Bismarck, Mexico, and touring roadside America
Somewhere between the three-hour, $250 pit stop in Bismarck, the weekend stomach ache in Mexico, and being pulled over by “la policia” three times, I had a lot of fun on a recent road trip with a couple of my buddies.
We had been planning to take this trip during spring break, then early summer and finally decided on the intelligent date of Aug. 16 to drive in a car with no air conditioning and a front passenger window that decided not to roll down through the deserts of southwestern U.S.
I mean in no way to diminish my enjoyment of this trip with woeful whines about driving in a pool of my own sweat.
But those scorched moments under the Arizona sun made me realize what people had meant by saying “You’re so brave” before we left: “You’re an idiot. Don’t forget your parka, Einstein.”
Because border cities such as Mexicali do not invite American tourists simply for the business, the inhabitants of these Mexican cities enjoy watching their northern neighbors wear black socks with sandals as they burn under the hellacious sun and sweat like Bruce Vilanch, well, in Mexico.
The trip itself started off on a decent note, as we, the tripping trio, decide to get the oil changed at a garage in Bismarck.
The hilarity began as soon as the mechanic opened the hood.
“ Uh oh. We’ve got a big problem here,” the mechanic said. Yes. Three hours into the trip and we’ve already been introduced to the hazards of the road.
The water pump was broken and, according to Greg the mechanic, the job would cost $100 and take an hour.
I was introduced to the time zone change and exchange rate early in the trip.
After leaving the twilight zone — or Bismarck — we headed west to Yellowstone. Instead of driving at night we decided to sleep in the car and mosey on the next day.
Finding out that Yellowstone National Park was not a park at all but a place where animals like to live and poop on the road was a bit disappointing until we almost ran over a bison.
It was probably a good idea to drive through the park during the day, because running into the bison stampede at night might have been a bit messy if we hadn’t seen their forewarning piles.
We went from Yellowstone to Mexico, and from Mexico we eventually found our way home.
We didn’t get to see the World’s Largest Twine Ball (which is in Cawker City, Kan., by the way) and I won’t reveal too much about the trip because I’m now wanted in six states and two countries by various police units, but the trip was a great experience.
Because of this trip I have tasted chevales (a mix of Clamato and beer that the Mexicans invented to get rid of Clamato), drank the Mexican water and regretted it, gazed across the Grand Canyon, which is more like a grand horizon of bumps, and missed the sight of an Old Faithful eruption for the sake of a muffin and some chocolate milk — at least I can say I was there, though.
The moral of my story is that road trips, especially in semifunctional cars that make bad noises, are necessary to the human experience, even those to Mexico during August.
Furthermore, seeing that this column is on the Opinion Page, I will offer two tips: One should not stop in Bismarck for an oil change, and one should not drink the water in Mexico, even to wash the taste of Clamato and beer out of your mouth.
Columnists' opinions do not necessarily reflect the views of The Spectrum