Day 21

With absolutely no plan except to look for surf, I set off to the Land of Deeper. The farther south I traveled, the more rural and wild the land became. Just before I departed the mellow longboard spot, a friend of mine gave me a puppy she had rescued from a starving, sickly mother who was trying to survive while nursing nine puppies in the jungle.

“Here, you are going to need a little protection on your trip,” she said, handing me the most docile, three month old puppy I’d ever seen. I plopped the little thing in the passenger seat, where she promptly fell asleep. Some protection. The poor little girl could hardly lift her head. I named her Mika, and I couldn’t stop smiling each time I looked over at her droopy face.

A couple of hours passed as I cruised south, listening to podcasts, slamming on my brakes each time topes (Mexican speed bumps) appeared out of nowhere. I flipped through my guidebook, which laid out all the surfing spots in Mainland Mexico. The spots were depicted from north to south, with brief descriptions of how to find the waves and what to expect in each area. The guidebook listed a break coming up, but warned that it was near a drug trafficking town where you were likely to get ripped off if you left your vehicle unattended. I could see the turnoff for the surfing spot approaching, about a hundred yards ahead. I slowed, but decided it wasn’t worth checking out. Just beyond the turnoff, a tree lay across both lanes of Mex-200. A large, jacked-up, black truck was parked next to the tree.

OH CRAP OH CRAP OH CRAP

I knew instantly what was up. No one has nice, jacked-up trucks in the middle of rural Mexico– unless they are cartel. And no one hangs out next to freshly cut trees in the middle of the road unless they are trying to clear them, which these people were not, or they don’t want you to pass. There was no other way around the tree, on the only road for hundreds of miles. This was a roadblock.

I made a quick decision and a hard, right hand turn. Maybe I’ll go surfing after all! After a mile or so, the dirt road dead-ended at a perfect right hand point break. No surfers were out, just as the guide book predicted. I tied my puppy to the truck, grabbed a surfboard and paddled out, hoping I could wait out the road blockers.

I kept thinking I heard my dog barking, back on the beach. I was completely paranoid and shaking. The surf session was worthless. I took a wave in and found my car untouched, my dog napping quietly in the shade, water bowl untouched. I stood there, staring at her, staring at my truck, staring back out toward the road. I considered my options. I could take my chances and hope the road was cleared, or I could turn around and go back to the place I had just left. But that would mean the end of my adventure, and I would have to go back to working to be able to afford the more expensive rent and food in that area. No, I was on a surf trip, a grand adventure. Onward and Deeper!

I got in the car and put the windows down to let out the 120 degree heat before loading up Mika and the boards. I made a U-turn and headed back up the dirt road toward the highway. God, please let them be gone when I get back! Mika was sleeping again. Geeze, does she know how to do anything else? I turned the music off as I slowly navigated the washed out road. Up ahead, I could see the paved road. It was decision time. To the left, back to safety, a job, crappy waves, the familiar, control? Or to the right, towards danger, risk, the unknown, freedom?

I turned right.

As soon as I turned, I regretted it. The tree was still there. The truck was still there. The doors to the truck were flung open, and two men wearing bandanas over their faces jumped out, each man brandishing an assault rifle.

OH CRAP OH CRAP OH CRAP!

I activated the automatic window, but it crept upward at the speed of a lazy snail. The men were running, making a beeline for my car. The window was too slow, too slow, too slow! Mika lifted her head. Sensing my fear, she stood to her feet in the passenger seat for the first time.

The men reached my car and the upward progress of my window was halted by the cold barrel of an AR-15, held at eye level.

“Baja la ventana!” They screamed at me. I knew they wanted me to open the window but I pretended not to understand.

“I don’t speak Spanish.” I replied, “No Espanol!” I lifted my hands and shook my head. I lied; it had been almost three weeks and I had learned survival Spanish by that time.

The first guy tried the door handle and then pounded on the door when he found it was locked. There was no pretending I didn’t understand that gesture. I opted for the the lesser of two evils and rolled down the window. The man stuck his head in the window and looked at the surf equipment and dirty clothing strewn about the back. He looked back to me, then reached for my sunglasses, which were perched on my head.

“No!” Some unknown courage came over me as I ducked away. “Get your hands off of me!” I yelled with some kind of confidence that wasn’t my own. He seemed shocked and he did as he was told, backing away. The second man stuck his head in my window, performed a similar inventory and then pointed at my iPhone, laid between the seats.

“No!” I said again, this time sounding more annoyed than fierce.

“Si!” the man replied and started to reach over me.

Just as the man’s hand was part way into the window, my sleepy little puppy let out the most pathetic bark I’ve ever heard and jumped into my lap, knocking down the hand reaching over me. It was enough. The man pulled his hand back. He looked annoyed.

“¿A donde vas? ¿Estas sola?”

He was asking me where I was going and if I was alone.

“Surfing,” I replied, ignoring the question as to whether I was alone.

He eyed me, lowered his gun and started laughing. I really don’t know why.

“Hay un impuesto, quinientos pesos.” He said there was a tax of about twenty-five US dollars.

I returned his laugh, though I had no idea why we were laughing. I made a show of searching all over the truck for some cash. I finally handed him the equivalent of $12. I made sure to use my worst gringa accent as I told him in Spanish that I didn’t have any more money. He asked if I had any water. I said yes and handed him a large bottle. He asked if I needed directions or a cabaña rental for the night. I said no. He told me to have a nice day. Both men slung their guns on their backs, walked slowly back to the tree, moved it from the road and proceeded to wave me through. I smiled and waved and trembled as I continued on my merry little way.

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*some names have been changed to protect privacy

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