In response to numerous requests, I am sharing the second half of the Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers road trip to Mexico story. A few readers even shared photos of shows they attended.
“I vote we get the (expletive*) out of here,” Robin said, as she shook me awake. I rubbed my eyes and looked the direction she was pointing. The sliding glass door looked as though it was breathing. Hurricane winds howled like the pack of wild dogs we saw and feared when we arrived, just four days earlier. Another group of Oliver Twist-ish dogs lumbered and paced in the dirt lot, shaken, like us.
Waves raged over the blue tile balconies and then over the roof of the hotel below. A huge gas station sign spun in slow-motion through the air like something from the movie the Matrix, outside of our fourth-story room.
“Do you really think I should drive in this?” I asked her. I felt like I already used all of my luck on this venture. I saw a fat tear well up in the corner of her eye and roll down her cheek.
So we packed up our bags and went to the lobby to ask for a day-early check-out. I asked the man behind the counter if the storm would likely last long. He said “sometimes hours, sometimes days, it may get worse before it gets better.”
Hanging on to our luggage and each other, we walked clumsily across the parking lot as sand whipped in our eyes and the wind threw us around. I could scarcely see the asphalt when we got to the street. Sand was heavy in the sky like a white-out in Buffalo, New York. I caught a glimpse of elementary school-aged children in their Catholic school uniforms hanging on to street signs.
It was hard to believe that just one day prior, the sun warmed our skin. We sat at J.J.”s Cantina as Roger Clyne served us “Mexican Moonshine.” We swam in the turquoise salt water. We met strangers who became friends. We sat carefree on the concrete terrace with the steps that staggered to the shore lined with merchants, music, children, seasoned fishermen and tourists.
Now it was dark, cold and frightening. It was much more scary even than the giant cockroach we found scaling the wall in our room. We took photos of it next to anything that would exemplify its size. We finally attempted to kill it by throwing a dresser on it. I tried to laugh at the day-old memory of Robin and I rolling the bug up in a paper towel and bringing it to the hotel office, “We thought you didn”t allow pets,” we said, as we snickered. The teenage boy at the desk laughed too and said, “And that one”s a baby!”
I drove in silence, once again gripping the steering wheel and digging my fingernails in to my palms, still scarred from the drive to Mexico.
I thought about my children, my parents and my friends with a foggy backdrop in my mind of the band Cracker playing “Low” as Roger Clyne ran out to sing with Johnny Hickman and David Lowery. The images of the week in Mexico collided with my everyday life swirling like a scene from the Wizard of Oz.
Robin began sobbing. “I”m a bad mom,” she said through gasps for air. I could tell she was silently examining her existence in her own way too. We had different regrets and shortcomings from each other, but the complex feeling was the same. With knots in our guts, we intensely and candidly bled our souls.
I had not done that before or since.
It”s just like my Uncle Mark says, people usually refer to times of pain or adversity when they reflect on their greatest life lessons. After about an hour of driving we cleared the storm.
We stopped in the last town before the border to have breakfast. We would leave the country weathered but wiser. We could see Arizona past the tiny border booth. “Are you bringing anything back form Mexico?” the man in the booth asked. I produced a small plastic bag that held two CDs and an animal made of seashells; I”m not sure what it was, it had one googly-eye. I paid $5 to an 8-year-old girl for that gift that is proudly perched on my daughter”s dresser. Tall cacti and heat that hits the road making it look liquid, ushered us back into the United States. As I was writing this an e-mail came to me from Roger Clyne”s management saying “I know you are a bit away from Sacramento, but I wanted to see if you plan to go to the Sacramento Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers show on Aug. 16 at Harlow”s Night Club”.? kismet.
Mandy Feder is the Record-Bee news editor. She can be reached at mandyfeder@yahoo.com or 263-5636 Ext. 32.
