We had made a good plan, to not get up too early thus allowing Layne to sleep in and get over her Covid vaccine blues. Then we figured we’d make an easy six hour drive on toll roads for efficiency, stopping at a truck stop for the night only four hours from Oaxaca making it a short Tuesday.
The traffic gods had other plans. You know those epic snarls on the Overseas Highway when someone dies and traffic stops all day? This was if possible, worse. We got snagged three times in this epic mess on the highway near Santa Maria Del Rio.
Google Maps told us there was a 43 minute back up but I wasn’t having any of that. I had a cunning plan and I wanted to put it into action over Layne’s reservations: she was radiating disapproval from the passenger seat.
I don’t know why she objected to trying to bypass the blockage. Wouldn’t you rather explore the mysterious mountain back roads while all that traffic just sits on the freeway? It was exciting not knowing if we’d fit or get stuck.
And then the pavement ran out. GANNET2 rocked a fair bit I have to say. The toilet slipped forward off its stand and my camera bag broke one of two hooks. However the water filter didn’t spill so it couldn’t have been that rough.
We wandered off along the mountainside wondering how far we might get before we were forced to back up. Layne was being very quiet while I was having fun. Rusty just sat there on his cushion.
Then we stumbled across Mother Teresa or was it possibly Georgia O’Keefe tonking along through the dirt. She had places to go.
I pulled up and rolled down my window to ask if she’d like a ride. Oh no she said, I have the lord she added pointing up to the sky, to give me help. Right then, I said feeling my offer was pretty well out gunned by the Almighty, so on we went.
The road went on a bit, winding along the hillside through scrublands carefully fenced by owners keen to be recognized as the possessors of land deprived of the all important water. This place is arid. But all this bouncing and jostling reminded me I find dirt rather tiresome to drive as it takes oodles of concentration and you can’t take your eyes off the way ahead for a second. Plus of course we’re driving our home, five tons of machinery pressing hard into the loose gravel, powdery talcum powder and deep unsettling holes that constituted this road. Plus we could meet an impenetrable obstacle at any moment. My explorer nerd was loose in the Mexican countryside, let everyone step aside!
It was a hot afternoon in the sun, but at 6,000 feet the shade was proportionally cool which seemed to keep everyone indoors if they were home at all. The few people we did meet seemed so startled to see weirdo foreigners they looked away, scowled or pretended not to notice our “casa rodante” ( rolling home ) on their private streets.
The only paved bits of road were those passing through villages, or clusters of homes masquerading as villages. No dogs, no people, certainly no van lifers.
In Mexico teenage girls get to celebrate their 15th birthday with a blow out party. It’s an ancient tradition which has its roots in the proposition that the girl in question is now fertile and ready for marriage and here she is folks dressed like a bride and raring to go. Nowadays it’s a special day, a break in the routine and an opportunity for a family to celebrate, despite the quinceañera’s rather queasy history, the beauty and joy of being young with the prospect of a full life ahead of you. A thing of joy in short.
So I was not surprised to find myself following a vastly overloaded pick up packed to the skies with festive chairs. Wedding? Quinceañera? Who knows but someone has been celebrating in these backwoods. He pulled over to let us by -we were faster over the speed bumps! Yay! - but he knew the short cuts and took his perilous load on back streets that had him catching us up in the narrow winding streets of Santa Maria.
I was reading my Google map as we drove following the little winding white lines hoping we’d fit in the narrow bits and somehow arrive back at the clogged artery formerly called Highway 57.
I was encouraged to see a local Promaster fitting itself into the narrow alleys which gave me hope. The banners in the picture below are the scene of a local protest. People are striking outside city hall apparently protesting the lack of water. Posters screamed insults, corrupt politicians ignoring the needs of the people was the gist. I can’t blame them as everyone needs water and paying for water truck deliveries isn’t easy in this economy but I wonder what a small town mayor is supposed to do about drought.
This supposed to be the end of rainy season. Take a look at this river bed.
Getting out of Santa Maria looked to be a complex game of guesswork checkers trying to figure if GANNET2 would fit and if the street was one way or not. In looking for one way arrows we kept seeing cardboard signs advertising Pepsi saying “salida” which we followed as we wanted to exit the town and it seemed our interests coincided.
So we followed the signs not wanting to question our good luck. After a while the penny dropped. There were, in addition to the exit arrows bits of bunting and Mexican flags on the houses. Finally I remembered the Grito de Dolores - the Cry of Dolores - which is celebrated September 16th as a huge national holiday celebrating independence. Forget Cinco de Mayo, an American holiday made up to sell product, Mexico celebrates freedom in September.
The Encyclopedia Britannia has a succinct summary which explains the festival recently held, obviously in Santa Maria. And thanks to Independence Day we had an easy route out of town.
The Cry of Dolores occurred in Dolores, Mexico, on 16 September 1810, when Roman Catholic priest Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla rang his church bell and gave the call to arms that triggered the Mexican War of Independence. The Cry of Dolores is most commonly known by the locals as "El Grito de Independencia".Wikipedia 
Miraculously we popped out into a massive truck stop just off the highway, which was still clogged and not moving. I walked Rusty and Layne went into the Italian Coffee Company and ordered two iced coffees. $15 she exclaimed which explained the absence of lines when a coffee costs as much as a day’s labor. The traffic jam beat us a second time so I got out my Kermit chair and my eReader and with Rusty at my side in the shade we waited for the problem to solve itself. Layne took a nap.
As annoying as our day may have been it was obvious someone else’s had been quite catastrophic. Trucks were backed up into the rest area and we were lucky the coffee company had six open spaces to park to give us time to ponder our next move. First the charitable case. Imagine having spina bifida in a country without the Americans with Disabilities Act.
You give money of course but inside you give thanks it’s not you. Every year we have a friend in Chicago who delivers wheelchairs to Mexicans who may not have been out of the house for years for want of a few hundred bucks. I hated my wheelchair but I didn’t think twice about the cost.
This obviously is a major commercial route as most of the traffic is semis and the drivers had no option but to press on to keep earning a living. I asked one what had happened as in Mexico a road can be closed by an accident, a cartel fire fight or a local protest, and we’ve seen locals closing roads over water rights ironically. A bad accident we were told. Traffic was now stop and go in both directions and mostly stopped. What a day!
After a few hours of rest and recuperation we decided to press on. The truck stop was busy and the sakes force was out in strength and I was tired of not being left alone. I scared off the truck stop dog to give Rusty some space so he got his nap time.
You are free not to believe me but I’d rather be in a traffic jam in Mexico than the US. Mexican drivers you will be astonished to learn are polite and considerate for the most part. A truck paused to let us in with no road rage or shoving. We got in line and stopped and went with a determination to be as patient and well mannered as our neighbors.
And don’t despair, if you are hungry or thirsty Mexico has your back. If you think Mexicans are lazy imagine walking up and down all day selling peanuts, potato chips, pistachios, ice creams in heavy ice boxes, drinks or even lottery tickets to earn extra money all in 90 degrees.
And yes we bought more salt than we needed and happily paid gringo prices which is pretty funny as you can see the seller trying to figure out how high he can push the price to us. And we never take charge. Their faces light up at a dollar tip.
This guy freaked me out pulling right up to our bumper his nose deep in his phone. Layne on the bed noooked out the back and saw him eating a meal with a fork while he avidly read his phone. But he never missed a beat. I got a bit gringo and changed lanes because I got tired of the proctologist up my rear. Look how close he is to the truck as we waited for the next burst of movement. It really was that boring.
Rusty was perfect, never complaining never acting annoyed, just sitting quietly and sheets ready to leap out when we stop and the gear goes into park with a click.
I was intrigued by the bud lines serving Mexico and the US, the sort of integration that we don’t really think too much about in the US. Most of the trailers on the highway were American, as Laredo is a huge center for cross border trade.
And yes at 1.2 miles per hour per Google Maos we arrived at the scene that had closed the highway all day.
There was the cause of all the trouble, a fully loaded 18 wheeler coming north missed the turn and flattened the guard rail rolling into the southbound lanes 15 feet below scattering 40 tons of god knows what all over the road.
I don’t know how many vehicles were involved or who died or anything like that but as you can see it didn’t look great.
Check out the guard rail behind the workers. It must have been a spectacular, frightening wreck. It’s hard for us leisurely retirees to feel miffed about our journey being interrupted. Honestly we never really did get pissed off about the delay. I felt lucky not to be in a hurry.
Meanwhile, inexplicably northbound traffic was backed up and crawling. What a mess.
I drove on too long and too far to make up some miles. Rusty sat next to me patiently as ever while Layne napped in the back.
I ended up driving after dark arriving at a Pemex gas station around 7:15 after half an hour in darkness, surrounded by speeding trucks on an abysmal stretch of potholed toll highway. Grrr!
Layne made shredded roast chicken from Costco in Laredo on rice, I drank a beer and passed out.
