WestWords
By Marvin West
His Bio

Driving in Mexico

In my younger days, when I was relatively fearless or disturbingly dumb, I occasionally operated a motor vehicle on the mean streets of New York City, in broad daylight and at night, and once the wrong way on a one-way.

Without hesitation, I ventured onto Los Angeles freeways at rush hour, through interstate construction zones in Atlanta and into dark corners of Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia and Washington, D.C.

I've driven from Boston to Boise, in Denver, Dallas and Detroit city, along the scenic route from Madrid to Barcelona and from downtown Seoul to the stop sign at the south edge of the Korean demilitarized zone. Logged a few kilometers in the French Alps, dodged a couple of log trucks in British Columbia and mixed and matched with the locals, stirring up dust on the wrong side of Bahamian roads.

With Sarah as the almost flawless navigator, I have directed our trusty Volkswagen bug all around and about in Mexico -- except Mexico City. Haven't tried that yet. May not. Only there do I prefer to be a passenger. First choice would be safely inside a heavily armored tank, big enough to bust a bus in the beak.

For the most part, driving in Mexico is not as hazardous or stressful as warnings suggest. Highways range from fair to good to great. Toll roads require serious folding money. Defensive drivers live longer. Don't assume others will stop at intersections. Limit or avoid night excursions.

Buy reputable Mexico insurance. Don't let your gas gauge go low. Beware of federales learning to use radar guns. Respect warning signs, especially topes and dangerous curves. If a ball bounces onto the roadway, expect a boy to follow.

Driving in Mexico unlocks vistas you might otherwise miss. Simple as it sounds, some sights are on side roads where the bus doesn't go -- except on Tuesdays and Thursdays. When Joshua trees and wildflowers are blooming, stop and take pictures.

Some of our memorable adventures have involved pauses. Back in April, we were cruising toward Texas and Tennessee in our husky GMC Envoy Denali, loaded with snowbird luggage, gift blankets, wooden carvings, two paintings, picnic basket, ice chest and lots of stuff, when a flagman waved us into a zoological inspection station.

The main man and two top assistants approached tentatively, circled to the left and peered in the shaded windows to see what they could see.

Without cracking a smile, el capitán asked "Any cheek-ens back there? Any goats?"

Determined to maintain the mood, I responded "Not on today's trip, señor, maybe mañana."

That ended the charade. The laughter was hearty and genuine. There wasn't enough spare space for a guinea pig.

At a military checkpoint, we were surrounded by young soldiers. . .

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(Marvin West, mostly retired after just 42 years with Scripps Howard newspapers, is senior partner in an international communications consulting company. This column is from his forthcoming book, "Mexico? What you doing in Mexico?" He invites )

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