Hola, Me Llamo Megan

When I began this vanventure, my eyes were set on conquering America the Beautiful.  Of course I considered visiting our neighboring maple leaf, but in general, I had my sights set on the states.  Never had the thought of the other guy living on the south part of town cross my mind.  I mean, the closest I would be getting to Mexico would be the tiny new one wedged between its desert cousins, Texas and Arizona.  Right?

The first thing you need to know about the Southwest is that what they show us on television is downright false advertising.  The desert is not this sunny, boiling, cute cactus landscape.  No.  In fact, the desert can be extremely cold.  I'm talking so cold that Mother Nature is apparently keen to pranks because she allowed my family in Jersey to enjoy a sunny day in the 70s, while I bundled up for a grey windstorm in the 50s - not to mention the 30 degree nights.  Second of all, the wind is No. Freaking. Joke.  Weighing in at about 100 lbs does not help me pump gas when gusts of wind are reaching 40 mph.  Not to mention Honey just about has a stroke every time we hit the road and I'm turning the wheel at a full 45-degree angle in an effort to remain straight on the endless Wile E. Coyote roads roaming through the desolate dusty desert.  And forget about the cow, horse, and buck (that's right, buck, not deer) caution signs!  They should have signs for the beanbags that hurl themselves across the highway every 10 feet!  Once again, the media has failed to accurately portray the infamous tumble weed.  Before coming to the southwest, I thought tumble weeds were just novel little airy hay balls that drifted across dirt roads to the sound of classic cowboy duel music.  In reality, these monstrous balls of fury cause me white knuckles and inadvertent screams.

Speaking of dirt roads, did you know that due to New Mexico's extremely dry climate (it rained almost every day I was present), 3/4 of the roads are unpaved?  HAHAHAHAH I didn't!  And I wouldn't have found out had it not been for Mexico...

Like a good little millennial, I was following my GPS through New Mexico without hesitation.  It was only when I saw signs for BOARDER PATROL that I began to second guess my route.  Flashing lights instructed all vehicles to exit the highway and line up for inspection.  This included trained four-legged sniffers, strapped police and military officials, and a binding flash that I'm assuming was an automated camera, capturing my mugshot.  As my turn approached, I wasn't sure if I was more nervous that I may have made a wrong turn towards undrinkable water or if We're the Millers ruined all chances for RVs to pass through easily.  Thankfully, after asserting that I was the only passenger on board and promising to say the Pledge of Allegiance to the motherland, I was told to move along.  I was too nervous to ask if I was headed into Mexico.  From what I gathered, I was looking into Mexico, but my lane still remained in the states.

After this particular escapade, I decided to avoid route 10 on my way to Arizona.  This decision, however, landed me on a dirt road that happened to be the bumpiest, dirtiest, and of course, muddiest road I have ever driven along.  After losing all control of steering and coming close to flipping into a ditch due to the mud acting like snow under Honey's wheels, I turned around and retraced the five miles and 30 minutes of torture and crossed my fingers for route 10.

With only a few succeeding hiccups, I finally made it to the door of my great Aunt and Uncle's where I continuously tell them that I feel as if I am staying at the Ritz.  With Belgian waffles in the morning and easy access to running water, the bumps in the road seem worth it.  Maybe not the mud, but definitely the bumps.  Though my family has spoiled me to no end, I am excited to work my way out of this demanding desert and finally cast my eyes on the Pacific.