After nearly three months in quarantine, we were starting to get antsy. Phileas Fogg circumnavigated the world in 80 days. In that same time, my son had left the house three times.
We were spending so much time together that my wife started calling out my name during sex. Even the dog was sick of us.
Life had become so predictable that when a medley of Aerosmith songs from the early 1990’s newly arranged with strings and horns came on Spotify, I didn’t turn it off. We needed change.
All along, our plan had been to leave San Miguel for the summer. The boy was going back to canoe camp in Canada. The girl was going to a home-stay study abroad program. R and I would be footloose across the Americas. Those plans all fell through.
The new “Covid” plan was to spend the summer at Wolf Lake. Since I was a young boy, my family has owned a lake house in the New York Catskills. There is boating, swimming, fishing, sunning, and Wifi. When presented with the option to spend July and August in their rooms in San Miguel or at the lake, both kids enthusiastically chose the lake. R chose to stay in her room in San Miguel.
But how to get there? Flying seemed out of the question, especially so because I am in a dispute with Volaris airlines over a refund I think I am due for a flight cancelled in April and I have vowed to them that I am not flying before November (which is when a credit they want to give me expires.) I could never break my word to Volaris.
Cruising? There are no ports in SMA. Walking? Uh, no. Then it dawned on me. This is the reason we have had Wesley, our 1985 VW camper van, parked in the garage for the last 12 months.
After brushing the cobwebs from its wheels, charging the battery, emptying the pantry of the cans of tuna that had expired in 2017, and looking for the keys, we cranked the engine and headed north. Here’s a summary of our journey.
Day 1
I pulled out of the garage around 10 a.m. with Coconut, my 17-year old daughter, comfortably buckled in the passenger seat, and J, my 14-year old son, on the rear bench, his eyes already glued to his screen, for what I thought would be a six day drive to Alexandria, Virginia. R was in the street to say a final goodbye and told me the brake lights weren’t working.
I didn't anticipate going fast enough to have to slow down so I didn’t let this knowledge stop us from leaving. It’s not the kind of thing you would get pulled over for in Mexico anyway. I once saw a family packed into a car that had a windshield with a perfect circle of shattered glass where the head of some long ago passenger impacted. The circle had tentacles thrown out as far as they could go. The driver had to stick his head out the window to see the road. It looked like a bump taken at high speed would deposit the entire windshield in the front seat. If that car was roadworthy, then our van with no brake lights was ready for the Indy 500.
I had targeted a parador-turistico (tourist center) truck stop as our overnight destination. The GPS estimated a five-hour drive and like clockwork, we rolled in right on time seven hours later. We factor distance and elevation change into our calculations because Wesley averages about 50 m.p.h on a flat, straight road.
Father and son spending quality time at a truck stop near San Pedro, Mexico.
After using the restroom and checking out all the “Made in China” bric-a-brac in the gift shop, we had dinner in the van (pre-made fried rice) and Coconut set about making cards for a game she plays on her phone called “Dragon.” We decided the winner of the game would get his or her own bunk. I think the kids underestimated me because it’s a game they play online, which automatically puts me at a disadvantage. But, after all, it’s just a strategy game and I had no trouble beating them both. It didn’t matter. None of us got a good night’s sleep because it was cold in this high desert area of Mexico. And it was pretty noisy too, on account of all the idling trucks.
Mexican toll roads are in better repair than the free roads.
Day 2
With a bright and early start we hoped to be at the Laredo border crossing at noon, zip across because we were arriving midday and mid-week and there would be no traffic, and head deep into the heart of Texas to make camp. We got the early start, but a GPS route that I am certain took us on a random loop to avoid a toll meant we got to the border at 2 p.m. with about 100,000 other people. The US Customs Border App that told us the wait would be 45 minutes was wrong. It took us two hours.
The border crossing represented what I love and sometimes hate about Mexico. You never know who is in charge. There were a bunch of guys in street clothes with fluorescent vests and flags milling in and out of the traffic that was lined up to pay the toll to get onto the bridge. One of the guys waved me into the far right lane which was free of the traffic that clogged the other lanes. I was happy to oblige him and passed about 50 cars before I was blocked by a vendor who had decided to peddle ice cream cones from the lane. I could see the toll kiosk was closed beyond his cart anyway, so the lane was always going to lead me to a dead end.
I was forced to merge back into the left lane, and people weren’t too happy about it. No one believed my story about the guy in the fluorescent vest with the flag and they all kept very tight to the car in front of them, preventing me from inching in. So much for Mexican hospitality, right? Well, all the cars had Texas plates so I guess the people were all American enough to adopt that “fuck off” attitude. Eventually someone let me in and we all inched through the toll and onto the bridge.
Halfway across the bridge the US Border Patrol had set up a controlled entry point but all I had to do was flash our passports and we were waved through with no questions asked. Now, I have this image of myself as a tough-looking fellow with a dangerous countenance and seductive drawl. But when we pulled up to the main entry kiosk, the female Customs Agent smiled at us and was friendly and non-threatening. I guess a bald, somewhat pasty-faced past middle-age guy dressed in khaki shorts and black socks with two kids in the car doesn’t fit the profile of a drug smuggler. The agent did take our bag of cherry tomatoes though. Not because she did any real investigation of the van, but because they were sitting on the counter and she saw them. So, I am a contraband smuggler after all.
A friend recommended that we stop at a particular BBQ place in Texas for lunch. We stopped long enough to pick up some sandwiches and ate on the fly. My brisket sandwich didn’t last long.
In an ironic twist, the cops did come to check me out later that day. After we got settled into our hotel room in Freer, Texas, I decided to take a walk to some softball fields I could see from the parking lot. I wanted to stand under the backstop and pretend I was at bat. It’s been a long time since I played a competitive game of ball.
I had to walk past a few people and cross a dry arroyo to get to the fields. After I stood in the cage for a while remembering past glories, I noticed a police cruiser idling in the lot of an adjacent bank and pointed towards me. This being Texas, I decided to take no chances. I dropped my imaginary bat and made a clear show of heading back across the arroyo to the hotel. When I got to the hotel door I looked back and saw the cruiser pull out of the lot. My guess is someone in the neighborhood, perhaps one of the people I passed on the street, gave the cops a ring that there was a tough-looking character afoot who had a dangerous countenance and seductive drawl. When it was clear I was a guest at the hotel, the cop moved on to more important business. Tight little community they run down there in Freer, Texas.
Day 3
There isn’t much to look at as you drive through Eastern Texas. It is very similar to Northern Mexico. There are probably differences in flora and fauna, we certainly did see a lot of dead armadillos in Texas, but I’m not a sharp eye for that sort of thing. The obvious difference is that the roads are in better condition, and the cars are fancier and driven faster.
The first time I drove these flat open roads in 2015, a guy we met named Nick told me to straddle the shoulder when a faster vehicle was approaching to allow for easier and safer passing. It’s standard practice in Mexico as well. What Nick didn’t mention is that often the person who passed would acknowledge the courtesy by flashing their hazards as they sped away. It still gives me a burst of good feeling when that sequence plays out. There is hope for humanity yet.
My plan was to camp through the US until we got to Virginia where we would stay with my in-laws. Our delay at the border the day before meant we couldn’t make it to my first camp destination before dark and had to get a hotel room because there was no place else to camp within reasonable distance. I was determined to camp this day, but as I made the final GPS routing preparations, I noticed my second destination got poor reviews due to some recent construction that had turned the place into a pile of dirt. We adjusted on the fly and ended up at Village Creek State Park in Lumberton, Texas. We were hoping to swim in the river, but damage from a hurricane that hit the coast a few years ago still had not been repaired. No swimming.
The children enjoy their mac-n-cheesy beanie weenies at our camp in Village Creek State Park, Texas.
We were bummed, but made our favorite camp meal - mac and cheesy beanie weenies, which is as it sounds: a box of mac & cheese, baked beans, and hot dogs, aka a sodium overload - built a campfire, listened to each other's music, took a hot shower, and slept comfortably in the van. Again, I won my own bunk.
Day 4
We left camp before the rain started in the morning; a rain that didn’t let up until we got to Virginia. Across the Sabine River into Louisiana and the first thing we saw was the Burr Ferry Confederate Memorial Park. I googled it later and it turns out that the area has some legitimate frontier history not related to the Civil War, but I wondered given the US’ overdue reckoning with its history, how long before the name would be changed.
Interestingly, I didn’t see another confederate monument or flag as we crossed Louisiana. In fact, I didn’t see much of anything except storage units. I guess everyone is packing their things and getting out of town. The most exciting thing that happened as we crossed mid-state was that a fist fight broke out in the parking lot of a WalMart in Alexandria, LA, when we stopped to have lunch in Wesley. The kids had gone inside to use the bathroom and I was concerned they would get caught up in the melee, or even in some gunplay, while coming back to the van. Fortunately, the fight broke up before any real violence happened, but it was shocking to see that. What a sheltered life I lead; devoid of fist fights.
Again, the plan was to camp, but the rain that had pittered and pattered sporadically against the windshield all day finally turned into a full on deluge as we entered Mississippi. After our one and only stop at a grocery store - some people wear masks in Natchez, Mississippi, and some don’t - it was still too early to call it a day so we motored another hundred miles to Jackson for a hotel room.
Day 5
Entering the Natchez Trace Parkway in Natchez, Mississippi was a highlight of the trip for me.
One of the anticipated highlights for me was to drive the Natchez Trace Parkway. This US scenic byway roughly follows a centuries-old wilderness trail used by Native Americans, white settlers and merchants, bandits of multiple heritages, migrating animals, and the US Postal Service.
We drove a few miles of the Trace, as it’s called, during our return to the US in 2016. The kids made buffalo tooth necklaces and baskets at the visitor center on Pioneer Day. It was a pleasant experience. This time, I wanted to act like a tourist and check out the many points of interest along the Trace, camp at its free campground, and bask in the history. But it was raining too hard so instead, I added my name to the list of folks who have driven past its many historical markers. Coconut did get out of Wesley for a few minutes to check out an old cemetery and we stopped to use the visitor center bathroom, but other than that it was straight driving.
This is what the Natchez Trace Parkway looks like in a downpour when the wiper won’t work.
It poured almost the entire time. But it is a straight, flat road with little traffic so it was no-stress driving and I was still able to keep the speedometer pinned at 50 m.p.h. At one point the passenger side windshield wiper got lonely and started mixing it up with the driver’s side wiper. Then it got tired and stopped working, jamming the driver’s side wiper so it couldn’t move either. After so many years next to each other, they were finally locked in an embrace that left me cruising down the road wiper-less, with a line of cars stacked up behind me, and no place to pull over. All in all, it was a memorable experience that I bet Ulysses S. Grant or John James Audubon, two of the famous folks that used the Trace, never had to deal with. I take my place in history.
Just as we exited the Trace near Lawrenceburg, TN (we drove about 400 of the 444 miles of the road) the rain stopped and the sun came out. This gave me the idea that we could camp at David Crockett State Park after all. But the break lasted just long enough to have the thought. Then it started to pour again.
Day 6
I worked on the wiper and thought I had it fixed but when we set out in the morning in another downpour, only the driver’s side wiper managed to clear the windshield. The passenger side wiper made some ineffectual movements - it reminded me of someone whimpering - and then quit all together. We drove the final 700 miles with just the one wiper.
By this point we had driven through 9 states - in Mexico: Guanajuato, San Luis Potosi, Nuevo Leon, and Coahuila. In the US: Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee. The last state, Virginia, was in our sites.
Wesley straddling the Alabama-Tennessee state line. We traveled through nine Mexican and US states on our way to Virginia.
By mid-afternoon, the rain had finally stopped and Coconut routed us to Natural Tunnel State Park in Virginia. But after driving nearly 300 miles that day on various two and four lane highways the GPS took us onto a steep, windy, mountain pass as a faster route to the campground. I hate when it does that.
Incidentally, while driving through Tennessee, I noticed that every stretch of pavement, every bridge, every rest stop and parking lot seems to have a name. Often, the names are people names. Sometimes the people are historical figures (David Crockett Highway), sometimes military (PFC Fritz Harper Parkway), sometimes law enforcement (State Trooper Lundy Wheeler Tunnel), sometimes just random (Ginny Young Memorial Bridge.) I had driven nearly 2,500 miles, so pondered what does one have to do to achieve this state of immortality? Unfortunately, the answer I came up with is “die.” But, hey, we all reach the end of that road. Does it make it easier to accept if you know a stretch of US Hwy 30 in Tennessee is going to get a rectangular, fluorescent green sign with your name on it?
The Natural Tunnel campground was nearly full, but we managed to snag one of the two open sites. Forty bucks to camp in Virginia! And the sites were just concrete slabs in an open field, with no privacy. And no wifi! The kids noticed that the place was clean, so they saw a positive in the situation.
Wesley sitting patiently at camp in Natural Tunnel State Park, Virginia, while we explore the campground during a brief pause in the rainstorm.
Shortly after we set up camp - popping the camper tent on Wesley, unfurling the awning (it was drizzling), getting the stove going -a fellow camper came over and apologized for staring at us. (We hadn’t noticed.) She said she had been fascinated watching us set up camp and wanted to know about the van. She wondered where we all slept. Then her teenage daughter came over and we gave them a complete tour of the van. Fifty seconds later, the daughter said, “That’s it, Mom. Whatever we do, we’ve got to get a car with eyelashes.”
Glamor shot of Wesley lounging by the Tennessee River.
They gave us some tips on what to do in the park. The park is named for a limestone tunnel carved out over thousands of years and our new friends explained how to get there, how cool it was, and the opening hours. We didn’t mention that we had been on the road for six days and would be leaving at the crack of dawn in a final mad push to get to Grandma’s house. When they left us, Maya and Jonah both said they were really nice. Then it started to downpour.
Day 7
As much as I like being on the road with Wesley, I was happy when we pulled into my in-laws’ driveway. Seven days in a row of driving 300+ miles was too many miles in too few days. We were in a rush to get to what - Virginia? Where the temperature held steady in the upper 90’s the entire week. Given the extreme temperatures, and the fact that most things remained in covid quarantine, there wasn’t a lot to do.
Cleaning the road grime off Wesley was a way to spend 30 minutes.
I escaped to Virginia Beach for a few days and left my in-laws to indulge their grandchildren as they wished. But soon enough, it was time to climb into Wesley again for that final push to Wolf Lake, where we plan to spend the rest of the summer.