Changes in Latitudes

CHANGES IN LATITUDES (Mazatlán Road Trip Ballad) I used to think… you could plan a trip… Maps… schedules… logic… Then I Roberto bought a four-hundred-dollar Volkswagen bus… and we drove it from California to Mazatlán. Yeah… that’ll change your attitude real quick. Sittin’ in Sacramento -- coffee goin’ cold, Flippin’ through the classifieds, dreamin’ bold, Roberto says, “Hey David, help me out— Find a car, drive it south, we’ll figure it out.” Found a flower-power bus, baby blue and white, Faded paint and old but she ran just right, Lady smiled and said “She needs a good home…” Four hundred bucks later, we were ready to roam Didn’t check much… no master plan… But feelin’ good about our impromptu caravan… Changes in latitudes, changes in plans, Two thousand miles ahead in a bus held together by chance, From California dreams to deserts unknown, You don’t discover yourself sittin’ safe at home. If the road don’t break ya… it’ll rearrange your brain— Yeah, changes in latitudes… They are never the same. Loaded up boxes, TV and clothes, Treasure for family and folks that he knows Tools? Nah… we’ll just wing it, I suppose, Cold Utah wind cut through that soft top, Snow in the cab—this was sure not a beach stop. Took turns drivin’, took turns crashin’, Rain kept fallin’, heater barely passin’, What started as a scenic adventure ride… Turned into “How can we get to Mexico alive.” Plans start bending, miles get painfully long… We can’t even manage to crank up a Buffett song… Changes in latitudes, changes in plans, From snow-covered highways to sunburned sands, From thinkin’ you’re ready to “what have we done,” Somewhere entwined in all the fear and fun. If the road doesn’t teach you… it’ll drag you insane— Yeah, changes in latitudes… They are just never the same. Thirty-six hours and we rolled into town, No-gal-es waitin’ with border guard frowns, Bus looked loaded like a smuggler’s dream, Two tired faces and a sketchy scene. “Any guns? Any drugs?” — “No sir, not us,” Just a bag full of dog chews – for my dog Bandido - and a beat-up bus, They took Roberto’s visa, said “wait a week…” I said, “Man, let’s go, get off this losing streak.” Getting turned around… at the U.S.–Mexico border… two road weary characters in a hippie van… Yeah… that’s a conversation starter. Roberto drivin’ wrong damn lane, wrong damn sign, Suddenly we’re back at a different border line, Customs lookin’ at us like we’ve come unglued, Which… at that point… might’ve been mostly true. Drug dogs sniffin’ rawhide like it’s cocaine gold, Agent glarin’ and starin’ like he’s cracked the code, “Bandido’s my dog…” — yeah, great name choice… Even I didn’t believe my shaky voice. Sometimes life forgives when you least expect… Somehow they let us go, no faceplants, fines or arrests… Changes in latitudes, changes in fate, Two wrong turns and a close-call gate, From almost arrested to back on the road, Tryin’ with Buffett now, to lighten the load. If you can’t laugh at the world… it’ll drive you insane— Yeah, changes in latitudes… They are just never the same. Somewhere between the snow and the sand, You stop pretendin’ you might be in command, Maps don’t matter, practiced plans don’t last, Life just laughs out loud and hits the gas. And Buffett’s singin’ like he always knew… “You weren’t all crazy… but now you are too…” Changes in latitudes, changes in soul, Sometimes you lose pieces to feel more whole, From busted plans to stories that stick, That’s the beauty in living in the misty mess of it. If you don’t let go… you’ll never gain— Yeah, changes in latitudes… Remember are never, ever the same. Twenty-five years later… I still don’t know what I’m doin’… But I know this— Every time I hit the road… Something changes.