To: Mailing List
Date: December 28th
From: Sharon, John and Rex – The Crazy Canucks
Subject: Somewhere in the Madre del Sur Mountain range in Mexico
I’m gnawing at my fingernails, a sign I should distract myself, save what’s left of my cuticles, and write.
We’re staring at a makeshift bridge spanning a twenty-five foot drop. Five vehicles are lined up behind us, overflowing with Mexicans chomping at the bit for us to advance. Their shouts and cheers fill the air. Rounding out the panorama is the reason for our predicament: a collapsed bridge. A mudslide, I suspect. John has this incredibly intense expression on his face. More like a crazed man on speed rather than a man secure in his ability to maintain his sanity while balancing us on a high-wire. Seriously, I’m wondering why I ever let him talk me into pulling a forty-foot fifthwheel into the depths of Mexico.
I’m writing to distance myself from the situation. I can’t call anybody being there’s no phone service in the boonies. Why am I not screaming and yelling? Because we’ve just spent six grueling hours crossing over a mountain range, and I’m numb. Besides, I dare not add more stress to my typical calm English husband. LoL
Anyway, my hope is you’ll receive this snippet in the weekly trip-around-Mexico briefing and you’re picturing yours truly basking in the sun with a piña colada in hand. Or, you’ve been contacted by a Mexican Official (just know I haven’t sold your contact information), we’ve plunged. . .
The pen flew from my outstretched fingers when John screeched, “What are you doing?” followed by Rex’s guttural wail.
“I’m writing an email to our family and friends.”
“Are you absolutely-bloody-nuts?”
“Would you prefer I join you and Rex in a howl fest?”
He whipped his head from side to side. His stiff neck muscles clicking made me wince. “There’s no way I can position the rig on the bridge or reverse. We’re buggered.”
“And whose fault is that? We could be enjoying winter in a luxury Texas campground. Oh noooooo! Not us. Like idiots, we had to explore Mexico.”
“Do we have to deal with this issue now?”
I slouched in the seat, a whole litany of thoughtless ramblings competed for attention. I rubbed my forehead and combed my hair from my face. Only the sound of Rex licking his private parts breaks the quiet. Like every challenge we survived since trading suburbia for life on the road, tackling Mexico started three months earlier.