Gary Cooper had until noon to face his devils.
We faced our at 4:30 AM in Gila Bend. That was our roll-out-of-bed time on Saturday to get an early start on our run across the border.
But we were not leaving without our free breakfast. I should have learned by now that free is fair warning that what shows up on your plate will not be getting rave reviews in Bon Appetit.
Breakfasts at the Space Age Restaurant are not the way to start your day -- no matter where you are going. But unlike the old Woody Allen joke, even though the food was bad, the oportions were large.
Having downed our breakfasts, we were off on a one-hour jaunt to the border at Lukeville. The road down is beautiful. Much of the vegetation has been preserved in either a bombing range or as part of the Organ Pipie National Monument. Had we had more time, I would have taken a series of amazing photographs. As it is, I have my memories -- and that should last about a week.
The crossing at Lukeville is simple. You drive across the border and you are on your way to the main immigration point several miles down the road.
I should note that when you cross the border, you are faced with the monstrosity of a wall (pictured above) that stretches futilely over the hills -- attempting to repeal everything Adam Smith taught us about free markets. Some people see the fence and are reminded of Robert Frost or the Berlin Wall. I see it, and think of Krusty the Clown.
We could have slept in a bit more. We arrived at the main immigration point before the opening time of 8, even though all of the emoloyees were sitting around chatting well before then.
There were a total of three people requesting vehicle permits. One was immediately turned aside because he was trying to bring a rental car across the border.
So, the two clerks had one customer each. It took each clerk a full hour to compare documents and issue the permit. They were very friendly -- but very deliberate.
The officer at the immigration table next door could have stepped right out of central casting of a 1940s movie. His English was perfect, but he had a way of administering his official stamp that left no doubt who was in charge.
We were off and running. Darrel with his FMT; me with my now-stamp FM3.
And then it happened. The dreaded red customs light.
We pulled to the inpection area. The officer opened the rear door and looked at the sleeping Professor Jiggs. Asked for the receipt for the vehicle permit. Inquired of our destinartion. And waved us on our way.
We felt like two lucky fellows.
The drive from Lukeville to Highway 15 is picture perfect desert. It reminded me of sailing. The desert floor as flat as the sea with island mountains on the horizon.
Once we joined 15, our idyll was over. The traffic was much heavier -- and noticeably faster. Where trucks had set the pace on the rural road, BMWs and Mercedes now ruled. We tooled along making good time, but setting no records.
When we arrived in Guaymas, we settled in to our room at the Motel Flamingos. It was rather Spartan, but it met our needs: plenty of cool tile for Jiggs to sleep on.
The big event of the evening, though, was the Abbreviated Bloggers Conference -- Western Edition. We had dinner with Bliss, and Brenda and Roy at El Barca -- one of Brenda and Roy's favorite Mexican restaurants. I concur with their opinion. It was a good meal. And I thank them.
But, more important, it was great to meet three people I have "talked" with for over a year. They were each exactkly as I pictured them, but I found out things about each of them that I would never have known without our little "conference."
So, you hoity-toity bloggers on the east coast, take heed. We are busy building up our reserves for improved west cloast blogs.
We were planning on stopping at Mazatlan tomorrow to see Nancy and Paul. But they will not yet have returned from Merida. I hope to see them on another trip. But we may stop there -- simply because it is a natural stopping point on our way south.
Tune in tomorrow to discover if we made it.
We faced our at 4:30 AM in Gila Bend. That was our roll-out-of-bed time on Saturday to get an early start on our run across the border.
But we were not leaving without our free breakfast. I should have learned by now that free is fair warning that what shows up on your plate will not be getting rave reviews in Bon Appetit.
Breakfasts at the Space Age Restaurant are not the way to start your day -- no matter where you are going. But unlike the old Woody Allen joke, even though the food was bad, the oportions were large.
Having downed our breakfasts, we were off on a one-hour jaunt to the border at Lukeville. The road down is beautiful. Much of the vegetation has been preserved in either a bombing range or as part of the Organ Pipie National Monument. Had we had more time, I would have taken a series of amazing photographs. As it is, I have my memories -- and that should last about a week.
The crossing at Lukeville is simple. You drive across the border and you are on your way to the main immigration point several miles down the road.
I should note that when you cross the border, you are faced with the monstrosity of a wall (pictured above) that stretches futilely over the hills -- attempting to repeal everything Adam Smith taught us about free markets. Some people see the fence and are reminded of Robert Frost or the Berlin Wall. I see it, and think of Krusty the Clown.
We could have slept in a bit more. We arrived at the main immigration point before the opening time of 8, even though all of the emoloyees were sitting around chatting well before then.
There were a total of three people requesting vehicle permits. One was immediately turned aside because he was trying to bring a rental car across the border.
So, the two clerks had one customer each. It took each clerk a full hour to compare documents and issue the permit. They were very friendly -- but very deliberate.
The officer at the immigration table next door could have stepped right out of central casting of a 1940s movie. His English was perfect, but he had a way of administering his official stamp that left no doubt who was in charge.
We were off and running. Darrel with his FMT; me with my now-stamp FM3.
And then it happened. The dreaded red customs light.
We pulled to the inpection area. The officer opened the rear door and looked at the sleeping Professor Jiggs. Asked for the receipt for the vehicle permit. Inquired of our destinartion. And waved us on our way.
We felt like two lucky fellows.
The drive from Lukeville to Highway 15 is picture perfect desert. It reminded me of sailing. The desert floor as flat as the sea with island mountains on the horizon.
Once we joined 15, our idyll was over. The traffic was much heavier -- and noticeably faster. Where trucks had set the pace on the rural road, BMWs and Mercedes now ruled. We tooled along making good time, but setting no records.
When we arrived in Guaymas, we settled in to our room at the Motel Flamingos. It was rather Spartan, but it met our needs: plenty of cool tile for Jiggs to sleep on.
The big event of the evening, though, was the Abbreviated Bloggers Conference -- Western Edition. We had dinner with Bliss, and Brenda and Roy at El Barca -- one of Brenda and Roy's favorite Mexican restaurants. I concur with their opinion. It was a good meal. And I thank them.
But, more important, it was great to meet three people I have "talked" with for over a year. They were each exactkly as I pictured them, but I found out things about each of them that I would never have known without our little "conference."
So, you hoity-toity bloggers on the east coast, take heed. We are busy building up our reserves for improved west cloast blogs.
We were planning on stopping at Mazatlan tomorrow to see Nancy and Paul. But they will not yet have returned from Merida. I hope to see them on another trip. But we may stop there -- simply because it is a natural stopping point on our way south.
Tune in tomorrow to discover if we made it.
