August 1, 2024, California. I finally took the plunge. I’d been delaying leaving on my trip for Mexico since July. But a camp reunion in early October and travel plans in November would cut my trip short. If I didn’t leave now, I wouldn’t have enough time to see what (and whom) I wanted. As it was, I had to cut my trip short.

Thankfully, friends (Mark and Nina) had enticed me to join them for a few days of camping in South Lake Tahoe. This was the motivation I needed to begin my long journey. I packed for every eventuality, assuming I’d be in Mexico for at least 6 weeks, and headed up to their campsite. They had a comfortable camper and invited me to join them for dinners. We spent the evenings in pleasant conversation, while Nina practiced newly-learned phrases from her Spanish immersion class. I explored nearby places during the day.

Unfortunately, the campground had chosen these few days to operate heavy equipment 24/7. To add insult to injury, they were about 50 feet from my tent. After 3 sleepless nights, I opted for a quieter spot on the lake.

I grew up camping in Lake Tahoe. In the 1960s, my parents purchased what was at the time undevelopable and on the west side. We camped there regularly. They were forced to sell the land, which was later deemed fit for development. Later in life, my father purchased a timeshare at Beachcomber Inn Resort right on the lake. I joined him for his week in September for several years, and loved the lake’s proximity and the place’s old school style. My father kindly gifted it to me when he passed, but I couldn’t afford the annual fees, considerably more than the weekly rate.

I’d decided to take my own car on the journey to Mexico as I like the freedom that comes with it: to go wherever I wanted, tote lots of artisan crafts home, and travel on my own schedule. But I dreaded the possibility of being stopped, fearing both the narcos and the federalis. I was also worried about breaking down or getting into an accident. My auto insurer won’t touch coverage in Mexico. I assumed for good reason.

August 4. I was sorry to leave, but Mark and Nina were also heading out, so I wasn’t leaving prematurely. I drove to the west side of the lake, where I planned to camp with Milo and friends who had a caravan overlooking Emigrant Pass. Milo was celebrating his birthday and had invited friends to join him.

It was a long and winding road, about 45 minutes off the asphalt. A few folks had been drinking and were pretty sloshed. I tried my best to fit in despite my sober state, and we played an uproarious game of croquet till dark. Dark and cold set in, and someone made a campfire. We sat around and sang and talked. It was pleasant comradery.

August 5. I wanted to visit with Milo and Sumati before I left. Over breakfast, Sumati told me her concerns about a tenant who wouldn’t leave. She asked Milo for help, and I listened as Milo smooth talked the guy into leaving. I had to hand it to him, he was good. Sumati was on an all protein diet due to gall bladder issues, and I was glad to hear she was feeling well.

I wished Milo a happy birthday and headed for Bishop, where I planned to stay with my college friend Kim. We’d taken Natural History Field Quarter at UCSC together. I love Bishop. I’d discovered it one time when I was hiking to North Lake in November, and had gotten snowed in. I hiked out and warmed up in Bishop. A latte never tasted so good.

Kim was very welcoming, and I got to meet her daughter before she left for Yosemite. Like daughter like mother. Kim had worked for the Forest Service for many years. I admired her dedication, since the forest circus, as some of my friends liked to call it, was known for being slow to change and adapt to the changing times. It took patience to hang in there that long.

I headed to the Owens Valley Paiute Shoshone Cultural Center where I learned of yet one more broken treaty. In 1912, the U.S. Government reserved over 67,000 acres of lands in the Owens Valley for the Indians of the area. Then in 1932, President Hoover revoked this promise and placed the lands in watershed protection status for the City of Los Angeles. Four years later, the City of Los Angeles wanted the remaining lands and the federal government traded these lands for the 875 acres that now comprise the Bishop Paiute Reservation located at the base of the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains.

After learning this sad piece of history, I took a long walk a few miles from her house, enjoying the view of the eastern Sierra from her back door. She lived in a stunning landscape.

August 6. I’d decided to mail home the pepper spray, pocket knife, and dog repellent after Kim’s husband mentioned that these were illegal in Mexico. I didn’t want to take a chance at getting fined or worse. With that I set off, driving all day and into the eve till I got to Prescott Arizona. I was heading to my friend Evan’s home, a fellow member of the Aroter Tibetan Buddhist sangha. He was very gracious, and I met his 2 silly cats and lovely wife Meg. I was hoping to learn more about her writing career, as she is a successful (published) novelist.

August 7 – 8. I was wary about crossing the border, and delayed an extra day, walking in the washes around Prescott, admiring the historic downtown and red sandstone architecture, and hanging in the evening with Evan and Meg. Their lovely house backs up onto a wash, and Evan pointed out a family of javelina that use the thoroughfare.

I had fun watching their cats antics, who being indoors had designed myriad creative ways to amuse themselves. At one point they parked themselves on top of my luggage and wouldn’t move. They were fascinated by my room, Evan’s meditation room, and tried on many occasions to rush in when I opened the door.

In the living room, Evan had constructed a maze like contraption for them. I think these cats had it better than any I’ve met. This was Casa Ritz as far as they were concerned. Evan told me about a music software program he was creating. He’d been working at Google and living in Mountain View when we first met. His aging mom needed help and he headed to Prescott to help, then decided to look for a place to live. He was taking a big risk in going it alone and leaving a good paying job at Google, but seemed very happy doing it.

On my last day, he helped me install dash cams on the front and rear of my vehicle, a recommendation by another solo female driver to Mexico to deter corrupt cops and car thieves. It was worth a try. I had implemented every travel suggestion imaginable and was growing weary of a never-ending list of preventive measures. At some point I would have to go and hope for the best.