Writing this I am sitting in an Organic Cafe/Hostel in Monterrey’s Barrio Antiguo. That means that we (Noah, myself and the Tiburon) successfully made it across the Mexican border and 200 kilometers south – a story that merits a short post all its own.
For the past three days, Noah and I have been driving eight-hour days in our mad dash for the border. It all began on Sunday, when the Shark Car left Louisville packed to the gills (pun intended) with a bunch of stuff that we will need to be getting rid of in December when we discard the car. So we proceeded – riding low – through Indiana and into the no-man’s land of Southern Missouri.
The plan had originally been to camp in the Ozarks but it quickly became apparent that we would not make it there by dark. Instead, we steered the aquatic automobile into the remote, under-appreciated, and apparently uninhabited bit of green known as Mark Twain National Forest.
Despite it being a clear, cool, autumn night on a clear, pristine little river, the park and our campground were nearly devoid of life.
After a colder than expected night, we were up early with some McDonald’s coffee and on the road to Dallas, where our friend Ian had graciously offered to host us. As I-30 snakes through Arkansas toward Dallas, it has one major redeeming quality: it hits every little piece of Clinton Country. Making stops too short to demonstrate any real appreciation for history, we manage to hit the Old Arkansas Statehouse, the Clinton Center, and Bill Clinton’s childhood home – and still make it into Dallas before nightfall.
Interesting side note about (the first) President Clinton’s childhood home – it had been arsoned less than a year prior – around Christmas 2015. The fire burnt out the middle of the house and it had only recently been reopened prior to our visit. On a completely unrelated note: the house next door, which had once belonged to a childhood friend of the President now sported a rather large Trump-Pence sign – right on the property line.
Another sidenote: Dallas is too damn big. We took a wrong exit headed for Ian’s apartment, went underground, and didn’t resurface until we were three miles away. Who builds roads like this?
Once we successfully navigated that maze, Ian took us our for a Dallas evening of burgers, pool, and darts – followed by a couple hours of on the couch watching American Gangster (great movie). We grabbed our last indoor showers the next morning and entered Dallas’ rush hour traffic, headed for Laredo.
After some brief pit stops at Torchy’s Tacos in Austin and the Alamo in San Antonio, we roll into the Casa Blanca International State Park campground around 5:00. Awaiting us were two beautiful Shark Shirts from Betabrand to join us on our journey – thanks to some quick thinking and help from a couple of friends.
The last supper before crossing the border was – as God intended – at Chili’s. Sitting over a table full of cheese, $3 margaritas, and salty, salty goodness. God bless America.
The next morning, waking up to the sun hitting lake Casa Blanca, we loaded El Tiburon, donned our shark shirts, and headed for the border.