For Courage today I am reposting another 10 year old tale of an accidental coming-of-age ritual my two BFF’s and I managed to complete as teenagers.

---

In this 3rd trinity, which is not really attached to any traditional holiday, we have used Truth Love and Courage, as these constitute the totality of my belief system.

Courage may be a little idiosyncratic to my personality, as some folks are already pretty brazen, and might do better to believe in Beauty, Peace or Humility, but for myself and most folk I know, fear holds us back from achieving and being what we wish for.

When I was in High School my two best friends, Topher, Doug and I took a trip to Mexico together. An older boy, Gumpert, who was a bit of a mentor to us, had invited us on a SCUBA diving trip to Baja. He had a big 4×4 truck with a camper and a huge PTO winch that we all believed could go anywhere.

At the last minute, a family crisis caused him to cancel, but he generously offered us the use of his truck and gear. We were all still really just little boys, raised in harmonious and comfortable middle class families who had never really faced any adversity who had had our drivers’ licenses for less than a year, but we were packed and ready to go, so we took off together for Punta Banda, just south of Ensenada.

Heading out a dirt road, and asking the locals ‘donde esta la playa’ we got the words ‘derecha’ and ‘derecho’ (one meaning right and the other straight) confused, and turned off onto a tiny road heading across a large mudflat. As the road got softer and softer, we got scared and decided to turn around, but the minute we turned off the little track, we instantly sank up to our axels in the mud. With the huge tires spinning and nothing to attach our winch to, we were hopelessly stuck, and all the digging and pushing we did was useless.

Eventually, we noticed a taxi cab off in the distance also stuck in the mud, with the driver asleep in the back seat. We woke him up and helped him get unstuck, then tried to use his car as a pick point for our winch, but the ground was so soft and our truck so heavy that we just slid him along the road. Now covered in mud and exhausted, we gave up and he took off, promising to send help.

After what seemed like hours, an old tow truck finally arrived driven by the very personable Pedro, and we used his winch and ours in various combinations, putting chains on his wheels and any other trick we could imagine, but only managed to eventually pull both trucks next to each other, more firmly stuck than ever.

Pedro took off on foot, also promising to send help. Shortly we noticed that the ocean seemed to be getting closer, and realized that we were in a tidal flat. Terrified as the water rose to almost 3 feet deep, we sat on top of the camper and read and re read our tourista insurance policy in detail, as fishermen in boats cruised past laughing at the sight of two trucks stuck in the middle of the bay. Finally deciding to go for help, we left Doug behind to watch the truck and Topher and I sloshed off to hitchhike into Ensenada.

Stalked by starving dogs and mocked by locals who honked and threw stuff at us, our hitchhiking had been mostly hiking and so by the time we finally made it to Ensenada, everything was closed. We called our parents to let them know we were alright, and headed back to the truck in the dark.

Our return trip was even more frightening, as the dogs seemed more aggressive and the locals seemed drunker. Our last ride, out into the now empty bay was on an old Chevy chassis loaded with guys with rifles who were cruising the mudflat hunting something. They had no headlights, but one of them hard a big sealed-beam lamp jumpered onto the battery with which he scanned the surroundings.

Finally we realized the truck was gone, and the hombres, of whom we were at first petrified, but who now were our amigos, dropped us off at a little trailer park near the highway, and we headed back into Ensenada.

By now it was the middle of the night and there was no traffic at all, just the dogs snarling in the darkness. Exhausted and about ready to try to find some ditch to hide in, our terror turned to ecstasy when we saw Gumpert’s truck come rolling down the highway.

Doug explained how Pedro had returned with another tow operator who pulled both trucks out, and then demanded $200, which he didn’t have, so they “impounded” the truck and our gear, and locked it in their little garage. Doug knew how freaked out Chris and I would be, and so after beguiling the guard with his guitar playing and a stirring duet of Cielito Lindo, he was able to convince the guard to let him take the truck to search for us, holding our SCUBA gear as a deposit. After cruising up and down the road for hours, and just a few yards before he was ready to give up, he found us.

The next morning we went in to the insurance office to get them to pay the tow company, but they refused. By then, we had been though so much, and had read our policy so carefully, that we knew we actually were covered.

Formerly obedient children, we by then felt enough like ‘men’ to stand up to the dismissive insurance men, just as we had the hungry dogs, flooding tide and all the rest, until they agree to pay, and we were finally able to go home.

So, buck up your Courage, and get ready for the challenges of the New Year.

Happy Holly Days!