Well, we did it. Or should I say, Brian did it. I supervised…OK, OK, I was the “gopher”/Gatorade-mixer/vacuum and fan operator extraordinaire. Our new Sea Frost refrigeration unit that we traveled 4000 miles to requisition is now chilling my beer and cheese nicely.

Easy? Yes and no. Let’s just say… with boat projects… our motto is: “There’s always somethin’”.  Despite my MacGyver husband’s uncanny aptitude with all things mechanical (and all things boat, really)… and despite the fact that he compulsively over-researches, over-engineers and over-anticipates (these are good “overs”)…still… there’s always somethin’. Usually it’s multiple somethin’s. Something that stymies, or delays, or doesn’t work right, or you forgot, or you broke, or you assume, or whatever...

SO instead of giving you a boring play-by-play of the install, I’ll describe some Boat Project Rules, just so you get a better sense of what it’s like to be aboard our boat during a major project.

Boat Project Rule #1: Finish secondary project before primary project.
Invariably, when you fix or replace something on a boat, a secondary project (often completely unrelated) must be finished before you can get started on your main project. If not, said secondary item WILL inevitably break, causing you to remove/redo the primary. Just get it over with the first time around.

In this case, the engine exhaust hose snakes into Indigo’s cockpit locker, inaccessible behind the fridge compressor.  It is cracked; we can’t tell whether it will split any second or if it will last another 5 years. But it looks bad and it’s 20 years old; so we replaced it. If we put the new compressor in without replacing that hose, it will definitely split. That’s how boats work. Anticipating this, we brought down a new length of hose. It took an extra day to remove the old and replace; but it’s done, ready for another 20 years of coughing up engine spittle.

Boat Project Rule #2: Never put away anything during a project.
Brian drills a hole.
Brian: “Can you get me the vacuum?”
I get it out from its spot jammed under my clothes closet.
We vacuum up the sawdust or fiberglass, etc.
Me: “Are you done? I’m going to put it away ok?”
Brian: Mumble, mumble.
5 minutes later.
Brian: “I need the vacuum.”
Me: Sigh. “I just told you I was going to put it away.”
Brian: “Why would you do THAT?”
Me: “You’re right. WHY on earth would I do that?” I should know better by now.
I get the vacuum out and don’t put it away for 3 days. I use it as a back rest.

At some point you just give up trying to put anything away. We make a mess of the boat…complete and total disarray. Why not, it’s going to end up that way eventually anyway. Don’t fight it.

Our boat during the fridge project:
Everything from inside the cockpit locker is piled up outside in all directions. The only seat I can find in the cockpit is enough for one butt-cheek. Down below, I get to sit on a half-seat with my back embedded on the vacuum and legs atop a bag of dirty clothes and all the containers removed from the cupboard. The stove/fridge area is off limits since it is obviously the main area of work = no cooking for me. Bins of screws and electrical equipment and boxed refrigerator parts line Brian’s settee. So he gets to sit on the floor surrounded by bags of tools.  Our v-berth bed is filled to the brim with cushions and sails. In other words, it’s virtually unlivable. I can take this for no more than about 3 days. Good thing this project took… 3 days.

Boat Project Rule #3: Boats require a little blood & sweat sacrifice (in this case, mucho sweat).
Brian has found that to complete a boat project successfully, a blood sacrifice to the boat is required, similar to ancient civilizations’ propensity for throwing virgins into a volcano to ensure a bountiful harvest.  No he doesn’t sacrifice a virgin or cut himself on purpose, but unavoidably, Indigo will draw blood at some point during any given project.

The Hole
(Scene Fade-In) Brian is in the “hole” in the cockpit locker working on installing the new fridge compressor. In 100-degree heat. He has to fold himself down in there like a soft taco. It’s stifling. Immediately, he is dripping pools of sweat. I sit above, half-cheeked on the seat, waiting for instructions. We literally have to put a fan on the battery box behind him, or I hold it manually above him, depending on his position, just to keep him from getting overheated. What follows is not the ramblings of a mad-man, but actually a carefully considered mantra, that dates back since man started building watercraft.

Pant, pant, sigh, grunt…. “Damn it…” Asks for 2 screws. I hand them over. Pant. Bang. “NO!” (dropped screw). “Son of a…” Rummages around.  Asks for the red-handled crimper in the electrical bag. I find it, not noticing there are three red-handled tools ‘til it’s too late. “No, the red-handled CRIMPER”. (I’d be a bad surgical tech.)

More panting, clattering, and pounding. “Ziptie.” Silence. LOUD grunt. “Arrggggh…. What the…..” Slices his finger on a screw tip and starts bleeding. “Ow!!!” “Sh#@.” (Blood sacrifice complete.) “You want a band-aid?” Of course not. Asks for another tool. I’m too slow, can’t find it. “Hurry.” Like he’s going to die if I don’t find it in the next 2 seconds. But then again…

It’s impossible to be in the “hole” for more than about 30 minutes in this kind of humidity. It’s just too physically and mentally draining. I once had to yell at him to get out and take a break. He tries to stand up, unfolding his shaking, bad knees out from underneath. “Ow… Ow... Owwwwww.” His entire shirt soaked, Brian slowly climbs out and goes down inside the boat…into sweet air conditioning. Ahhhh. Drinks an entire bottle of Gatorade in one minute. We sit inside for a ½ hour to cool down. Then… back outside. Back to the hole.

Three full days of this misery… The fridge compressor is in that hole, along with half the wiring and copper coil and air vent and the exhaust hose. I suppose a secondary benefit (if you were trying to be upbeat about the whole thing) is that the sauna effect is a great weight-loss technique. Hey, maybe we should charge admission! Boat Sauna: 100 pesos for 15 minutes! Guaranteed to lose those extra 5 pounds!

Boat Project Rule #4: Love Hurts
Your love for your boat and desire to make her prettier, more functional and, more importantly, use less amps… will put you in multiple and painful compromising positions. Get used to it. What follows may sound like porn to the uneducated…cover your ears.

The One-Armed-Tied-Behind-My-Back Position
Brian, laying on his back on top of the stove cover, butt hanging half off, one foot holding himself on the companionway step, wedges his entire head and only one shoulder and arm inside the dinky cupboard. And just so we’re clear HOW dinky… this is an opening of 12” x 9”. About the size of a piece of paper. Yeah.

“Owwww…. Ow, ow, ow, ow. Sh#tballs.  F$$$, I can’t see a thing. I hate it when I only have one arm to work with.” At least you are in the air conditioning. Doesn’t that make it better? I don’t actually say this out loud. I know better.

A portion of the copper coil and electrical wiring leads from the compressor in the cockpit locker into the boat via this cupboard and then down into the fridge. Threading all that tubing and wiring through this tiny space is tricky. It’s a lousy place to do business.

So after 3 days, and knowing he had extracted himself for the 50th and “last” time from the bowels of the cupboard that was never meant to house a 1/4 of a person, breathing hard, half joking, mostly not: “I don’t like that position. I don’t want to do that anymore. Please don’t make me.” OK honey, I won’t… unless the fridge doesn’t work right, of course. Well, let’s just say he had to go back in a few more times.

A note: I can joke about these things… because Brian made me get in the “hole” too. I had to pull the stubborn, copper wire tubing into the locker through the hole that leads to the inside cupboard where Brian was pushing. He was in the air conditioning. I was in the 100 degree heat, kneeling in our cockpit locker sauna. I couldn’t get any leverage. I had to bend and pull yet not break the thin tubing or we’d be toast. It was unwieldly. It kept getting stuck. My arm is in a position it’s not meant to be. Pant. Grunt. Arrrggh. Oooow. My shoulder feels like it’s going to come out of its socket. I can use only one arm to pull, I can’t get enough purchase. My hands are sweaty and the copper slips right through them. In 10 minutes I am dripping like I’d just run 5 miles. Sh!#. I’m wilting! Finally I figured out how to bend it in the right spot and pull, bend and pull. Climbing out of the hole I say… “Oh my God, I hate that position. Don’t make me do that again.”

I’m not making this up folks. These are actual statements. Any random vacationer walking the docks hearing those utterings would be traumatized. Any boat owner would just nod their head and say “Amen”.

Boat Project Rule #5: That ONE part you didn’t buy an extra of…the one you SWEAR up and down you already had on the boat… will mysteriously disappear in time of need.
Brian thought we had a specific fuse holder already on the boat, so he didn’t order one. When we started the install, he tore the boat apart and couldn’t find the darn thing. More expletives. It’s always somethin’.

Star Marine is the local (and only) marine store. They mostly carry fishing gear and cosmetic supplies for fiber-glassing, cleaning and painting. Not famous for their electronics supply, we walked over there, dejected, just KNOWING they would not have what we needed, already contemplating our next move.

Worst case scenario: In order to get this project done ASAP, we might have to drive to the nearest West Marine in Phoenix, 9 hours away, stay overnight and bring it back down. Holy. Crap. Grumbling ensues.

 But…tadaaaaa… the stars magically aligned. The ONLY fuse holder available was the particular one we required. Thank Boreas. (FYI: Boreas was the Greek god of the north wind and bringer of cold winter air.) Our lack of foresight cost us though: It was a whopping 690 pesos, or $45 for a typical $15 item. 300% markup. YIKES. And you think West Marine is expensive. Guess what? We GLADLY paid it. OK, not gladly.

Now that we have the elusive fuse holder, Brian finishes wiring. Let’s start that puppy up!

Crickets…

Well? Success! Right?! I mean, it works… right? After three days of toil in unbearable heat, it should just WORK. Right??!!!. Well, sort of. The compressor is running. That’s a plus. It didn’t blow up when we turned it on. The cold plate IS getting cool. BUT…

Boat Project Rule #6: Nothing ever works the first time around.
Wait, you don’t really think it’s going to work right off the bat do you? Pishaw! You must work for it; you have some more hoop-jumping Mister.

We had turned the fridge on around noon. 5 hours later, it was still only down to 60 degrees. Ruh roh. Our 20-yr old Alder-Barbour fridge chilled to 34 degrees in about that same amount of time. What gives? Yes, it’s super-hot outside, but that should be partially offset by our new, super-efficient compressor, plus air-conditioned cabin air is now being ducted directly onto the compressor (so it doesn’t need to work as hard in the heat). So we let it run overnight to see what happens.

The following morning it was cooler, but only down to 40 degrees. The compressor has a low, middle and high setting: it was set to high, yet still running constantly to keep up. That’s not normal.  In fact, that’s really bad. It should turn on and off as needed to retain temp, using about 6 amps per hour, but really being “on” for about 25 minutes of every hour, therefore using up 5 amps per hour on average. At this rate, we have a huge problem: if it continues to runs non-stop….at 6 amps per hour for 24 hours, that’s over 140 amps…our solar panels won’t keep up. It’s always somethin’. Disappointment is creeping in.

We didn’t want to think about this - so we didn’t. After ALL that work, the thought of having to find someone to come out and trouble-shoot was incomprehensible. We might have to wait ‘til we got to La Paz or even Mazatlan where we know there are reputable refrigeration experts. What? No cheese ‘til December? Inconceivable.

Sea Frost and AutoZone to the Rescue
Brian called Sea Frost tech support as soon as he determined that fiddling with temp controls wasn’t helping. He had concluded there wasn’t enough refrigerant; SeaFrost concurred. Thankfully, they informed Brian how to fix it without consulting a costly refrigeration contractor. Time for a trip to Autozone. After purchasing and injecting special refrigerant, we waited a few hours. It got down to 38. Still running constantly. Ice trays are only partially frozen. The next day he added more. It got down to 36. Progress. Not running constantly…

The Adjustment Period
It took over another week of this: tweaking the temperature settings juuust enough, and monitoring the system overnight. Lots of thermometer-checking, brow-furrowing, “humph’s” , tongue-clicking, dial-twisting… and waiting. How touchy can this be?! Seriously. I took the chance and bought a pack of salchichas and 2 packets of cheese, imbuing positive vibes.

This “adjustment period” dragged out so long there was never an “Ah-Ha” moment. Not a single “Hey, it WORKS!”. No high fives, no happy-dance. How terribly anti-climactic for all that anticipation!

Bottom line is…while we continue to monitor its progress, Brian IS happy with the product. It is NOT running constantly, seems to be consuming about 40 amps overnight and is relatively steady at 34-36 degrees, even in this heat. I will let him write a detailed, technical explanation of the process later: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. The good news? I finally get to go grocery shopping again - cheese aisle, here I come.  But first, I’m going to get me a cold beer.

Trucking on the I-10 Pensacola to Tucson
We headed back to San Carlos, Mexico from Atlanta on July 27th, traveling in the only major item we kept after selling the majority of our belongings last year and moving onto our boat: a 10-yr old Toyota Tacoma…hauling a brand new SeaFrost refrigerator.

Why, again, are we doing this? Because we don’t trust FedEx Mexico to deliver such an expensive piece of equipment into Mexico without it getting “lost”. And, we didn’t exactly feel like lugging such a heavy, awkward item on a plane and a 10-hr cross-border bus ride. Plus, do YOU want to try and explain carrying hazardous refrigerant to suspicious TSA or border agents? We could have shipped it to a Mailbox Etc. in Tucson, bussed up there to pick it up and bring it back on the bus; still a lot of trouble. We considered the possibility of bringing the truck down here as a huge bonus. But it’s ALL the way over in Atlanta. Eh, what else do we have to do? So here we are…

Southern AL/Pensacola
We’ve driven the southern route along I-10 several times. But the Marine Corps dictated our every move and always required Brian’s presence ASAP. Rush to Corpus Christi, hurry back to P’Cola, ‘stomp on it’ to California. This time, there was no one telling us when we had to be where.

From Atlanta, we purposefully traveled circuitously throughout southern Alabama to see if there was potential for settling there later on, AB (After Boat). Yes, there will come a time when we don’t want to live on the boat and we are already planning. This was a quickie day-long drive-by through a line of towns from Auburn to Tuskegee to Dothan to Opp just to get a sense for the area. Dothan and Enterprise, Alabama are high on the list due to Ft. Rucker. But so is Pensacola/LA (lower Alabama) Daphne/Foley area due to Pensacola Naval Air Station and nearby Eglin Air force Base.

Access to the VA is key for us, as is no state income tax - both FL and AL accomplish this requirement. FL has no state tax period and AL does not tax military retirement income. (Neither does Michigan or Wyoming, two other top states, but it’s so COLD there.) But we wanted to see if we would still like the area after 20 years away before we do more research on property tax and building codes (yes, most of you are not surprised a ‘tiny house’ and pole barn shop is in our waaay distant future).

We were surprised at how comfortable we felt back in Pensacola. I mean who doesn’t like sparkling white sugar sand beaches and a low-key, Jimmy Buffet style vibe. We had lived there in 1995 and again in 1997 while Brian attended flight school. 

Young and broke, newly married and madly in love, when Brian wasn’t studying (rarely), we went to the beach for fun because we could afford to do nothing else. Waffle House was a rare treat from my usual Hamburger Helper dinners (yeeaah, my cooking skills were in need of some major help). I used to open the window of our first, cheapo, cockroach-infested apartment on Pensacola Bay just so I could hear the surf crashing against the rocks outside…while the air conditioner was running. What’s wrong with that?  Brian anointed me “Bill-Czar” after that discovery and I learned real quick. Ah, to be 23 again and clueless. Good times.

We spent the night at the Pensacola Naval Air Station hotel and visited the newly reconstructed base marina. Walking the docks, we spoke to a fellow retired Marine who informed us about the marina rate of $6/ft/month (great deal), there are no liveaboards allowed (bad for us), and that the entire place was swept away during the last major hurricane in 2005. Not a single boat survived. Hmmm, maybe we DON’T want to put the boat here eventually.

Bucket List Item #1: The French Quarter
The next morning we headed out to check out Perdido Key, Foley, Fairhope and Daphne, Alabama before getting on the I-10 to New Orleans. Though we’d driven past it several times, we’d never stopped...rush, rush, rush to that next duty station.  We stayed downtown on the west side in a district that looked like it was in the middle of a renaissance: old and tired storefronts and apartments mingled with new and upbeat eateries and hotels. The hotelier gave us directions and a map on which she pointed “Oh by the way, for your safety, don’t go past this street.” Great. Enough said. 

The Hustle
We hopped on the crowded, standing-room-only bus to the French Quarter and spent 5 hours into the evening just walking downtown. We scouted the infamous Bourbon St. and decided it was like a Frenchie Southern Las Vegas. While interesting for an evening out, more than one day in this place would make us crazy. Bourbon St. is rife with strip clubs, bars, street performers and hustlers. One such hustle goes a little somethin’ like this…
Hustler: “Hey, I like your shoes. They’re cool man.”
Brian: Semi-surprised, “Uh, thanks.”
Hustler sidles up and touches him on the shoulder like he is an old friend: “I’ll bet you I can tell you where you got them?”
Brian: “What?” This is a strange statement. It takes a moment to process…
Hustler: “I’ll bet you I can tell you where you got your shoes.”

See, at this point we were supposed to say “Ok where ”, meaning where did we buy them, thinking to ourselves, “Hell, even I don’t know where I bought these shoes, how’s HE going to know.” But what they are trying to do is catch you on your grammar. What? I know. Weirdest thing ever. I immediately tried to move Brian away thinking this was more of a hustle than it really was, but Brian nailed it and we veered off: “I GOT them on my feet.” Smile. “Thanks, anyway.”

We hear Mr. Hustler claim his next victim (laughing congenially at tripping the guy up): “You GOT them on your FEET bro’!”  And said hustler now implies he deserves a bit of a tip for catching you off your game, right? No, no you do not. If you’d like a tip, perform something semi-useful! See those children drumming on overturned plastic buckets? Or how about that guy dressed as a gold statue, or the animation dancers, or those girls I keep passing with small squares of clear plastic in their mouth… encasing another piece of colored, round, rolled-up, rubbery plastic… whaa, OK, still… useful. Look, I just don’t tip for poor grammar. It’s against my upbringing. We heard this same spiel 4 times so it must work. At least it’s a benign encounter; Brian didn’t get his wallet lifted.

The Good Stuff
Regardless of the craziness of Bourbon St., we enjoyed walking down the quaint, cobblestone streets and inhaling the enticing aromas of shrimp, catfish and Old Bay Seasoning. We loved the beautiful, old-world architecture with its intricate wood and wrought iron dressings, brightly-colored, hanging flower pots and genuine flame lanterns lighting the alleyways.

The food was amazing and so was the music. We walked to the jazz district where we were practically run over twice by a mad bohemian woman bicyclist. Artists and hostel-types are everywhere. We spent 2 hours sampling local beers while listening to a blues band with a harmonica player who could play without using his hands…just moved it back and forth with his mouth. That’s talent. Then we went back to Bourbon St. where every other restaurant featured a live band; we just walked from place to place, listening from outside. Then picked up the local fav for dessert to take home: warm beignets coated in literally a half pound of powdered sugar. Yum.

By 10pm, sensory overload had set in and we high-tailed it out of there, back on the bus, listening to 2 crazy people shouting at each other the whole way home. Good Night New Orleans. 5 hours was enough. We love your music and your food. But you are exhausting.

Austin Powers
We drove to Austin the following day, a long 500 mile trip. I would have liked an extra day there since Austin is also famed for its music, but we needed to keep moving. Who knew this was the 12th largest city in America. Somehow, I thought it would be more like Ann Arbor. It’s not. It’s big. We had no desire to tackle another big city tonight, so we had dinner at the adjacent hotel bar. Lucky for us, it was Open Mike Night with a surprisingly good Texas blues guitarist/singer who looked and sounded like he belonged in ZZ Top. It was exactly what I imagined us finding downtown anyway. Perfect.

Barren West Texas
Then we drove the worst part of the trip. West Texas. It’s the fastest though… you can go 80 mph on the highway, and thank God for that, because it is the most boring area, visually, of the country except for maybe southwest Wyoming. (No disrespect to all you El Pasoans out there.) No trees, no mountains or hills or rocks or even farm fields. Just brown dirt and scrub brush. Guess who got to drive it? Me. I’ll admit, it’s the first time I had driven in a year. (Brian did all the driving in San Diego in April.) I was worried that my eye floaters would interfere with my driving ability. Driving requires constant, rapid eye movement of which, ordinarily, one is not cognizant…. until you have spider webs that continually bob and weave as your eyes move. Super irritating, especially in bright sunlight or dusk, but I did OK. By the way, we thought Fredericksburg, TX was a cute town, wine country…the Temecula of West Texas, I suppose. We could live there, if it wasn’t in West Texas.

Bucket List Item #2: Carlsbad Caverns, NM
Another one on our “been wanting to see… had passed just a 100 miles from several times on the way to or from California… but never had time for just a one day side-trip”…list. This time, we made it happen.

Carlsbad Caverns is a must-see wonder of the world. The rangers estimate it takes 3 to 3-1/2 hours to walk the cavern; it took us 5. Yes, I stopped and took like a thousand pictures. It was amazing. From the steep and switch-backed, mile-long trek into the dark unknown, to the enormous (and appropriately dimly-lit) cavern, large enough to fit 8 football fields, the overwhelming sensation is: this place is ‘not of this world’. Like I just stepped out of Dr. Who’s” Tardis” and into another time.

Everywhere you look, countless strange creations surround and surprise, above and below: intricate stalactites and stalagmites, smooth, ribboned draperies and pockmarked, bulbous popcorn shapes. Mirror-clear, undisturbed pools opposite puddles with a single, constant drip from above… like a leaky faucet… rippling its’ surface. Towering, ribbed columns of melted ice-cream… fat, conical beehives… kryptonite daggers… porcupine-spiked ceilings and low, flat-topped mushroom seats. Formations that took thousands of years to build into these beautiful, natural sculptures. Unbelievable. How lucky we are to have access to this dreamscape.

Bat Flight!
We had lunch outside the park and drove the half hour back to the hotel for a nap. We were tired and actually sore from slowly walking in awe for 5 hours straight. Then we went back… for the bats! Yes, there are approximately 300,000 to 400,000 Brazilian bats that live in the cave. Carlsbad Caverns was discovered because one guy noticed what he thought was a cloud of smoke coming from the area. He went closer to investigate thinking it was a forest fire, discovering the smoke was actually thousands of bats exiting the cave at once. This phenomenon happens every night at dusk and is one of the park’s main features; so they built an outdoor amphitheater at the cavern entrance… strictly for evening bat-viewings.

We arrive before dusk to get a seat; the place is packed. A ranger gives a half-hour talk about the bats. No cameras are allowed. Why? The ranger makes great a joke: “How would you feel being bombarded by flashing lights when you first wake up?” Geez, now I feel bad for even thinking about it; I’d be sooo irritated if Brian did that to me. Also, no talking once they start coming out so as not to frighten them. A ranger will ask you once to stop talking or taking photos; the second time they will escort you out. Nice. Once Ranger Rick is done with his presentation, we wait for the bats to wake up and start hunting. Silence fills the air.

Then one comes out and flies overhead. A scout? I don’t think they do scouts like ants, I think he was just the first one out of bed. Then another… then a few at a time. They slowly come out in a protracted dotted-line… tiny and quick, with hand-size wingspan bodies. Black specks against a fading cobalt sky, they are fairly difficult to see. The crowd whispers. A few circle directly overhead. Some fly out all at once in a thick bunch, but most retain their lengthy line, heading toward El Paso for Bug Trap Diner or The Mosquito Bistro. Not the dense cloud of whirling smoke I imagined, but pretty cool and worth it nonetheless. Mother Nature is truly amazing. (As long as they stay in their own house and don’t try to come into mine, we’re good.)

Last Stop: Tucson.
We arrived in a thunderstorm and were treated with a spectacular lightning show. Boulder-speckled mountains surrounding this valley made one heck of a back-drop. We spent two full days here resting and getting our mojo back after driving across the country. We got up late. We ate at Panera and Cracker Barrel and Olive Garden. Made a Home Depot and Walmart run.

What did I buy at Walmart? Stocked up on everything canned of course: chicken, roast beef, salmon, ham (I’ve not tried this yet). Canned tuna is everywhere in Mexico… the rest, not so much. Armour brand dried beef in a jar (yup – thanks for this tip from my father-in-law), pouches of tuna and salmon (because they are easy to pack in corners), Nutri-Grain and Rice Crispy bars (for easy snacks), a few pre-packaged Lipton or Knorr meals like Fried Rice and stroganoff, oatmeal packets (available in La Paz but I couldn’t find in San Carlos), chopped pecans and almonds, and individually packaged powdered drink mixes (Gatorade, iced tea, lemonade, etc.). Mexico sells a multitude of powdered drink mixes, but I wanted certain types. Individual packets are better - larger packets or tubs get crusty. Looking forward to using my fridge once again for cold drinks!

We went to 3 movies in 2 days: Mad Max (at a theater that only shows older flicks) and Mission Impossible and Vacation.  MI was a must-see. And Vacation, well, it is also a must-see if you enjoyed the old National Lampoon’s Vacation movies. We had recently seen all of them so HAD to see the new one and while it could have been better, it was still good. Critics hated it, but we laughed. Not suitable for children. Some awkward scenes. Warning: You will have the “Holiday Road” theme song in your head for DAYS. Crap, now that I wrote that, I’ll have it in my head for another 4 days.

Border Xing: Tucson to San Carlos
It took us 6-1/2 hours to drive to San Carlos from Tucson (only an hour north of the border). We used the Mariposa truck crossing border entry off exit 4, not the downtown Nogales entrance. It was too easy - no town to maneuver through, no stopping, they waived us right through. Well, that is because the real checkpoint is not even at the border, but at Kilometer 21 (that’s what it is called, the checkpoint is named after the number of km it is from the border). Here you go through the “red light/green light challenge”. We got the Green Light! No stopping, no trunk or baggage searches. Not even a passport check. You don’t need to register your car if you are only going as far as Guaymas in Sonora: it’s in the Free Zone. Any farther south or east… yes, you do. We also didn’t need to renew our visas yet. We’ll do that again later. So this time…no paperwork, no hassles = sigh of relief. 

There was something palpable about arriving in San Carlos with our own mode of transportation - we felt significantly different. More upbeat. Brian felt it and voiced it while I was thinking the exact same thing. The town didn’t feel as depressing as it did when we had to bum rides from cruisers or use the bus or walk. San Carlos suddenly turned into a sleepy little beach town from a mildly depressing, rather run-down, vacation hot-spot wannabe.

How do I feel about San Carlos? Meh. It’s just not La Paz. Or Loreto. People seem happier on the Baja side. Here… It’s hotter than a habanero pepper. Not much to do or see. There are only a few nearby anchorages, and those appear subject to uncomfortable swell, so we haven’t left the marina. Some folks love it. Many expats live here – I would not. I can’t really put my finger on it - it feels lonely somehow. I would not recommend it as a vacation destiny. But… it’s different having your own ride. It’s a whole new level. We are now not cruising; we are temporary liveaboards in Mexico… with a truck. While we didn’t care to have a car in La Paz… here, it’s freeing. We’ll see if it changes our perspective. For now, time to get this fridge installed!

Bus, Uber, Planes and Automobiles
On Thursday, July 9th our 2-day trek to Atlanta commenced. We were lucky enough to get a ride to the Tufesa bus station in Guaymas from neighbor boat “Opportunity”. Arriving super early (as usual) at 9pm, we waited patiently for 3 hours in uncomfortable plastic chairs with about 15 other bus-goers headed for parts unknown. A sugar-highed, pudgy, little 6-yr-old demon incessantly zoomed, spun and rolled his Coke bottle/make-believe sports car over, on and under all the chairs for our viewing pleasure...the entire time. It was cute. For the first 2 minutes.

A 2-yr-old, pigtailed-girl kept the nearby gumball machine stocked. She’d clumsily run full bore at it, stop abruptly, carefully squish a piece of paper up inside the return, shut it safely inside like it was a mailbox, and charge back to Mom. Then she’d run back again, tentatively open the “mailbox” and whaaa…?  Low and behold it was STILL in there. You could see the shock on her face, then super excitement. After the 50th time it still didn’t get old for her, or us. She was our TV while we ignored Zoom-boy.

Ejecutivo Bus
We had picked up our tickets 2 days prior to make sure we got seats on the special overnight bus. Good thing - it was already packed with sleepy riders covered in blankets and pillows, traveling north from further on down the line. No, we were not required to bring a live chicken; these are nice buses. The “Ejecutivo” or “Executive” bus only goes overnight and has wider, plush seats that lean back. Special leg/foot rests fold down from the seat ahead; it’s as close to lying down as you can get. What a difference.

Upon boarding, an employee even handed us a bagged lunch! Bologna sandwich (Wonder bread, bologna and American cheese) and a can of Coke. Didn’t eat the sandwich (meh + a bit dubious), but that’s more then we get on a plane nowadays for free, so no complaints.

We tried to sleep, but while the seats were comfy and the curtains drawn with lights off, the ride was quite bumpy. We were allowed out for a bathroom break in Nogales, Mexico, then proceeded to the border checkpoint. Being the only bus so early in the morning, the procedure was fast and painless: everybody exits the bus with luggage, line up inside the checkpoint building, show passport, shove luggage through screener, stand outside and wait ‘til everyone is done, back on the bus, away we go. Faster than the airport.

Our bus continued on to Tucson and then Phoenix where we got off. Total bus time: @ 10 hours. Plus 3 hours in the waiting room. Cost? About $140 total for both of us. One way. Not bad but it did take a lot longer than I thought. We were supposed to arrive at 8am and got in after 10am. I had booked our flight to Atlanta for the following day, just in case of catastrophe.

Uber is The Bomb, Just Sayin’
One would think there’d be taxis outside a busy bus station in such a large city. Nope. But… ‘no problema’. While we overheard a guy on the phone trying unsuccessfully to call a taxi, we used our Uber app and were out of there within 4 minutes. The other guy was still on the phone.

The Uber taxi concept is the bomb, and it’s no wonder the taxi unions and greedy politicians are trying to shut them down (such as in NYC). Politicians know what’s best for their pocketbook. Competition? We can’t have that.

“Ahhh… but we must thwart this thing called Uber. Hmm… a convenient, hassle-free, taxi experience? It can’t be THAT good. What? No money exchanged? All online? Wait, you know ahead of time how much it’s going to cost you AND you get an emailed receipt? You mean you can see exactly where your driver is on the map, the driver you actually get to choose? No creepy, nasty cabs? No way… you can rate your driver AND he gets to rate you back if you are a decent human being or an angry drunken idiot? Preposterous. We cannot allow this convenience to continue! We must BAN them. Why? Well, it’s for the good of the people. We know what’s best for you…”

Uber truly is capitalism at its finest. Build a better product/concept and be rewarded with loyal customers. The US isn’t the only one with grumpy taxi unions. We heard that in Puerto Escondido, taxi drivers have been known to angrily hassle liveaboards for giving other cruisers a lift to town. In Cabo, the taxistas have prohibited personal car pickups directly in front of the airport terminal. A friend is coming to pick you up? Keep walkin’ buddy.

Phoenix vs. Tucson
Our flight from Phoenix to Atlanta was thankfully uneventful, other than we had to get up at 3:30am for our 6am flight. Why did you go all the way to Phoenix, you might ask?? The reason for continuing on to Phoenix, rather than getting off the bus in Tucson, was so we could get the coveted direct flight. The inconvenience of traveling an extra 2 hours on the bus, outweighed the inconvenience of a required layover (thus a longer day) and higher cost tickets by flying out of Tucson. The bus to Phoenix + plane to ATL was much cheaper than flying out of the nearest minor airport to our boat in San Carlos… Hermosillo, about an hour away. What, you thought we did this 2-day trek because we thought it’d be FUN?

Christmas-In-July
Our refrigerator had already arrived at Brian’s dad’s house, along with some other stuff. Opening our packages was like Christmas again…except this time, it was a meager one, as we had only bought a couple extra items. It was nothing like our Christmas-in-April-oh-my-God-I-need-that-thingy-on-the-boat-extravaganza. We were very careful with what we purchased to bring back this time to keep the clutter down. In fact, I went in Kohl’s and bought NOTHING. So there. Jesse and Sandy, you’d be proud.

Lazing around in ATL
We had nothing planned other than to laze around, watch TV and chat with our family for 2 weeks. We watched an entire season of a new show called The 100. We saw Antman. Brian and his dad had good father-son bonding time woodworking and target-practicing. And I got to cook in a real kitchen with this newfangled item called an “electric griddle”. Oh the joys of a huge sink… giant stove…an even “gianter” fridge (and it WORKS)… sooo much counter space. Ahhhhh, I miss you microwave…Keurig… dishwasher. And I got to do ‘normal grocery shopping’ and buy uber-perishables (bananas) and items that take up an entire shelf in the fridge (a whole Boston crème pie). “Can’t stop this…na, nana, na, umph…dooo do do.”

Friends for Life
One day we visited our friends the Parkers in Northern Atlanta. There are few people on this earth we can chat with for 12 hours straight without running out of things to say after 2 hours or feeling like we are intruding on their schedule. We sadly didn’t even take any pictures we were yapping so much. It had been 2 years since our last very short visit. This time I warned them…”I want to be able to spend the entire day with you guys.” And so we did. Seated at their kitchen table…shooting the shit. Just like the old days. Awesome.

We met upon graduation from flight school in Pensacola… 1997. Jimmy and Brian were stationed together in their first squadron “The Gunfighters” at Camp Pendleton, CA. Susan and I were newly inducted “Marine Corps wives”. We’ve been friends ever since… despite multiple moves far away and job changes …and kids. Marines typically have the best behaved children, something about that instilled discipline I’d say. But these kids are the exception to the rule…they are exceptionally better than even the typical Marine kids. We truly enjoy being around them, and that’s saying A LOT coming from one who is generally repulsed by the smell of baby powder.  Our dinner conversation centered around which superhero/villain is our favorite and why. How can you not love that? I was floored when at one point Stephen said to me “you guys should come back more often”. Awwww. Yes. We should. And will.

Off to the Races
Once again we trekked to Senoia, GA to the infamous dirt track at the Senoia Raceway (featured in the newest version of Footloose) for some rootin-tootin’, good-ole’ southern car racin’. Sitting atop concrete bleachers built into a hillside, we had a great time watching these souped up race cars zoom precariously fast around the track like a swarm of bees.

Here the smell of wet dirt, pungent car exhaust and Deep Woods Off permeate the air. Bright fluorescent orange and yellow t-shirts abound (for some, it’s just a bad fashion statement… but for those who go down onto the track, it’s a safety thing). But ‘Camo’ is king: hats, t-shirts, shorts, sometimes all three at once (seriously?).  The sound of revving engines and the sharp ratcheting of air wrenches fill the ear. John Denver is playing over the loudspeaker: “Thank God I’m a country boy” and “Take me home, country road”. We indulged in freshly fried corn dogs, Ore-Ida French fries, and sugary-sweet Country Time lemonade.   

This is a no alcohol, no firearms, no nonsense raceway. People are friendly and courteous and surprisingly subdued. No drunken idiots or loud crazies. A prayer is invoked and we sing the National Anthem before racing begins. The flag is at half-mast due to the Chattanooga shooting of our Marine recruiters. No apologies. No political correctness. Just a simple respect for God and country. Amen.

We watch everything from beat-up hobby cars on homemade trailers to souped-up racing machines ready to blow your eardrums, complete with color matching motor-homes and car haulers. One race featured little 1-seater cars called “Legends“. They look like miniature PT Cruisers…probably only twice as big as a bumper car. I’m no auto enthusiast, but these are ‘suuuuper-cuuute.’

By the end of a long evening of multiple crashes and near-blow outs, lots of “oooohs” and “ohs” and sharp breath intakes, we were covered in a fine layer of notorious Georgia red dirt. The faster the cars sped through the mud, the more dust rolled off the track in thick clouds and embedded into our skin and hair and eyeballs. Our bathroom tub looked like a murder scene when we got home. No white shirts at that racetrack… camo is king for a reason.

Trekkin' in the Toyota
After relaxing for 2 weeks with the fam, we took off back to San Carlos. A 2,600-mile cross-country trek in our Toyota Tacoma. Gotta get that fridge installed!

To Be Continued…