Powder River County and Southeastern Montana are slowly transitioning from a most brutal late winter and early spring into a wonderful, near full-blown spring.
The temperatures remain warm and nice, but we haven’t quite yet reached that soft, warmth that true spring brings. The green grass is starting, and with a few more warm days and with more moisture predicted, hopefully ranchers can step back from their feeding chores.
The bird life is slowly also returning. The raucous, beautiful blue jays are getting ready for cooler climes. Thursday I went to the ranch and saw four winter, or rough legged, hawks. Their leg coverings are reputed to be among the finest insulation found in the animal kingdom.
The meadowlarks are singing their number one hit songs, adding considerable pleasure to every day. Blackbirds also have arrived, and are adding their voices to the orchestra. One of my favorites is the squark of a robin in the pre-dawn hours. The northeast cottonwoods in the park are again full of turkey vultures. I saw my first red tailed hawk, and some of its smaller but no less deadly cousins.
Now, my return to my Mexican story.
From Durango, I headed south rather than an easterly route, which was shorter but would have taken me through Sinaloa, a truly dangerous place. I fueled up for the first time, and paid about $20 more than in the U.S. After the first trip in which I had trouble finding diesel nozzles that would fit into the Jeep’s smaller opening, I smarted up and bought a funnel. Gas stations are mostly government-owned P-Mex, and attendants pump your gas and clean your windshield. A bit of a tip makes their day.
They also have free bathrooms, but you sometime have to fork over a few pesos for toilet paper. Most are also kept very clean.
When driving in Mexico, one always has to add at least an hour to a 400-mile trip, because of stopping to pay highway tolls and military and police stops. As I wrote last week, a decent map is also a definite plus.
Drivers must also be on the lookout for speed bumps (topez), which are prevalent in villages, to slow traffic. Most are painted a bright yellow, but some are not, and you have to watch for the break lights of the vehicles in front. Last year I missed one, and it resulted in such force as to break the front wheels of my walker.
I continued south towards Guadalajara. Vendors, beggars and window washers got more prevalent as I continued my journey, mostly at the toll stops. I had my window cleaned at the gas station, but allowed an elderly gentleman with two young sons, to clean them again. There was a deep sense of desperation in this poor fellow’s eyes. I paid him a bit, and then the sons; the youngest of which was about six or seven. So instead of being in school, these lads were out trying to get enough money so as not to go hungry. Dang!
I also keep a tray full of coins to give to the beggars, all of whom are handicapped. I give freely to those poor souls, who are so unlike the perfectly healthy individuals encountered so frequently in every larger town, including Billings. Those of good health irritate the heck out of me.
My trip took me through the large city of Mexico (not Mexico City), a sprawling, crowded place. I drove through mountains for the second day; the scenery alternated between desert and beautiful crop lands, wherever water is available for irrigation.
I managed to hit Guadalajara at the very worst time, at 5:30 p.m., back hurting terribly from my journeys. I desperately wanted to find a hotel or motel, but my navigator kept throwing me false information. I went from stop and crawl traffic, to full on horrible, scary, six and seven lanes racing along at top speed. I was in full-blown terror, one that lasted for another few hours. I was reminded of the time in which a certain brother and myself, floating the Powder early in the spring, looking for beaver. We were in a 12-foot old heavy, leaky rowboat affair. We went through a wide spot, just as the ice was breaking up. In a flash, we were swept into narrows, and were caught in a full-fledged ice jam. The noise was terrific, as huge cakes of ice smashed and buckled all around us. It was a prolonged horror. Our small craft then was washed up on a huge piece of ice, far larger than the boat. It was large enough to smash its way through. We got into a wide spot and were about ready to melt with relief, when we were swept back into the narrows again. Repeat terror!
I noted there are “only” about one and a half million people in the city of Guadalajara, with a population of over five million in the area.
Again, dang!
Drivers were mostly very polite, allowing space, somehow, for me to change lanes. But often those lanes were simply shut down from an accident, with the owners abandoning their vehicles.
At around 11, I finally found a hotel, but there were three steps up, with no ramp and no railing; not exactly ideal for a guy following a stupid walker, shaped like a pretzel from all the time behind the wheel. No problem, three very kind guests simply stepped forward; two pushing and one pulling, until I was in. That was my first experience of the trip of Mexican kindness; giving without expecting anything in return. None of the trio spoke English, but I thanked them with all of my heart. Wherever I went, I experienced that same warm, wonderful kindness. I will write more or these kindnesses, as my report continues next week.
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