PHOENIX, Arizona, USA - We left the Carr Resort and Spa appreciably lighter, making our way south to a small town named Green Valley, Arizona where the median age is 75.
That's right - median age.
The RV park we stayed at for two nights requires that all guests be 55 or older and there were no bikinis around the swimming pool.
The night we arrived, I managed to drive down a dead end street and while turning around, I knocked off a tail-light cover and did some other minor trailer-hitch farbles, which (along with serious fatigue) suggested a full day of rest... We didn't really rest, but the pool (even sans bikinis), a quiet dinner and not moving 500 miles in a day made us ready the next day to cross the border.
We crossed at Nogales, a border town that the people in the RV park spoke very dismissively - kind of like people in San Diego speak about Tijuana. We went the truck route and avoided all of the downtown traffic and, according to some new Canadian amigos, Jim & Pat, it was about as quiet as the border ever gets.
Customs did board the Grey Goose and searched for whatever customs searches for. But we were let through with a simple wave of the hand and we were on our way.
That night we spent in a Pemex service station parking lot, shadowed by the 40-foot motorhome driving by our Canadian friends. The Pemex lots are informal rest stops all along the highway and although a little noisy, very safe. On the other side of Jim & Pat's motorhome, a Mexican family pitched a small tents and slept with their three kids - after cooking dinner on a campfire.
I guess they don't worry about scorpions crawling into the tents.
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