By the time Friday dawned I was long gone from the homeland (Texas) and deep into Mexico. I got up about 4 and put on my best new tee shirt a friend had given me, it reads London, Paris, New York, Ajijic.

I headed straight for Bridge #2 and MX Customs (I’m getting good at this). They briefly looked in the back of the Jeep and asked if it was all personal stuff, I said “yes” they said “have a nice day”. Next I headed to Immigration to get a new FMT – now that I think about it; I’m not sure why I did that as the old one was good until April?  - but, 5 minutes and $247p and I was out of there and running fast and hard into the dark of  northern MX. At the 18 mile Aduna checkpoint I slid to a stop with import paperwork in hand and it was cold outside, the girl approached and asked where I was going and I said Chapala, she said “have a nice day” – there was a positive trend going here, I felt good.

I was making great time and excited that I might make it home by 4pm which would be 11 hours. Just about dawn or 7:30 I was approaching Monterey and I was prepared to shoot on through on the bypass and be gone to Saltillo – what I was NOT prepared for was missing the bypass turnoff. This minor mistake ranks right up there with being sleepy in the morning and brushing your teeth with Brylcream, or forgetting to turn off the burner under the pot of boiled eggs and having to scrape them off the ceiling (and yes, I’ve done both).

By the time I realized my error it was too late to returno as I was trapped in morning rush in Monterey and these guys make Guadalajara drivers look like pussy cats. These guys drive like they have a death wish and the cabs drive like Kamakazi’s, determined to not only end their lives but to take you along for company. They’d as soon take off your mirrors as look at you. The pushing and shoving for position reminded me of pouring a bunch of marbles into a funnel and watching them jockey for position to shoot on through – this was total mayhem squared. I managed to get edged out of the lane I was trying to follow in the vain hope it would lead me on to Saltillo sometime before I turned 65 only to find myself touring an industrial zone with a number of 18 wheelers who were not impressed with my size or wide eyed look of panic.

I surgically inserted myself back into the main stream of traffic and then just as I came around a blind curve I was confronted with a three way split in the road and there were no signs that I could see, no time to look for signs, only pick one of the three options and pray – I did, both, it led me directly to the main Centro part of town, not what I had in mind.

From there I continued south to the upslope area overlooking downtown with upscale homes and apartments. When it was obvious the bypass was on the other side of town I turned west – at this point I was navigating totally by the compass in the car and the vague knowledge that Saltillo was probably somewhere west. Traffic in this area was less aggressive, but still not the place for the meek or undecided – so, I drove with conviction like I knew exactly where I was, and I did know exactly where I was, I was in Mexico – somewhere?

Next I toured 2 western suburbs and finally shot out onto the road going to Saltillo only an hour or more behind schedule and madder than a wet hen at my stupid mistake. My record transito time was rapidly evaporating.

From here I got back on the cuota and clicked the speed up to a bit over 80 to make up time. Out here in the open there’s not much to do but watch the cactus go by. My original plan was to fill up around Matehuala which is about half way, but due to my little exploratory experience I wasn’t going to make it that far and again, I ran it down to “0 miles to empty” and no Pemex in sight – the trend continues. 

I finally coasted down enough hills to roll into a dusty little town and filled up with 77 liters which was a surprise to me seeing as how the tank is 20 gals. and that is 75 liters. I suppose I could have argued with the guy about how his pump was ripping me off, but I suspect it would have been a lot like railing against the sunrise, so I tipped him, leaped into the saddle and rode on.

 I held it over 80 for about 5 hours and then the San Luis cuota ran out and so did my luck. The next 50 miles or so is hardly a paved road, more like a collection of potholes held together with some pavement fragments. Large trucks, some of them with double trailers are passing on this thread and all the time I’m thinking when they hit another head on, and I’m right behind them, how big a green spot will I make in the tangled wreckage. 

Eventually I survived and had intended to make one more gas stop in Lagos de Marenos, but this time I accidentally managed to take the bypass and I never saw the town? – why couldn’t I have made that mistake in Monterey?

Back on the cuota’s I was making good time again finally when I happened to casually notice that – you guessed it, gonged again, I was approaching “0 miles to empty” which was about the 5^th time this trip, I seem to have developed a death wish and again, no stations to be seen, I drove on coasting down hills until I came to a toll booth with an exit, I took it. I mustered up my best Spanglish and asked the two girls there “Pemex?” pointing all directions with a hopeful look on my face. “Si, uno kilometer” she said, I was sure that was what she said, then she went into a dissertation about when I returned to the toll road and how to get back on etc. –  or she could have just been telling me about how dumb gringo’s in green Jeeps are and how they should learn to fill up more often, I couldn’t tell. 

However at that point I didn’t care much I headed toward what I hoped was town. So I go over a hill, around curves and more hills, no Pemex? Now the panic is really setting in because uno kilometer is less than a mile and I know darn good and well that I’ve gone several miles. Finally I see ahead what appears to be civilization and at that point I swore an oath to Saint Hub (you remember him) that I would NEVER let the tank get below ¼ again so help me Hub!

I filled up and thanked the guy and headed back to the cuota, sure enough it was nearly 5 miles, a heck of a lot further than uno kilometer. Maybe this is a typical case of women being poor judges of length? – who knows. 

At the entry toll booth the lady was very nice and asked if I’d got off to get gas and was re-entering (apparently I’m not the only dumb gringo) and I said yes and showed her my receipt and she discounted my continuation, I was ready to pay full boat, shoot, I had gas and no one was going to stop me now.

By this time it looked like I was going to hit GDL at rush hour and that wasn’t good, but as it turned out I zipped right on through, over the mountain and home again by about 5:45, so not all that bad considering what it could have been at any number of junctures that day. 

I never did find the disks, but I did have my ion air filter, I plugged it in that evening and the next morning it was dead dead dead! Of course WalMart says I can return it to any store in the US within 90 days? Oh well, what can you say?

The cats were all glad the sucker was back to feed them, word traveled fast so all’s well and the daily temps are approaching 80 with only an occasional light breeze, normally right after I blow off the deck to recover it with jacaranda leaves. 

It took a couple of days for me to slow down, guess I’m out of shape for long distance driving anymore. I got the car washed Sunday, it had at least one of every kind of bug that flew, crawled or simply jumped too high at the wrong time on the front bumper, the guys at the wash did a super job and for only $5, what a concept.