The Road Ahead

The Good
There is something exceptional about packing a car with a few items, such as; a tent, two Thermarests, a Coleman stove, the “Party Stacker” Coleman cooler, a bag of garments (thick, thin, waterproof and woolen), and hitting the open or horrendously cluttered road. Leaving a lavish, yet monotonous life behind. Making do with what you have. Waking up everyday and having NO idea where you are going. But knowing you are getting further and further away from the familiar and most importantly the Canadian winter.

The Bad
Unpack the truck, repack the truck. Unpack the truck, repack the truck. Unpack the truck, repack the truck. Unpack the truck, repack the truck. Unpack the truck, repack the truck. Unpack the truck, repack the truck. Unpack, repack. Unpack, repack. Unpack, repack. Unpack, repack. Pack. Pack. Pack. Pack. Pac. Pa. pa. p p p p…

And The Ugly
A rather unfortunate event occurred our very first day in Mexico. An event that made us adjust our attitudes towards what we believe to be beloved furry family members.
We awoke early to cross the border at a town called Tecate. Turns out this quiet border town was a little too laissez faire as we ended up driving right into Mexico without even knowing it! We had to backtrack to immigration to get our stamps. After figuring that mess out we hit the road a little timid and weary of what was to come. Police and banditos and loco truck drivers- OH MY!
Two hours later we had made it with ease to Ensenada, found a campsite, set up and decided to get our first taste of genuine Mexican tacos. Feeling a little more confident in driving we went bombing along the highway to the taco joint a ways down. When out of the blue to the right came two shaggy hounds jogging into the middle of the road. I yelled at Ben, “Look out! DOGS!” He hit the breaks just as one dog scampered in front of the car to safety. But where did the other one go? Bump bump, bump bump.
That’s right folks. We knocked him down. I’ll save you the details, but the rearview mirror was no pretty sight.
I, of course, was a immediately hysterical. Screaming, “We hit him! Oh GAWWWWWD. We HIT him. Ahh, waa, bah, agah bahagahhhhh.” Ben however, forever a little less emotional and a little more practical, got to thinking about how this could all play out.
Scenario One “Lost in translation”: We turn around, stop, get out, and find a crowd of Mexicans at the scene bawling over the sight of their beloved lost or wounded hound. Recognizing us as the Gringo culprits they would demand compensation and we would be paying- big time. All this taking place in a horrible long-winded emotional conversation where neither party knew what the other was saying.
Scenario Two “WWJD”: We go back, but no one cares. We get the dog into the car and get it to a vet. Save its life and adopt it as our very own! (Ros’s choice)
Well, the reality thankfully leaned toward Scenario Two. I however, did not get my dog. We turned around, drove back to find a man helping the wounded dog off the highway. So we kept driving assuming we would be no help in the situation. We drove to our campsite and sat there sad, deflated, hungry and questioning our ability to continue on this trip. If this happened on our very first day, then what else was going to come our way? We also felt that perhaps we had done some moral or (more importantly for a Gringo driving in Mexico) legal wrong by not fessing up at the crime scene. So we admitted the hit to the man in charge of the campsite and asked his advice on what to do. He looked at us as if we were from the moon and said, “Oh so you hit a street dog? No problemo happens all the time.”
Our days on the road have proven this true. We are becoming ever more used to the sight of a splayed out dog on the side of the road.

Don't worry Jonesy and Genny, you're different.