It’s the friends you say good bye to, half your brain is pondering the blank canvas that is the future, brimming with the promise of new experiences, the other half is trying to handle the good byes. This is the postmaster of the expedition, piling up the parcels ordered by my wife and stored by Bruce at his home in Benson, southwest capital of the golf cart as transportation.
Rusty knows the van is home but he likes the desert, a pure simple environment for a dog of his similar temperament. I try to follow his lead and take each day as it comes, not always easy.
Mi Casa in Benson is overflowing with guests after they got national attention from Trip Advisor. She is from La Paz in Baja and cooks like demon; he is American with a wicked sense of humor. Having lunch here with Bruce and Celia is mandatory and delicious and full of laughs. Even in a cool middle of the day.
The thing about departure is that it focuses your mind on what might go wrong. So if you watch a video about a Promaster breaking down you suddenly get the urge to order a couple of fuel pump relays “just in case…” At seven bucks each and each the size of a camera battery it’s easy to justify and Bruce will stash them for you…And when you are planning or hoping to be gone for three years there are a lot of these moments. They have to stop.
Then I discovered Bridget and Richard were not just in Benson but were actually in Bruce’s same RV. Park. Our paths hadn’t crossed since 2010 but they kindly invited us to dinner so that’s another good bye. They live in a huge motor home retired from a life in Alaska the polar opposite from Key West but not so dissimilar in the details, living and earning a pension on the fringes of society.
We took a hotel room in Sierra Vista half an hour from the Naco, Arizona port of entry. For 30,000 Hilton points we had access to hot showers, laundry, and the business center where we went online and printed out our Mexico tourist card and paid the $35 fee to enter Mexico, documents we would present to the immigration officer in Naco, Sonora for a stamp.
While Layne did laundry I took a drive in the dark back to Benson for a last minute pick up from Bruce’s place. Our Kindle e readers had arrived at the last, the very last minute. I am never an early adopter of new technology, rather the reverse and I have finally decided a dedicated reader of electronic books might be a good thing. I found when reading a rare paper book my concentration level increases as I can’t flip to Google to follow an extraneous train of thought. The E Reader is large lightweight and works perfectly offline. It really is like a dedicated book. So far I like it very much. $140 for a lightly used and instantly available, black and white screen, waterproof model. Each charge supposedly lasts for weeks. For a nomad in a van it is excellent.
On our way to the border loaded with Costco and Trader Joe’s in Tucson and Walmart in Sierra Vista we stopped for a last American breakfast in Bisbee.
Snow flurries were drifting and swirling in the parking lot when we reinstalled the freshly laundered sheets and put away our clothes in their lockers in Sierra Vista. By the time we got to Bisbee sunshine was making the Coronado mountains shine under a fresh dusting of snow. The day was bright and sunny with dramatic clouds and a crisp blue sky. A good day to go to Mexico.
I had loaded hash browns and Layne had sausage patties which we shared. We missed Bruce and Celia but winter was keeping them off the road. No more goodbyes then.
We took a stroll through Lowell, incorporated into modern Bisbee and an open air museum of Americana.
I love the mushrooming of roundabouts across the country efficiently replacing stop signs and traffic lights. This one has no mention of Mexico pretending the continent stops five miles away. Follow the sign for Sierra Vista to reach Naco and the border.
Meanwhile we had a couple more sights to see as we digested our food and looked at Lowell.
Soon enough the border loomed. It was noon and we were full of breezy confidence. Quite misplaced naturally.
