Use this as an example of how not to go on vacation. It is amazing I am alive.
Every word of this story is true, you can't make this crap up.
Let me begin by saying I know my parents love me. I truly believe they would never knowingly put me into a situation that could lead me to harm; but in this instance their amazing naivete' was remarkable. For very intelligent people, this was really, really stupid.
This whole thing started because my mom read an article in some innocent and fairly mundane magazine like Better Homes and Gardens or Midwest Living. Many a Hasten family adventure has started this way, but few have ended so... adventurously. The article gave directions on how you could visit a quaint little Mexican border town just south of Big Bend National Park. Now, for those of you not acquainted with this armpit of Texas, let me help you. Picture Texas. Now think of the little hangy-down bit on the southwestern most end. THAT is Big Bend. Red lights and sirens should have been going off at this point since there is no such thing as a "quaint" little border town. Not to mention we are a good 50-100 miles from anything that even closely resembles civilization.
So, there are the four of us in our blue, Ford Windstar mini-van from Illinois smack in the middle of BFE, following some relatively vague directions trying to cross INTO Mexico. I am about 15, and in between my Freshman and Sophomore years of high school. My sister Heather is going into 7th grade. I've had a full one year of Spanish, and that is pretty much the extent of our communication abilities. We have no passports, Visas, or anything other than my parents drivers licenses. Heather and I have no documentation of any kind. How could this go wrong?!?
Some how, using the vague magazine directions we manage to find our way down to the Rio Grande, after passing a bunch of wild boars and some Giant Sequoia. That part was fairly cool. To be honest, at the time we were there Big Creek would have dwarfed this 'Grande' river. It was only a couple of feet deep and looked like it would be fun to wade across since it was about 200 degrees in late June. As we drive up to the river we see a couple of guys with a blindingly bright aluminum boat hanging out by the river. Assuming we are in the right place we all hop out.
Amazingly, we were in the right place. Some how we communicate that we are interested in going to whatever little crappy town lay on the other side of the river. The guy tells us it is $50 for a tour and dad whips out the money and pays him. How we weren't killed on site I have no idea. We wait a few minutes while the boat captain scoops the water out of the bottom boat with a cut off milk jug. Then he very kindly laid cardboard down on the seats so we don't come away with 3rd degree burns from the aluminum and we began our 30 second ride to the other side of the creek.
After departing the boat we are semi welcomed by our mumbling guide who doesn't speak a single sentence of English. He explains via spanish, minuscule English and gesture that we now have two options. We could ride the half dead burrows tied up under a tree, or the rusted out Chevy truck with 6 guys in the bed. We opted for the burrows, they looked safer.
Words can not adequately express the hilarity that ensued.
Watching my mother try to get on her burrow is one of the absolutely funniest things I have ever seen. (Trumped only by Heather blowing the crotch out of her snow pants when skiing, but that is for another story.) Picture every slapstick movie you have ever seen where someone had a problem getting on a horse. Except switch out a pissed off burrow for a horse. It was wet your pants funny. Actually, the funniest thing was watching the Mexican guys stare, open mouthed, in disbelief. They had never seen anyone ever have that much trouble either. Mom was a trooper though. After several attempts and much laughter she mounted the burrow and we were off faster than a sleeping snail.
As we crawled along, eating the dust from the rusted out Chevy that barely went faster than the burrows, we tried to ask our guide about the wonders around us. We asked where was the school? Where was the hospital? What did they do for fun, besides laugh at American tourists? Since he spoke no English he only pointed. And only pointed one direction; Southeast. Whatever it was, it was down there. Eventually, we stopped asking questions since it was a total exercise in futility.
Something my sister and I kept a close watch on during our ride was the width of my father's lips. How hard my dad purses his lips is in direct proportion to how mad he is. By the time we finally reached our destination my father's lips were nothing more than a very fine line on his face. He was pissed.
The town consisted of about a half a dozen cinder block buildings and a couple of rusted out cars. Quaint my $%@#$%. We were lead to the only store in town run by a lady who's only English phrase was, "Me too!" Evidently we happened to meet the only Baptist Illinois school teacher/Mexican cantina owner in the area. Or at least that is all we could glean from the conversation anyway. Dad refused to let us buy anything besides a bottle of Coke, so needless to say our visit was short.
After we said "Adios" to the Baptist school teaching cantina owner it was back on the burrows, back down the dusty road, and back onto the scalding aluminum boat. Somewhere along the way I managed to scrape my leg and the rest of the trip my parents were watching the small wound intently to see if my leg was going to rot off from some south-of-the-border parasite that they were sure I had contracted.
As we approached our van after peeling our butts off of the 3000 degree boat about 9 guys jumped out of no where and demanded $20 and a case of soda since they had guarded our car while we were away. My dad and his now invisible lips paid them, threw us in the van, and promptly sped away. If you ever wondered if a Windstar mini-van was able to peel out, rest assured, it can.
The beautiful part of this adventure is that the fun didn't end here. Oh no. As we drove back to our hotel we suddenly noted a lack of forward momentum. Our van stopped moving forward and started rolling backwards as we reached an incline. We were stuck. Dad, did what dads do. Left his family in the baking 200 degree Texas heat and jogged off down the road for help since this was long before the days of cell phones. (Like we would have had service anyway we were in the definition of nowhere!)
He did eventually return with help and it was determined that the van suffered from a blown transmission seal/gasket thingy. Here is the problem: The nearest repair shop that was open on a weekend was 180 miles away. We had to be towed 180 miles by Bud, of Bud and Nita's Towing company. I don't know if you have been in the cab of a tow truck, but they aren't very roomy, and this one was no exception. There was only room for Bud and one other person, and Dad got that short straw. Mom, Heather, and I got the fun of riding in the van as it was being towed. Now, since this is highly illegal for obvious safety reasons we had to lie down, the whole time. A little known fact about me is that I get motion sickness VERY easily. Therefore, being at a good 30-40 degree angle, swaying back and forth and hitting the regular pot hole in the fabulous Texas interstate was about enough to kill me. I was green and near vomiting for about three and a half hours. Dad had a similar feeling since he was forced to make small talk with Bud. We did find out that he is fiercely proud of his wife, Nita, since she was the only pregnant tow truck driver on that side of the Mississippi. Who knew.
We were towed to a repair shop in Fort Stockton owned by John and Kathy Barbee. John knew about every Yankee joke in the book and used them regularly. It took most of the day, but he did get the transmission fixed. Since we had oodles of time to chat, mom worked her charm and became BFFs with Kathy who ran the office, which was thankfully air conditioned. We were invited to their house for a calf roping and barbecue dinner, which I thought was sweet. We got Christmas cards from them for several years, too.
After the van was fixed dad declared the vacation over. We headed for home, via Oklahoma where we blew out a tire. Yehaw.
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