After a good hour of holding it in through the nightmare that is Mexico City traffic, I finally had to pull over and drain the main vein. The fact that we were rolling bumper-to-bumper through one of the busiest arteries of Mexico City didn’t stop me. Imagine Market Street, Cesar Chavez and Divisidero twisted into one giant congested stretch. That was the scene and as my grandpa used to say, “my teeth were floating.” So fuck it, I forced my way off onto a minor artery, pulled out my major artery, and sprayed my name all over the side of a wall- Mexican placa style, homes!
So now the problem wasn’t my bladder- it was getting back onto that crazy freeway. You’re thinking gee, if there was an exit, surely there must be an entrance in the next kilometer or so, right? Ha ha ha you foolish, logical gringo. No, that periférico was totally adios, so Kara took out the Guia Roji and mapped out an alternate route.
Luckily for all you astute readers, our alternate route included a surprise street protest! As you’ll see in the below video, they’re all shouting “direchale!” at me which roughly translates to: “get the hell out of the way!” Once they started pounding on the truck with their fists, the exact meaning was immediately communicated, and we were Adios 5000!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRAD!!!! So peeing in Mexico was your own personal coming of age ceremony? Joking aside, sorry about that. I would have had some serious internal reconciliation to work through beforehand, but as Frank Zappa said, at the end of the day, necessity may always be the mother of invention. Fast.