Soul Gypsy

After a grueling few days bust’n ass,  finals week was reaching its end and our journey South was finally within our hands. We had originally planned to install a veggie system but due to circumstances we had to settle making the journey without. The truck we traveled in, a low-profile 1981 volkswagen rabbit truck, over packed with camping gear, books, food and other odd ends would be our gypsy rig voyager craft for the next 4 weeks of Winter break.

We had a few believers but a majority of our friends had told us we were either crazy or stupid to drive to Mexico with the current unrest between the drug lords and the government.  But being young over confident males we shrugged off their doubts and drove on east towards Phoenix with little thoughts to their concerns.  We had plans to stay with Osito’s friend at her University but he had some how mixed up Flagstaff with Phoenix. Minor details…  So we did what gypsies do best. We posted up on the side of the highway, tucked away in the bush (literally parked under a big bush) at the base of some mountain.  But however frigidly cold it was,  it was an appropriate way to start off the multi-thousand mile journey to the Yucatan Peninsula. Our university’s pampering had softened me and Damn it was refreshing to feel the elements again. Besides, on a low budget, sleeping in the open bed of the truck was something we needed to get accustomed to.

The Butt Crack of the morning came quick. Our goal for the day was to make it some 500 miles south to Guaymas, Sonora and driving at a modest speed of 55 mph was going to take a wee while.  We arrived to the modern desert oasis of Phoenix on a pleasant Saturday morning… Ghost Town. To my surprise there were vitually no peps stroll’n around.  I was convinced some Dawn of the Dead”or 28 Days Later shit was secretly unfolding. …Spooooky. After some difficulty finding a grocery store, we finally stumbled upon a farmers market, got some dank burrito’s, veggie grub and hit the road for the next journey leg.

The blazing desert sun and lack of air con in the rig hit us  hard and I was getting tired having driven since sunrise. It was time for Osito, conveniently with no licsence and mediocre  stick driving skills, (originally my theory was that he mis-scheduled his driving test on purpose to avoid his driving duties) to drive a little as to train for co-pilot.  Despite a few sketchy incidents he was gett’n the job done and I finally felt I could relax without noticeable  fear for my life.

Everything seemed to be going smooth….hahaha. We had just stocked up in Casa Grande and were on our way down to Nogales and beyond to reach the ocean where we could chill.  But it was not long after leaving Casa that the stick popped out of fourth gear again…..a fairly normal happening. Somtimes she would get pissy and pop out of gear when being pushed at speeds of 60 mph and up. I quickly jammed it back into gear as is standard procedure to only hear grinding gears. I jammed it one more time…but no avail and no 4th gear. Sweet…fuckin sweet.  If we drove at 35 mph it would have taken two fuck’n days to reach Guaymas. Slowly our vision of rejuvenating on the beach shriveled away into tension.  A few visits to some local mechanics revealed that 4th was shot and that our other 3 were bound to go soon. We had not even been out for 24hrs and the Gods were already make’n shit hit fan. It was time to make decisions and pull some shit…. and we had a few ugly  prospects: Getting the transmission fixed in the states,  possibly going bankrupt and not being able to continue the trip or risking driving some 350 miles across the heavily drug trafficked Sonoran desert…..