Heading South...

January 11, 2010 to January 14, 2010


The Photos


Leaving San Francisco was a completely different kind of adventure than getting there.  Although once more, we turned to CraigsList, this time to look for a ride share heading south.  Most of the southern routes from San Francisco were only going to Los Angeles or possibly San Diego.  I found one I thought would be perfect, picking up furniture from Long Beach, so I e-mailed him.  Unfortunately, someone beat us to him.  Trolling the list some more, I found a girl headed to Los Angeles.  Gregory called her, waded through the drama of her really small car and the possible discomfort it would cause at least one rider, but eventually she decided that as long as Gregory’s girlfriend didn’t mind being scrunched in the back, we were go for takeoff.  *note~Can you say annoyed girlfriend...one should at least meet the couple and determine who will fit more comfortably in the scrunchy backseat and not just assume.

For whatever reason, I can’t remember all the drama that ensued over this ride share but what I do know is that she kept changing the time to leave, initially by a day and then pushing back the hour at least 3 times.  Also despite her CraigsList notice saying LA, she eventually told us she was only going as far as Echo Park, which would leave us scrambling for public transport to our lodging in Long Beach at an unknown time of night.  Needless to say, I got antsy and started looking for other options.  While searching CraigsList and popping back and forth to my e-mail and FaceBook, we received a second e-mail from the first find asking if we still needed a ride, as his intended passengers had taken an earlier lift.  The only catch was that we would have to leave the next day (which was no problem since it was almost 5 p.m. and we had already agreed to leave the following day with flaky girl) and spend one night in a hotel.  Going completely against the etiquette of CraigsList, we canceled our arrangement and jumped ship to our first choice.  *note~yes indeed this caused more drama, involving at least two phone calls to tell us what cads we were for bailing on her.  Gregory handled it much more admirably than I would have.

Feeling much more secure in our plans, we headed to the city for our last, and technically only, night of San Francisco living.  We decided on the Green Tortoise Hostel where Gregory stayed during his April trip to San Francisco.  It was as Gregory said, quite hospitable and the awesome girl who checked us in chose to give us a room upgrade.  We trudged up the steep, steep stairs to our room on the ‘second’ floor (technically the third since you have to walk up one flight of stairs just to get to the lobby), dropped off our packs and headed out for some dinner in Little Italy.  My first hostel stay was both completely new and exactly what I expected.  We were privately in a semi-private room, which was great and not the dormitory experience I was wary of.  The drunken revelry and door knocking at 2 a.m, was exactly what I was dreading, yet figuring unavoidable.  We slept the night away, grabbed a quick shower, leisurely devoured some breakfast and headed to the BART station for our last train to the end of the Dublin/Pleasanton line where we met our ride out of town.

Our chariot arrived as a green Toyota truck pulling a U-Haul trailer driven by Randy, a former university professor, now Persian rug historian with a passel of Australian cattle dogs (really only 4, but that’s still a surprising quantity of a specific type of dog in one place).  Of the four, Panga, Sheila, Mirre and Laika, only Panga got to ride in the cab with us, and despite being put out that she was required to give up TWO of her favorite spots, she was the perfect hostess.  After riding with Randy for a day, we found out that his final trip destination was Arizona, and not just anywhere in Arizona...Bisbee, AZ, only a couple of miles from the border towns of Douglas, AZ and Agua Priete, Sonora, MX.  Talking it over during our first nights stay, Gregory and I decided that offering to pay a portion of the gas and helping to load the furniture would be a worthwhile investment to get us so much farther on our way.  Over breakfast the next morning it was settled.  It meant 2 more nights in hotels, but it sure beat hosteling it in Los Angeles or San Diego, then finding yet another ride south (and as it happens, we didn’t even have to pay for gas.)  It also placed us firmly on our path into Mexico.  Best of all, I was able to work on the blog while Gregory and Randy talked about all kinds of things and every mile furthering the beginnings of our real adventure.

This decision of course, put urgency and desperation into our need to begin CouchSurfing.  Being on the road limits one’s access to internet thereby reducing the rapidity with which you can respond to either the yea’s or renew your search if you only get no’s.  It also creates potential problems as you try to get people to send quick notes to your phone e-mail rather than through the CS website.  My preliminary blast of six ‘will you please host me and the crazy guy I hang out with’ was met with one no and one yes, but only as an emergency.  Initiate wave two, three more requests.  Immediately I get back a yes, even with the convolutions of text-mailing.  Hermosillo, here we come.

Randy, whose kindness radiated in the care he gave his canine companions, deposited us on the road to Douglas, with the admonishment that if we were not able to hitch a ride that day, we were to call him and he would see what help he could provide.  Fortunately, we were not required to further lean on him, as we received a ride immediately from Hector who was heading home from the Dr.'s office.

The short ride from Bisbee to Douglas flew by as we talked to Hector about our trip plans.  Originally we thought about hitchhiking, from Agua Priete to Hermosillo, but Hector talked us out of that idea saying that a cab to the bus terminal and then a bus to Hermosillo wouldn’t be terribly expensive.  Also, in his opinion, the bus would be safer and easier since catching one ride going exactly where we wanted to go seemed unlikely whereas getting stranded in some small town seemed inevitable.  He offered to drop us off where ever we needed to go in town and deciding not to delay any further, we elected for the border crossing.  Anticlimactic is the best description of crossing the invisible line from the United States into Mexico.  I’m sure that crossing all the other invisible lines will be more involved, even if they are as easy.