A margarita now. Or, just hand me the tequila bottle because I'm about to throw myself out of this car and crawl the rest of the way to Taxco.
And that's not just the mountain fever talking. Although. At 9500 feet, we passed the altitude sickness threshold waay back, 3000 feet back down the mountain. Back when the dizziness, the palpitations and nosebleed first began. And flatulence. Yes, it's true.
It's not the mountain fever talking but the fear. In fact, the fear is screaming it's bloody head off because these roads don't have shoulders, not one. What they do have are sheer cliffs. They have canyons, bottomless, car eating emptiness. A tire's width away.
Does Mexico have open container laws? A little 90 proof to get the kinks out of hairpin twists and U-turn curves? Blind ones?
If I live to see Taxco, I'll run, not crawl, to the silver shops and get sloshed...get stinking drunk on silver. There now. That's what silver jewelry is for.
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