I am back in the US, its not by choice I assure you, but when the universe speaks, all we can do is listen, then act accordingly, its no problem to resist, (as long as you enjoy a steady rain of blows falling on you), and its been my experience that the universe can pack a wallop when you choose a course different than the one she has plotted for you.
So after attempting (yet again) to follow my own agenda (as a replacement for whatever the universe seems to have in mind for me) I relented after much deliberation and pointed myself north, stashing the trailer and magic carpet temporarily at my new friend Rolando’s.
I had a last order of Tostados at Antojitos and drove north against a virtual gale force wind (the final blow to strengthen my resolve I assume) The wind made sure I took it easy and had plenty of time to decipher exactly what was missing from my equation, my list ended up something like this:
4 wheel drive truck (or no magic carpet)
Laptop Computer (or no blogging)
Sell Boat (or no 4 wheel drive truck)
Pay ALL debt (or no more travel)
Set up hammock sales program (see above)
Procure donations for Mission (no empty promises)
Have thumb X-rayed (try living in a wheelchair with a bad thumb sometime)
Find Lovely Goddess (optional)
My dreams are vivid, luckily my dreams are also fluid, and can change like the tides, otherwise I would look on this as a failed adventure, but the truth is I am happy, I am content and know things are as they should be, and my adventure although not anything like what I envisioned was an amazing adventure nonetheless.
I hit the border in the late afternoon, and as usual, I made a litany of wrong turns in order to take yet another unscheduled tour of Tijuana. Somehow I found myself in the express lane (which I have no pass for), not good, luckily, at the last moment there was a small break in the barricade separating the privileged from the non, being a confirmed non, I took the opportunity to use La Chingaderas off road capabilities to do a little concrete crawling, and in seconds I was out of the pan and into the fire (aka the madness we call the US Mexico border crossing), I decline the chicles, pay the international Red Cross, pass on the virgin mother statues, I almost bought the bloody Jesus crucifixion piece but at the last second decided on a bag of luke warm churros (hmmm horribly graphic facsimile of the son of god being punished for my sins, or fast cooling rancid oil and dough mixture coated in sugar and cinnamon mmm churros) I eat the entire bag, I am listening to Jack Johnson (slow down everyone your moving too fast) I am relaxed, I feel immune to the toxic effects of the exhaust fumes, I almost enjoy the honking horns of the angry masses and I drink deeply the nasty vibe being thrown off by the tired angry drivers and smile, its worse than O’Hare in an ice storm (no gate agents to blame) my only real concern is for the car, La Chingadera is idling rough and gobbling heat as only an aircooled engine with no wind passing over it can do.
I am sure I am in the wrong lane, all the other lanes seem to be moving much faster, the guy I slipped in front of when I jumped the divider still looks pissed so I let him pass, my acknowledgement of his problem is rewarded when he flips me off and they open a new lane directly in front of me which he misses in his haste to get ahead of me.
I made my way to the booth and pass over my sparkly new passport, it’s the post 9/11 model, the one with the magnetic stripe with immediate access to all of my past indiscretions (and apparently the indiscretions of many others blessed with the name David Moore) and I watch as the customs agent begins to read my record, his face sours and launches into the usual line of questioning;
Where were you born? Burbank, California.
What is your purpose for visiting Mexico? Play.
Play what Golf? No play around, in the water on the beach, I point to the surfboard and Kayak above me.
When did you cross? February 26th.
Do you have anything to declare? No.
You bought nothing, in 7 weeks? Well, I have receipts for lots of car repairs and rooms at Motel Sanchez, a couple bottles of seafood salsa and the better part of a carton of delicados…. I do declare I had a lot more money in the bank when I left here though.
He walked briskly to the back of the car and closed the newly opened gate behind me and asked me to accompany him to secondary search.
On the way across the sea of people the secondary questions began, they are more like accusations than questions though
What type of work gives you 7 weeks of vacation? I no longer work, Why not? and I explained to him that I had quit my job in September, when our commander in chief decided that bottles of water were too dangerous to carry on airplanes. He asked if it was a lucrative job, I said it payed the bills, then he got all self righteous and raised his voice “why on earth would you quit a good job in times like these?!” (This was the last friendly question, he knew it, and so did I) So I told him that being constantly scrutinized by a bunch of mindless sheep who work for homeland security wasn’t an optimal use of my time here on Earth (I figure if you’re headed into secondary search and have nothing to hide you may as well enjoy yourself while you sit in limbo)
So he starts turning red and doesn’t talk much more to me (which works for me) I drive slowly alongside him wondering if all of my cavities are still safe, he guides me into a parking spot and demands precision parking, I wonder if I am being x rayed as I watch him walk off with my passport and car keys to a sort of mission control zone that is filled with more sheep, (I mean US Border patrol agents) the sheep are visibly agitated by the action happening to my immediate right, it is a Mercedes, that is completely torn apart, a child sits on the curb (looking very scared) as a man is being led away in handcuffs, they are holding the back seat up and upon close inspection there appear to be two small packets of white powder strapped underneath, I wonder what kind of sick person would cross the border loaded with drugs and carry a child along for the ride?
The sheep are pacing back and forth giving high fives and acting in an entirely unprofessional manner (similar to the way teenage boys act in a locker room after winning the big game) It dawns on me as I sit waiting for my turn, it seems like an awfully small package to risk prison for, He was either stupid or the decoy (my guess is stupid), but if he was the decoy I wonder exactly what amount of the white substance has actually made it through the border while these guys are standing in a group high fiving?.
After a relatively short time (in geological terms) one of the sheep has his fill of the high fives and meanders over my way and begins poking, prodding, and generally fucking up my not so methodical organizational structure, he doesn’t open the wooden lock box that is what used to be my back seat, he just kinda pokes and prods everything on top of it, then he opens the engine compartment, and seems surprised that it is an engine, (the blistering hot tail pipe might have tipped me off) then when he gets around to the front of the car he orders me out of the car. As I begin to lift my wheelchair out of the car he says if you need that to get out, just stay in, (Excellent!, another perk o plegia),
I pop the trunk and he can’t find the safety latch, he asks where it is, I explain it specifically, do you see the center corrugation on the hood? Yes, well, it’s just to the right. He says my right?, no my right, on the passenger side… its not here! Yes, it is there, its kind of hidden, would you like me to come and show you? No, just tell me where. Behind the spare, on the inside edge of the hood, its just off the edge of the corrugation. I can’t get my hand in there. Yeah it’s a little tight for sure (put down the doughnuts and step slowly away from the soda pop) its there, its kind of tight, why don’t you let me help you, NO, now I feel it, it wont move, which way is it supposed to move? It lifts up. No, it’s stuck, it won’t move. If it wont move then the hood needs to come down a little bit, Its probably easier for me to do than explain, let me help you, NO, stay in the car sir, (I know this reaction, its what happens when you mix testosterone and failure, add a little bit of authority and this is how it works, it doesn’t!
The lamb is desperately trying to open a simple latch mechanism, (on his terms) I am trying desperately not to blurt out, why don’t you admit you are beaten and just let me help you, when he finally gets it open, an audible sigh of relief escapes him, he then opens the hood about halfway, and hurriedly closes it as if he saw a ghost inside, and didn’t want to let it out. He is desperately trying to re gain his air of authority as he hands me back my passport and I am just looking forward to him waving me on, he is polite and welcomes me back to the US, then turns and walks away. I have to yell to get his attention again, Excuse me sir, how do I get out of here, brusquely he waves straight down the center, I say no, my keys, and he sheepishly yanks them out from where he caught them in the hood as he slammed it.
I feel safer knowing these men are guarding our borders!
So after attempting (yet again) to follow my own agenda (as a replacement for whatever the universe seems to have in mind for me) I relented after much deliberation and pointed myself north, stashing the trailer and magic carpet temporarily at my new friend Rolando’s.
I had a last order of Tostados at Antojitos and drove north against a virtual gale force wind (the final blow to strengthen my resolve I assume) The wind made sure I took it easy and had plenty of time to decipher exactly what was missing from my equation, my list ended up something like this:
4 wheel drive truck (or no magic carpet)
Laptop Computer (or no blogging)
Sell Boat (or no 4 wheel drive truck)
Pay ALL debt (or no more travel)
Set up hammock sales program (see above)
Procure donations for Mission (no empty promises)
Have thumb X-rayed (try living in a wheelchair with a bad thumb sometime)
Find Lovely Goddess (optional)
My dreams are vivid, luckily my dreams are also fluid, and can change like the tides, otherwise I would look on this as a failed adventure, but the truth is I am happy, I am content and know things are as they should be, and my adventure although not anything like what I envisioned was an amazing adventure nonetheless.
I hit the border in the late afternoon, and as usual, I made a litany of wrong turns in order to take yet another unscheduled tour of Tijuana. Somehow I found myself in the express lane (which I have no pass for), not good, luckily, at the last moment there was a small break in the barricade separating the privileged from the non, being a confirmed non, I took the opportunity to use La Chingaderas off road capabilities to do a little concrete crawling, and in seconds I was out of the pan and into the fire (aka the madness we call the US Mexico border crossing), I decline the chicles, pay the international Red Cross, pass on the virgin mother statues, I almost bought the bloody Jesus crucifixion piece but at the last second decided on a bag of luke warm churros (hmmm horribly graphic facsimile of the son of god being punished for my sins, or fast cooling rancid oil and dough mixture coated in sugar and cinnamon mmm churros) I eat the entire bag, I am listening to Jack Johnson (slow down everyone your moving too fast) I am relaxed, I feel immune to the toxic effects of the exhaust fumes, I almost enjoy the honking horns of the angry masses and I drink deeply the nasty vibe being thrown off by the tired angry drivers and smile, its worse than O’Hare in an ice storm (no gate agents to blame) my only real concern is for the car, La Chingadera is idling rough and gobbling heat as only an aircooled engine with no wind passing over it can do.
I am sure I am in the wrong lane, all the other lanes seem to be moving much faster, the guy I slipped in front of when I jumped the divider still looks pissed so I let him pass, my acknowledgement of his problem is rewarded when he flips me off and they open a new lane directly in front of me which he misses in his haste to get ahead of me.
I made my way to the booth and pass over my sparkly new passport, it’s the post 9/11 model, the one with the magnetic stripe with immediate access to all of my past indiscretions (and apparently the indiscretions of many others blessed with the name David Moore) and I watch as the customs agent begins to read my record, his face sours and launches into the usual line of questioning;
Where were you born? Burbank, California.
What is your purpose for visiting Mexico? Play.
Play what Golf? No play around, in the water on the beach, I point to the surfboard and Kayak above me.
When did you cross? February 26th.
Do you have anything to declare? No.
You bought nothing, in 7 weeks? Well, I have receipts for lots of car repairs and rooms at Motel Sanchez, a couple bottles of seafood salsa and the better part of a carton of delicados…. I do declare I had a lot more money in the bank when I left here though.
He walked briskly to the back of the car and closed the newly opened gate behind me and asked me to accompany him to secondary search.
On the way across the sea of people the secondary questions began, they are more like accusations than questions though
What type of work gives you 7 weeks of vacation? I no longer work, Why not? and I explained to him that I had quit my job in September, when our commander in chief decided that bottles of water were too dangerous to carry on airplanes. He asked if it was a lucrative job, I said it payed the bills, then he got all self righteous and raised his voice “why on earth would you quit a good job in times like these?!” (This was the last friendly question, he knew it, and so did I) So I told him that being constantly scrutinized by a bunch of mindless sheep who work for homeland security wasn’t an optimal use of my time here on Earth (I figure if you’re headed into secondary search and have nothing to hide you may as well enjoy yourself while you sit in limbo)
So he starts turning red and doesn’t talk much more to me (which works for me) I drive slowly alongside him wondering if all of my cavities are still safe, he guides me into a parking spot and demands precision parking, I wonder if I am being x rayed as I watch him walk off with my passport and car keys to a sort of mission control zone that is filled with more sheep, (I mean US Border patrol agents) the sheep are visibly agitated by the action happening to my immediate right, it is a Mercedes, that is completely torn apart, a child sits on the curb (looking very scared) as a man is being led away in handcuffs, they are holding the back seat up and upon close inspection there appear to be two small packets of white powder strapped underneath, I wonder what kind of sick person would cross the border loaded with drugs and carry a child along for the ride?
The sheep are pacing back and forth giving high fives and acting in an entirely unprofessional manner (similar to the way teenage boys act in a locker room after winning the big game) It dawns on me as I sit waiting for my turn, it seems like an awfully small package to risk prison for, He was either stupid or the decoy (my guess is stupid), but if he was the decoy I wonder exactly what amount of the white substance has actually made it through the border while these guys are standing in a group high fiving?.
After a relatively short time (in geological terms) one of the sheep has his fill of the high fives and meanders over my way and begins poking, prodding, and generally fucking up my not so methodical organizational structure, he doesn’t open the wooden lock box that is what used to be my back seat, he just kinda pokes and prods everything on top of it, then he opens the engine compartment, and seems surprised that it is an engine, (the blistering hot tail pipe might have tipped me off) then when he gets around to the front of the car he orders me out of the car. As I begin to lift my wheelchair out of the car he says if you need that to get out, just stay in, (Excellent!, another perk o plegia),
I pop the trunk and he can’t find the safety latch, he asks where it is, I explain it specifically, do you see the center corrugation on the hood? Yes, well, it’s just to the right. He says my right?, no my right, on the passenger side… its not here! Yes, it is there, its kind of hidden, would you like me to come and show you? No, just tell me where. Behind the spare, on the inside edge of the hood, its just off the edge of the corrugation. I can’t get my hand in there. Yeah it’s a little tight for sure (put down the doughnuts and step slowly away from the soda pop) its there, its kind of tight, why don’t you let me help you, NO, now I feel it, it wont move, which way is it supposed to move? It lifts up. No, it’s stuck, it won’t move. If it wont move then the hood needs to come down a little bit, Its probably easier for me to do than explain, let me help you, NO, stay in the car sir, (I know this reaction, its what happens when you mix testosterone and failure, add a little bit of authority and this is how it works, it doesn’t!
The lamb is desperately trying to open a simple latch mechanism, (on his terms) I am trying desperately not to blurt out, why don’t you admit you are beaten and just let me help you, when he finally gets it open, an audible sigh of relief escapes him, he then opens the hood about halfway, and hurriedly closes it as if he saw a ghost inside, and didn’t want to let it out. He is desperately trying to re gain his air of authority as he hands me back my passport and I am just looking forward to him waving me on, he is polite and welcomes me back to the US, then turns and walks away. I have to yell to get his attention again, Excuse me sir, how do I get out of here, brusquely he waves straight down the center, I say no, my keys, and he sheepishly yanks them out from where he caught them in the hood as he slammed it.
I feel safer knowing these men are guarding our borders!
Comments
Jeremy and I have thought about you often since we met you in the bar at Pirate's Cove (can't remember the town...). We've wondered about your adventures, and now I'm curious what brought you back. We were engaged the last night of our trip to Baja and now I've moved to Santa Cruz to join Jeremy. Cohabitation, new job, great house... life is good. Hope you are well and continuing to live the dream! You inspired us for sure.
Website URL : www.manafethme.com