On the road again

We have a routine now, our second hurricane season in Mexico.  We tuck Gitane in her dock at Paradise Village in Puerto Vallarta with caretakers looking after her.  We remove the sails, dodger, bimini and all running rigging and lay out a canvas cover to protect her from the UVs and the rain.  We flush the engine with fresh water, wipe down all of the interior wood with vinegar, defrost the freezer, clean out the refrigerator, remove all dry food, and fill the water and fuel tanks before we say goodbye and hit the road.

We left PV in mid-May and arrived in Anacortes a few days before June.  It is a three-nights-four-days drive to the Mexico/US border.  We stopped at our favorite RV parks in Mexico: Las Jaibas in Mazatlan where the owner told me that whatever I wanted to pay was OK with him, Dolisa Motel and Trailer Park in Los Alamos where the caretaker rakes the dirt behind our every footstep; and Totonaka in San Carlos where we had our pick of the shady spots. 

Las Jaibas, Mazatlan

 

Restrooms at Dolisa, Los Alamos

As usual, we lagged far behind the RV exodus that occurs in early April so there were only a couple of RVs in each location except in Los Alamos where we were once again the only guest.  We were quite comfortable being the solo rig and only gringos in this small town where we look forward to dinner at one of our all-time favorite restaurants, Las Palmeras.  Their combo plate is to die for and their traditional wood and mirrored bar is a work of art.  It spans three walls and is stocked to the ceiling with who knows what libations in sparkling colored bottles in all shapes and sizes.  The family lives in the back; the girls come and go, food is delivered behind closed doors and we watch a Mexican drama on the big screen color television. Just like home.

We drive north from the humidity of the tropics into the “cool” mountain air of Tepic, and then descend along the shore at Mazatlán, before rolling into the dry heat of the high desert north. By the fourth day when we cross the border into the U.S. we are dehydrated and tired of the drive, the bad roads and high tolls. Our first night in the U.S. is pure bliss.  The De Anza Trailer Park is a converted dog racing venue that boasts an expansive club house with an indoor pool, Jacuzzi, restaurant, fitness center and game tables. I sprawl on a luxurious, over-sized leather sofa, my first feel of real furniture in eight months, and watch a huge television that I can see without squinting.  I take a shower in the immaculate restrooms with big shower heads that lavish hot water onto weary travelers.  I probably use more water in that one shower than I’ve used all winter.  I’m in heaven.

We’re lucky to have friends in Scottsdale where we spend a few days sequestered and slowly ease back into American culture.   My successful re-immersion comes to a screeching halt during my first trip to the pet store.  Browsing amid eight aisles of kitty food I am overwhelmed with the voluminous choices before me.  I can’t remember the brand that I used to buy so I look for a familiar label and don’t see it.  Perhaps the graphics have changed so I look at each brand searching for a key word that might jump out at me. My eyes won’t focus, my head hurts, my breathing becomes fast and shallow, and I’m suddenly paralyzed.  In Mexico, whether in a big national chain store or in a small town tienda there are two brands of cat food to choose from.  It makes shopping so much easier.  But here, the multitude of brands proves to be too much for me to absorb.  I pick a couple of cans and get out as fast as I can.  I climb back into the RV and slam the door, shutting out the vastness and abundance of America. 

We slip back onto the frenetic freeway and head north, stopping in Prescott, Arizona at Point of Rocks RV Campground set amidst the austere beauty of enormous rock formations; along the river at Big Mountain Campground in Nephi, Utah where kids are fishing with their parents; and finally at Mt. View RV Park in Baker City, Oregon where we stroll into town for dinner along a paved path that follows a gurgling creek.  It’s a peaceful and melodic end to a day spent speeding along the asphalt freeway. 

Our reserved space fronting a wetland buffer was waiting for us at Fidalgo Bay RV Park in Anacortes where we are spending the summer.  The air is fresh and clean and sometimes a little too cool.  We don sweatshirts rather than life jackets.  We marvel at the beauty of Padilla Bay and Mt. Baker as we ride our bikes to town along the Tommy Thompson Trail that borders the bay.  We are awed by the bald eagles in the tree tops and flocks of herons tip toeing in the shallows near their rookery.  We plan bike rides to the islands and camping days with family.  We buy fresh, local produce at the Saturday Farmer’s Market.  We perch our lawn chairs on the berm and read from the stack of library books.  Life is good here…with a different rhythm.