Once across the border, Wagonmaster Bert led us down the highways, using CB radio to communicate roadside bird sightings, hazards, and directions to his several miles of followers.  Rest and lunch stops were coordinated when possible with gas stops at the giant parking lots of the government Pemex stations, but sometimes we had no alternative to pulling off on the shoulder.  In many places Mexico's single-lane, potholed roads have given way to divided-lane, high-speed toll roads, with parking lots and toilets at the moderately expensive toll booths.  Navigation was worst through cities, where anarchic traffic, frequent stoplights, and poorly marked turns made keeping in contact difficult.  Tailgunners Dan and Sue always brought up the rear, making sure no one was left behind and stopping to render assistance if necessary.  When Lee and Pat Yoder's "Black Stallion" sputtered to a stop, Dan and a local mechanic worked for hours before discovering that it had simply run out of gas.

    Our route was carefully planned to give us longer stays of up to a week in the best birding areas, with overnight stops between them scheduled at comfortable intervals.  Campgrounds ranged the gamut from shadeless parking lots with no facilities to extremely comfortable and inviting.  Wagonmaster Shari was the tireless mistress of our peripatetic hearth, shoehorning our arriving vehicles into each new place, handling the fees, and orienting us for each new leg at an early morning travel meeting.  Her margarita recipe was legendary, and she was constantly arranging potlucks and visits to villages and establishments celebrated for various crafts and products.

Squeezing'em in, Patzcuaro (Wr)	Neighborly chat, San Miguel (M) Richard Hoyle, Charlie, June Hoyle	Our last travel meeting, La Pesca (F)