we cranked the tunes. About 20 minutes in, and nearing the border of Estado de Mexico, a portly piggy waved us down. Reflecting on my first experience with a cop in Mexico, I was more than tempted to keep driving. He pulled up to us once--I looked at him and pressed on. Twice--I asked Julia what she thought. Third--I pulled over. The cop came up, with all of his impoverished girth and began spouting rhetoric about no drinking in a car. I pretended to not speak Spanish. Julia took the charge. She began to argue with man, that it was not illegal, and that I had not been drinking. He claimed, as they had done when I entered this great city, that they were going to impound my car. They asked for a driver's license, and I did not have it with me, as I have become accustomed to not carry anything with me, for obvious reasons. Julia gave them hers. They wrote it down. Julia began to make up a story about us taking the dogs to Puebla for a humanitarian effort. The fat bloated goat began to smile. He said some bullshit about how times were tough for us all. Julia called her friend, spoke in English with him, and deduced that drinking in the car was not a crime, and she should just offer him $200 pesos and be done with it. She informed the fat man of his blunder. He then said the issue was that I did not have my driver's license--we can now see, that they were looking for anything to hold on to. Julia said, "fine then, I will give you $150 pesos" and you can lead us out of the city securely. The fat man smiled and agreed--his stained white lapels and dirty fingernails smelled of neglect, poverty, and low self worth. Julia gave him $200 and demanded change--he brought it. We got back on the road, and the adrenaline was still coursing through our veins.

We spent the next 50 km, rehashing the event. I vowed, the next time one of these podunk periphery hick cops tries to flag me down, I am just going to keep driving--they truly have no authority, and really are just a desperate bunch. As we talked, I neglected the gas that was leaving my car by the second. Pedal heavy and up hill, I remembered my need for petrol upon the empty light flashing. I had mild concern, but I saw a Pemex station up ahead, and well, I felt relief. As we pulled in, I noticed that all of the pumps had no nozzles, and were still wrapped in plastic...I realized then, that there was no gas being served, but a hopeful future. We pushed on. We pushed on through the mountains, completely in the red. As if the police escapade had not been enough, now we were fighting a game of time, velocity, and resources. We continued to push up and up. I was praying for a down hill stretch when I noticed a lovely national park, with camping, forests, and food. I made a note: I shall return here sooner than later. However I digress, we continued to fight and fly in the red...finally a holy sign of a gas pump directed us to salvation. We pulled into the station, and I filled the tank to the brim--it was long over due. The lady attendant asked if we were Americans; Julia told her, "we were looking for France, and wound up here."

We charged and barged down the hill, leaving the beautiful forest behind us. I had sort of hoped that we would stay there, but we pressed on. We dropped into a valley, asked several people about the way to Cholula, and finally arrived. Cholula is where Cortez came after staying in Vercruz for awhile. Cortez put a church directly on top of an Aztec temple: He liked doing that. Cortez set a tone with that gesture, and Cholula holds the most churches per capita. It is a cute cobble stone joint. Apparently, many other Mexicans were feeling the need to go there. It was jammed pack. Our mission was not the churches--we wanted the volcanoes--Two towering monoliths laid above the city's skyline. We snaked our way through the cobblestones, and we found dirt. I dropped the truck in cuatro-por-cuatro (4x4) and we began meandering through the rural outskirts of Cholula.

The city proper faded into the backdrop, and the sun hug heavy in the sky, like a drop of honey slowly amassing itself at the end of a dangling spoon. The volcanoes were our guide: we wanted them; we needed them; we chased them. Periodically, as one street lead to another dusty throughway, we would ask the locals, "How the fuck do you get over to those big things?" They would point this way, then this way, laugh at the two presumed tourist gringos in their Californian Car (which looks like nothing around), and then attend back to what needed attending. I must admit, although Julia felt not fear, I was a little nervous that we were going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, and raped and assaulted by some secret bush clan. Julia laughed at me and my conspiracies. The dogs didn't care; they did care about all the street dogs though--goddamn Chops' bark is loud.

We went through several small villages. I began to wonder, when or where our chase was going to end. Finally we asked, "How the hell do you get back to Mexico City?" They said we can go straight over the mountains, in between the volcanoes--perfect. We started up the road, and by road, I mean a nice paved road. We drove the little god sent for a wopping 5 minutes and then hit a road block. There was a sign pointing to a detour. The detour was in dirt, and through the bush--once again cuatro-por-cuatro was employed and we dove in.

We wrapped and winded through the hills. In my mind, I was thinking it was just going to be a quick re-route. We most definitely drove on an unpaved dirt path, through epic pine forests, straight up a hill, for the better part of two hours. In the end, it had been just what we wanted. A tourist trap for church goers, was not what we were seeking.

In the security of the forest, traveling along with a handful of other detoured folks, we cracked a few beers and several jokes. We discovered, that if sung properly, all songs can relate to the name Lucio. We stopped a few times for some pictures, and we stopped to let the dogs run. Towards the top of the mountain we stumbled across and eco-outdoors camp with archery, fishing, camping, etc. It was crazy how it was nestled right up against nowhere.

Finally, we summited the mountain while the sun set. The sun was flirting with the snow capped peak of the volcano. We stopped for a timer shot, and it was moderately successful--it took a few attempts, and all of them were sort of blurry.

Blah blah blah, we rejoined the paved road, and descended back to the state of Mexico on the Paso de Cortes. It was a trippy scene, as the sun set, and small fires lined the road; relics of the Aztec era, still cooked dinner on the side of the pass--for themselves and the weary travelers. Lights flicked on in the valley miles and miles below like Christmas lights that spilled like gravy across an abandoned dance hall floor. Somwhere after I dreamt up that ridiculous similie, my glasses broke striaght down the center--I didn't know that actually happened, but when you buy $12 prescription glasses from China, anything is possible. I stopped at a refugio to tape them together with some bandages from my first aid kit (hooray for using a contingency!)

The bottom of the hill to the inner city limits, can be summed up by one word: traffic. It was bumper to bumper forever and ever. Mexico is building a great new highway for 2010--they began it 10 years ago, and according to Julia it is in the same state of progress. Due to their lofty goals of construction, many sections of road are limited to one lane. We made the best of it--music and jokes. Julia had to pee. There were no bathrooms--she peed in some bushes by the side of the road.

Like I said, it was a great day, but it was amazing to get home. The dogs and I barged up the stairs. I let out several audible sounds of contentment. I made a salad, microwaved a frozen pizza, and watched the second part of the Project Runway Finale (Mom, Annie, and Maggie--I still watch--do you?).

I slept like a baby. I don't think I made it past 10.

As for today...Well today I will be going back to Parque Ghandi. A fellow dog owning teacher told me about this place, and well it is a gem. It is closer to my house, and it is huge. Today is a Mexican Holiday, and well I don't have school, though I do have plenty of work to do. So it goes.

Love and blessings.