May 12, 2003  7am
On the ferry to Mazatlan, Mexico
~1600 miles

waking to the sweet sound of twin diesel engines... and the sweet smell of twin diesel engines mixed with a sticky gritty sea salt breeze. jesse the scout rides top-side on a 3-level ferry in her silver years. it is a proud, aft position nestled in cozily amongst 18 wheelers and orange trucks. ah, the gringo... only too happy to take the first slot in and the last slot out ... smiling all the way... no matter. next time we know better.

the ferry from la paz to mazatlan cuts out about 1800 miles of driving with a 24 hour dash across the sea of cortez. a private company took over the ferry concession from the government a few years ago and cut out the spurious routes while raising prices to make the operation profitable. they also operate it with an aging fleet of thrice used vessels scientifically calculated to maximize revenues with
a minimum of repair. "el cimmaron", the boat we landed (rather a nasty shade of orange i should say) is a proud vessel of noble lineage... her stern showed two previous scarified registrations under her more recent paint job... one from copenhagen (kobenagen) and another from lyttleton (texas?)... and now La Paz. Ahh... of course here the lineage ends as the current mark is only a lick and stick tattoo... who knows where she will go from here? who takes a boat after the mexicans are through with it? nigeria perhaps...

el cimmaron appeared to have an employee permanently dangling off the side with an electric grinder... for she was only just at the dock when we arrived, and the grinding man was already at work. this mad max character was apparently going along for the trip as well. judging by her age and by the quantity of rust and scale on her.. i would imagine once he makes it all the way around the lovely cimmaron, grinding her hull, he probably starts over again. ahh... electric grinding all day...   when you quit after 10 hours, your arms continue to vibrate for another 3.

el cimmaron, the cargo workhorse of the ferry fleet, brings together the best of the universe of grime: trucking.. sea salt... marine diesel... and plain old grease. truly a filthy animal. the accommodations, generously referred to as "salon" class... consist of a kidnapped GE Capital mobile trailer up on
blocks under the steel awning of the fore tower.  the interior is well-appointed with 25 rows of reclining seats (that seem likely appropriated from dodge caravan overstock), a force-ten air conditioner on high and a tv up in the corner running gringo films with espanol subtitles.  aside from being damn cold inside, it was a little eerie.  like some kind of personnel transport to purgatory. 

i set my bag down on a seat towards the rear.  there were about four other truckers in there ... blank stares on their faces.... too strange.  i grabbed my shit and made a hasty exit... opting for the open air berth instead ... in jesse's back seat.

upon awaking this morning, i found company in numerous truckers scattered, sprawled and snoring on rough-cut foam beds (no doubt torn from packing material) stuck askance to the slimy aft deck.  they looked quite peaceful in their innocent slumber there... i couldn't resist just sitting crosslegged in the midst of them for a moment.. by the end of this journey even the most persnickety are covered head-to-toe in soot...  filthy thing this ferry.

no land in sight...  just steaming ahead on a giant drop of water