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Sunday morning dawned cool and clear, no smog! It was our last chance for U.S. groceries, water, gasoline and propane. All tanks were checked and filled. Or checked and emptied depending on which tank it was. (Bill offered to teach the boys how to empty the holding tanks, but no one was interested. He knew better then to ask me.) Everything set we pulled out of the campground and headed towards the border. “Dad, look at that. Look!” Paul pointed to a Chevron gas station where a big green and white Executive motorhome with Ohio plates was filling up. Most of the outer skin on the driver’s side was missing.
A dour looking old man wearing Levis, a fishing vest over a plaid flannel shirt was holding the gas hose. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. We stopped to fill up. As the tank was filling Bill walked over and asked what happened.
“Happened in Mexico, side wiped by a truck,” the old man answered shaking his head as he pointed at the damage.
“You goin' down there? Watch out for them soms of bitches,” he growled. “They’re nuts. By the time I got pulled over, him and his buddy was out and running down the road. When the police got there, they were long gone. It wasn’t my fault, but I had to deal with the police anyhow. For a while there I didn’t think they were gona let us go. Finally, after filling out all kinds of papers, they told me to take off. Got tired of listening to my wife cry probably. Anyway, we’re back here to stay now.”
“ I’ll tell you,” he continued as he walked back to his door, “you need to get Mexican auto insurance if you plan on driving in Mexico. If you don’t have it and get involved in an accident they’ll take your vehicle and put you in jail, no matter whose fault it is. That’s a Sanborn’s Insurance office right there across the street. You’d best visit them,” he said as he climbed back into his motorhome.
As he pulled away his gray head popped out the window, “Hey, they got a good guide book at Sanborn’s too.” Waving he drove off.
We bought sufficient Mexican auto insurance and picked up the guidebook at Sanborn’s. It proved to be one of the best investments of the trip. We made our last foray in an U.S. grocery store to pick up last minute goodies like candy and magazines and books. The final preparations for crossing THE BORDER were done.
What adventures were ahead in the weeks and months to come? I’m glad I didn’t know.
We pulled into line with others wanting to cross into Mexico. A very short drive through the big adobe arches that separated the two countries and we were in Nogales, Sonora, Mexico.
Our first stop was the customs building. We went to Migracion for tourist cards then to Aduana, for a permit for the motorhome and its contents. So far no big deal. There was an inspection of sorts (head poked in the door and a quick look around) and the necessary papers were completed. Twelve dollars changed hands and colorful rubber stamps went on all the paperwork declaring everything was okay. Took a half hour at the most!
We were actually on our way.
On Highway #15, fifteen miles south was another Customs check. There was a roadblock across our side of the highway, as we slowed down, a soldier, all dressed in sharply pressed khaki - with a side arm no less, waved us into the dusty inspection area. He motioned for all of us to get out and go into the shack at the back of the area. This examination was very thorough. One Soldado climbed the ladder to the roof where he opened and poked through a couple of the trunks. Others checked in cupboards and under seats. The paper towels and toilet paper stored under the back bed caused some excitement. There was a lively discussion among the men. One came out with a roll of paper towels in his hand and motioned for Bill to come to him. “Why do you have so much of this?” he asked waving the towels around. Thank goodness for Bill’s proficiency in Spanish. He explained where we were going and how long it would take us to get there. And after all there were seven of us. The Soldado told him that Gringos smuggle a lot of hotel and restaurant supplies into Mexico so they watch for such things. But there was no problem he said with a smile. Bill accompanied him back to the building where more red, black and green stamps went on the paper work. We were on our way again.
For a while we all just sat quietly and gazed out the windows at the scenery. A subdued group contemplating just what we were getting ourselves into by driving to South America.
A dour looking old man wearing Levis, a fishing vest over a plaid flannel shirt was holding the gas hose. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. We stopped to fill up. As the tank was filling Bill walked over and asked what happened.
“Happened in Mexico, side wiped by a truck,” the old man answered shaking his head as he pointed at the damage.
“You goin' down there? Watch out for them soms of bitches,” he growled. “They’re nuts. By the time I got pulled over, him and his buddy was out and running down the road. When the police got there, they were long gone. It wasn’t my fault, but I had to deal with the police anyhow. For a while there I didn’t think they were gona let us go. Finally, after filling out all kinds of papers, they told me to take off. Got tired of listening to my wife cry probably. Anyway, we’re back here to stay now.”
“ I’ll tell you,” he continued as he walked back to his door, “you need to get Mexican auto insurance if you plan on driving in Mexico. If you don’t have it and get involved in an accident they’ll take your vehicle and put you in jail, no matter whose fault it is. That’s a Sanborn’s Insurance office right there across the street. You’d best visit them,” he said as he climbed back into his motorhome.
As he pulled away his gray head popped out the window, “Hey, they got a good guide book at Sanborn’s too.” Waving he drove off.
We bought sufficient Mexican auto insurance and picked up the guidebook at Sanborn’s. It proved to be one of the best investments of the trip. We made our last foray in an U.S. grocery store to pick up last minute goodies like candy and magazines and books. The final preparations for crossing THE BORDER were done.
What adventures were ahead in the weeks and months to come? I’m glad I didn’t know.
We pulled into line with others wanting to cross into Mexico. A very short drive through the big adobe arches that separated the two countries and we were in Nogales, Sonora, Mexico.
Our first stop was the customs building. We went to Migracion for tourist cards then to Aduana, for a permit for the motorhome and its contents. So far no big deal. There was an inspection of sorts (head poked in the door and a quick look around) and the necessary papers were completed. Twelve dollars changed hands and colorful rubber stamps went on all the paperwork declaring everything was okay. Took a half hour at the most!
We were actually on our way.
On Highway #15, fifteen miles south was another Customs check. There was a roadblock across our side of the highway, as we slowed down, a soldier, all dressed in sharply pressed khaki - with a side arm no less, waved us into the dusty inspection area. He motioned for all of us to get out and go into the shack at the back of the area. This examination was very thorough. One Soldado climbed the ladder to the roof where he opened and poked through a couple of the trunks. Others checked in cupboards and under seats. The paper towels and toilet paper stored under the back bed caused some excitement. There was a lively discussion among the men. One came out with a roll of paper towels in his hand and motioned for Bill to come to him. “Why do you have so much of this?” he asked waving the towels around. Thank goodness for Bill’s proficiency in Spanish. He explained where we were going and how long it would take us to get there. And after all there were seven of us. The Soldado told him that Gringos smuggle a lot of hotel and restaurant supplies into Mexico so they watch for such things. But there was no problem he said with a smile. Bill accompanied him back to the building where more red, black and green stamps went on the paper work. We were on our way again.
For a while we all just sat quietly and gazed out the windows at the scenery. A subdued group contemplating just what we were getting ourselves into by driving to South America.
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