Day 24 Miles: 177
Whoever coined the Los Cabos mantra, “No Bad Days,” has never driven the 177 miles between Mulege and Guerrero Negro. The last time I drove it, heading south with Maria, I had someone to keep me company, and the drive was novel. This time, I had only my bad humor as a companion.
I have been Rig #3, driving behind Rig #2, for over three weeks. Naturally, there have been some frustrations since the trip began. He rarely radios that he is ready to go in the morning. If he does, he never does it in order of the other rigs, resulting in a “willy-nilly” headcount that is as clear as mud. Many times he does not fall in behind the first two rigs, creating delay and confusion and requiring me to slow down somewhere along the route so he can get back in line. And then, there is his speed.
I have driven over 2700 kilometers without once using the cruise control. That is not simply because portions of the road are challenging; in fact, there are some wide-open stretches where the speed limit is 100 kilometers per hour, and the Wagonmaster (Rig #0) and Rig #1 drive the speed limit. But even on those stretches, Number Two putzes along at 40 miles per hour. It was so bad leaving Cabo that I radioed to ask him if everything was okay mechanically, pointing out his speed of half the posted limit. He replied that he was “enjoying the scenery.”
These little things rolled off me over the course of days, that is, until this day. I had to fight the constant urge to pass him. I sighed and eye rolled, watching the speedo fluctuate between 40 mph and 50 mph over a six-hour driving day. I climbed up his ass, practically tailgating him, to spur him onward, to no avail. An RV in our group got a flat tire. They pulled over first to assess the damage, then drove on to the next town, found a llantera, negotiated a price, got the tire fixed and bought a spare, and still caught up with us before we reached the campsite.
And let’s talk about that campsite. Mario’s sits out in the open, treeless, grassless, grounds covered with ground up shells that are terrible for dog paws. I am so tired of these tired RV parks.
As I sit here writing this I am reminded of a comment our Tailgunner made to me on the second night. I was concerned I breached some RV etiquette or other and said, “I hope no one is mad at me.” He replied, “It’s too early in the trip for that; we don’t know each other well enough yet to get angry.” Lee, Rig #2, is an intelligent and interesting person, a pharmacist before he retired and an amazing photographer. Familiarity breeds contempt, and stress breeds impatience.
Let’s hope these final five days and four nights won’t continue to feel like a cheese grater over my knuckles.