 |
| Captain Matt and "Slug", a seemingly inseparable duo |
Many of you have never heard of them, but believe me when I say that they're out there, that you've crossed paths with them, and that simply said, they are rolling lumps of pure awesomeness. The
Volkswagen Type 2 T3 Transporter, colloquially referred to as the
Vanagon, is perhaps one of the most versatile and multifunctional, yet sadly underrated and nearly forgotten, vehicles of the late 20th century. Despite being descended from a long line of classic VW microbuses and vans, the Vanagon possesses a distinctly comical countenance, its round headlights echoing bulging cherubic eyes while its protruding bumper casts traces of a darling smirk. Even the way this metal roly poly bobbles and bounces on the open road would make one squeal with sheer delight. But surprisingly more charming than its adorable aesthetic is the small, yet inclusive, social following that it has developed in its own right, rising beyond the exclusively "hippie" correlation of its earlier transporter siblings to become a unique "family" vehicle at the heart of road-trip culture.
Brad and Sheena would likely agree that literally setting off to drive across the world would not have been nearly as intimate without taking their snuggly camper-van, "Nacho". And I'm fairly certain the
Harteau family, embarking on a trip from the US to South America with their toddler daughter, would readily vouch that something about the Vanagon emits an aura of pure wholesomeness, a literal
home on wheels suitable for raising a child.
My initial encounters with Vanagons or any of its transporter relatives occurred only once in a blue moon, typically taking the form of overloaded, somewhat teeth-grinding microbus rides through crowded North African streets or across some isolated expanse of Asia or South America. Given the road-trip concept being a distinctly American-born phenomenon, I barely gave these vehicles any thought at all when overseas, where they are generally viewed as being nothing more than rickety "chicken buses" shuttling locals between markets or villages. That all radically changed when I met my friend, Matt, whose animated demeanor and free-spirited attitude appropriately came with a vehicle that embodied a feeling just as adventurous and impulsive. "
I love it, I can't imagine him in any other car!" was a phrase I gradually began to hear far more frequently, greatly sparking my curiosity and ultimately driving me (pun intended) to discover and try to make sense of this Vanagon voodoo that seemed to possess all of our mutual friends.
One ride. All it took was one ride for me to be completely sucked into the world of
Westfalia's, thriving on the idea of the open road lifestyle for camping and exploring in a vehicle worthy of having its own name. Matt's Vanagon was dubbed "The Orange Slug", or simply "Slug", and subsequent rides in it would eventually have even me imagining feelers popping out of its roof. Riding in Slug suddenly became a passion, as something about its earthy, itinerant essence enchanted me. And at least in my eyes, Slug was far from being an insentient machine, but rather a living, breathing, air-cooled entity that sometimes even had a mind of its own. Going on two years worth of adventures in it, I now realize that at least ninety percent of its inherent "magic" was imparted by none other than its lovable owner, whose whimsical and magnetic personality I had subconsciously projected directly onto the van. Even to this day, spotting a Vanagon makes me think of Matt, while seeing Matt makes me think of Vanagons, a pairing that will likely never sever in my mind. Sometimes I question myself as to whether it was the van or the man that ultimately cast its spell over me, but in the end I can't help but feel as if at heart they are essentially one and the same.
In due time, Slug would become the cornerstone of some of the most engaging and inspiring moments of my graduate life. We became
Team Slug - Matt was the captain, I the co-pilot, and Slug our terrestrial ship that ferried us from one thrilling adventure to the next. These photos and anecdotes are a tribute to only a small selection of the many heartfelt episodes we shared on the road, a road Matt and I traveled towards great experiences and an even greater friendship.
 |
| Your Captain and Co-Pilot, aka "Team Slug", reporting from the control deck |
 |
| How can anyone deny such a face? |
 |
| Slug as a slug, a Sharja original concept |
My first real adventure in Slug actually occurred in 2012 across the border in Mexico, where Matt and I, along with our friend Ankoor, found ourselves spontaneously rushing down to the coastal city of Ensenada in an effort to retrieve Matt's sister. After only a week of English teaching at a local school, Matt's sister suddenly had a change of heart when faced with the reality of being a lone American woman living in one of the most tumultuous regions of Mexico. Displeased with her school's lack of organization and fearing for her safety on a daily basis, Team Slug initiated its first "rescue" mission - Operation SaveLiz - to first and foremost aid a distressed damsel, as well as reward ourselves with a couple tacos de pescado. Cruising along the beautiful Baja coastline, we eventually reached Ensenada and set out among jumbled neighborhoods to find the place where Liz was residing.
Privada 4. That was what Matt had Google-mapped as her residence. "
Matt, that's not an address," I told him, confused but with a hint of chuckle. I don't think any of us were chuckling forty minutes later, after cruising up and down the same streets, using my limited Spanish with inquisitive neighbors to make sense of what exactly it was that we were looking for. My mobile, being the only one that received service in Mexico, eventually helped us call her and obtain only slightly better directions ("
One block from the intersection with a McDonald's and Kentucky Fried Chicken"). Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize in that moment that a call made from my phone in Mexico would later be scrutinized quite suspiciously by my over-protective parents when they eventually received the bill. They had no idea of my whereabouts. The outcome of that incident is a tale for another time.
Despite enjoying our day in Ensenada, we inadvertently stayed too long when we remembered that Liz had an evening flight departing from San Diego. By the time we finally passed through the border at Tecate, we had less than an hour to rush Liz to the airport. The race was on! If slugs could fly, this was the night Slug at least tried to, pulling into the terminal mere minutes past the final boarding call. Matt and Liz hastily fled the van in a last ditch effort to reach the ticket counter, leaving me and Ankoor to fend for ourselves in the drop-off lane. Everything ran smoothly until an officer walked up to our window, telling us that we could not park our vehicle and would need to move it immediately. Ankoor and I looked at each other, as we had no idea when Matt would return and didn't know where to proceed. "Sharja, I can't drive a manual," Ankoor told me nervously. It suddenly dawned on me that I would have to commandeer Slug, and in spite of the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I knew this was my chance to finally demonstrate my prowess as its official co-pilot. Some prowess that turned out to be. "Ankoor, I don't have my glasses. You'll have to be my eyes". I shifted into first, then second gear and set off around the terminal at a delicate 20 mph. "Sharja, you're going to hit the wall! Turn, turn!". I had never driven a bus-like automobile before, and I strained myself to budge Slug's massive steering wheel. "Ankoor, we can't afford to get into any accidents. I don't have my license!". We literally drove in circles around the terminal a good four times before realizing we needed to turn on the headlights, a simple task that somehow completely eluded the both of us. We desperately searched for the switch, ultimately resorting to pressing whatever buttons we could detect on the dashboard. If a shady van operated by two brown kids and making successive rounds in an airport terminal wasn't dubious enough, then you can imagine the baffled stares we received driving a van sporting flashing hazard lights and swaying windshield wipers. Needless to say, we were grateful when Matt eventually flagged us down before the cops did.
Liz didn't end up making her flight. Yet I felt that it was somewhat for the best, as it gave us the intimate opportunity to spend the evening lounging with blankets in the back of Slug, snacking on dried fruit and chatting about Life. You know, the things families
should be doing on a Saturday night.
 |
| Cruising down along the Baja coast to Ensenada |
 |
| Operation SaveLiz was a complete success once we retrieved "the package" |
 |
| Slug on its way through the Mexican countryside from Ensenada to Tecate |
 |
| Nothing suspicious about this kid driving through SD airport! |
Apparently, one visit to Mexico wasn't enough for Team Slug, which worked its way south again in the spring of 2013. Unlike the previous trip, this adventure was purely for pleasure, incorporating all of the essential attributes that define a wild weekend road-trip through Baja Norte. We rented some ATVs and sped around Ensenada's colorful neighborhoods before heading further south to a remote beach area where Matt had previously stayed while
volunteering on a construction project. Dinner at a roadside taqueria in Camalu was followed by an evening tea beside a bonfire created from scrap-wood that Slug had filled up on en route to the camp site. Sleeping out beneath the stars is always a magical experience, particularly comforting when waking up past midnight to the plump silhouette of Slug in the soothing moonlight. Even with a full day of cruising, eating street foods, and souvenir shopping around La Bufadora, no road-trip would be complete nor authentic without a little taste of car trouble. Slug's choice of spot to break down - right in the middle of a Mexican army checkpoint patrolling for narcotics. As Matt and Christoph frantically tried to get Slug to start by messing with its circuitry, armed soldiers stood idle and perplexed, snickering to themselves about our predicament and how it was likely the most comical thing they'd come across all day while stationed in the middle of nowhere. As for us, we were all slightly on edge given how daylight was fading and the last place we wanted to be stranded in was a popular drug-running region with armed men. However, the discovery of a pellet gun in the back of the van ultimately eased the tension and brought out the army's comical "inner child", as the laughing soldiers readily put down their live firearms to playfully shoot around with our toy. After reconnecting the battery, we eventually were able to drive our way back to the US, but not before finishing a full game of Clue as Slug sat statically for hours waiting to cross a border that was soon to close.
 |
| Waking up after a night spent on a beach (Photo courtesy of Moritz) |
 |
| Slug under the Camalu stars (photo courtesy of Matt) |
 |
| Slug on the streets of Ensenada |
The incident at the Mexican army checkpoint was the first time I recall Slug not restarting. Little did I know that nearly every subsequent Slug-trip I'd take after that would be marked at some point by a little Slug "hiccup", which certainly added color to our journeys and actually became something I looked forward to. Even though I probably should've been, I never seemed to be afraid when the ignition would fail, as I always knew in the back of my mind that Captain Matt would figure out the problem and save the day. Although now in retrospect, I ponder whether Matt was ever actually afraid himself. Undoubtedly, the funniest Slug hiccup I ever encountered occurred after a backpacking trip to summit Mt. Whitney, undertaken by Team Slug with good friends Christoph and Paul. The weekend adventure had barely even begun when Slug already had a minor incident. After picking up Paul, the four of us set forth with hyper- enthusiasm, Matt bellowing ecstatically out the window, "We're going to hike Mt Whitney! Wooooooh!!". Mere seconds after his exclamation, having traveled no further than around the corner from Paul's house, Slug died and slowly coasted towards the side of the road amidst commute hour traffic. Matt had apparently driven it dry and, only after pulling over to refill from Slug's rooftop petrol can, were we able to crack up over the sheer irony of our departure. With the token trip mishap safely past us, we successfully backpacked 22 miles and summitted the tallest peak in the contiguous United States on a group mission that will forever be immortalized in my memory.
Having returned to the trailhead parking lot, we felt it appropriate to mark such a momentous achievement with a splash into the refreshing waters of a nearby river, where Christoph had also been meticulously babying his collection of river-chilled beers. The group eventually decided to drink them down the road at a local pizzeria. Sliding open the van door, we began to pile in our backpacks, equipment, and food supplies onto the seats, while Matt got behind the wheel to start it up. Nothing. Slug apparently still had one last hiccup to leave us with on this journey. Christoph, Paul, and I knew the standard protocol, and the three of us pushed the van to a running jump-start that even garnered the celebratory cheers of observant fellow hikers. Matt floored the gas pedal to prevent the van from stalling, speeding up a narrow incline that sharply veered to the left at the end of the parking lot, the van disappearing behind the bend. "Is Matt not coming back to pick us up?". We walked across the lot to find the Vanagon stopped, the road behind it littered with strewn equipment, snack items, and shattered beer bottles. Matt walked up the hill with his tail between his legs, wearing an abashed expression on his face as he carried a handful of broken glass. I burst out laughing hysterically. "Sorry guys... I think someone left the van door open". Speeding around the sharp turn to not lose momentum had essentially flung our belongings, as well as Christoph's precious beverages, right out of the side of the vehicle. Christoph was completely crushed, ranting over the loss of his beers, while I cried from the pure hilarity of the occurrence. Disclaimer: Team Slug is not responsible for people or belongings flying out of windows.
The Whitney incident was by far the most comedic of Slug's "hiccups",
though certainly not its last. Of the many times it failed to start and
needed a necessary push, Co-Pilot Sharja was also ready for duty for
the following:
- Failed start late at night along Hwy 18 after coming back from Deep Creek hot springs
- Failed start after hiking back down from the summit of Mt. San Jacinto
- Failed start outside Priel's apartment at 3am after returning from bar-hopping in Los Angeles
- Failed start outside Pedro's house, on the way up to the Bay Area before Christmas
- Failed start outside the I5 Panda Express, on the way down from the Bay Area after Christmas
- Ran out of gas on the 73 freeway, carrying a bunch of students in costumes headed towards Chipotle
 |
| Paul sits in the back amidst all of the backpacking gear |
 |
| Bumpy rides lead to blurry pictures |
 |
| The Whitney group, ready to take on the highest peak in the contiguous US |
 |
| Christoph riding backwards, drinking one of the few beers that survived |
 |
| The motley looking I-Crew, ready to splash around in Deep Creek hot springs |
In March 2014, Slug experienced a hiccup that certainly was not one to overlook. Departing with a pair of bikes for a personal Captain-Co-Pilot adventure ride around San Diego, Team Slug had only traveled a few miles down the 405 when we suddenly began to hear strange sounds emanating from the belly of the metal beast. Or perhaps to clarify,
stranger sounds, to distinguish from the plethora of already strange noises that defined Slug's quirky character. We ultimately resorted to taking a charter bus that day, as Slug was evidently not in a state that could be trusted. Weeks later, Matt informed me that after analyzing the problem he came to the conclusion that the vanagon would need a new transmission. As in everything that he does, Matt didn't seem too time-constrained with the matter and hoped to eventually find the time to conduct the necessary repairs. Being the anxious co-pilot that I am, all I could ponder for days was whether or not our dear Slug would be up and running in time for our annual trip to the Coachella Music Festival, a date that was steadily approaching. But also being the imaginative individual that I am, I reveled in the opportunity to both play around with the situation as well as exercise novel co-pilot duties as an assistant mechanic - my very first automotive repair experience.
The Patient - One really sick Slug.
The Diagnosis - A malfunctioning transmission.
The Treatment - An immediate transplant.
The Operation Crew - Team Slug, in collaboration with Paul and auto-anatomical expert, Andre.
Having gone with Matt a little over a week before departure to retrieve the "donor" transmission, we set off on a series of late-night, last-minute surgical procedures in the "ward" outside Matt's apartment, disassembling and exposing Slug's complex internal organ system in an array of metal pieces haphazardly strewn over its floor. Over the course of the next several days, I was thrown straight into a world I knew virtually nothing about, a world held together by nuts and bolts, driven by gears and grease, and powered by a complex circuitry of wires and tubes. Even in spite of my naivete, Matt took me under his wing, pulling me under the massive vehicle to teach me about the fascinating network of parts and the multitude of functions they perform, playing right along into my fantasy of a head physician training a newly-accepted med student. The only visions I'd ever had of home car repairs had always been taken from films and television, archetypically depicting father-son or best friend duos working late into the evening on some special automotive project that ultimately serves to give further support to an already entrenched bond between the two. As Matt tinkered beneath the engine with me waiting above to hand him wrenches, I witnessed how truly special the moment was in the grander context of my life. Through his generosity and willingness to include me, I realized that I was actually getting to do the types of projects with him that I was never granted during my unconventional childhood, activities that I had only dreamed about experiencing with a best friend who, until Matt entered my life, I had never known. Knowing the rarity and value of such a moment, I vowed to remain committed until Slug could run again, giving Matt whatever physical or moral support I could offer. And along with Andre and Paul, we worked to the fullest reassembling CV-axles, installing the transmission, and connecting the starter and battery back just in time for the departure deadline - which was in one day.
Matt put the key into the ignition. It was the final moment of truth, after days of labor and last-minute ordering of parts. Slug started as usual, but as Matt pressed in the clutch nothing could be felt, utter perplexity rapidly being written in the lines on his greasy brow. Then Slug stalled.
Shit. Matt and Andre sat motionless on the sidewalk, desperately trying to troubleshoot how the vanagon could fail to work despite having installed new parts. Andre frankly said the words we all were dreading.
We'll have to drop the tranny again and look inside. Something's not right. It was 1 in the morning. We were scheduled to drive Slug, packed with friends and gear, straight off to Coachella in less than 24 hours. I felt a bit disheartened with Slug's "rejection" of the donor transmission, but was foremost concerned for Matt as he faced considerable stress from the ordeal. But of the many attributes Matt possesses, none could be more admirable than his sheer tenacity, as he rolled right back under the car and sped off to disassemble everything all over again. It was ultimately discovered that the transmission was lacking a single piece and, over the course of that day, Matt managed to obtain the part and return home to begin work in one last-ditch effort to get Slug rolling again. It was messy. It was tiring. But in the end, it was absolutely awesome. By 7pm, Slug was taking a wild test spin around the parking lot, honking in joy at finally recovering from a month-long decommissioning illness. There was virtually no time to celebrate, though, as Corey and I flung camping gear into the back while Matt frantically showered off a week's worth of oil stains. The night certainly wasn't over yet, but we were all so unbelievably thrilled to know that Slug was finally Coachella-bound!
 |
| Co-Pilot Sharja as the fledgling "grease monkey" |
 |
| Matt and Paul installing the thousand-dollar "tranny" |
 |
| The Official Slug Repair & Recovery Crew |
 |
| Team Slug on the day Slug was all healthy again |
On the topic of Coachella, Slug not only possessed a taste for adventure and excursion, but was also a connoisseur of truly fine music. Well versed in an eclectic assortment of genres, every Slug-trip was defined by a particular melodic style that set the base rhythm for a bouncing ride. Slug grew up on a diet primarily of indie-folk and American country, but received frequent supplements of world music that leaned heavily towards Malian blues, Tuareg rock, and miscellaneous grooves of a North African nature. At least whenever I was present, Slug had a particular affinity for the Tuareg group,
Tinariwen, whose earthy vocals, twangy guitar riffs, and pulsating bass djembe, set the archetypal "road-trip" vibe for cruising through both California's southern deserts and northern grasslands. Jamming and singing along to blaring tunes at random hours of the night were fundamental aspects of trip protocol for Team Slug. Many trips were in fact taken for the sole purpose of attending a concert or live performance, with the music choice for the ride to and from the venue consisting naturally of songs pertaining to artists we'd see. A selection of the amazing musical acts that Slug helped deliver Co-Pilot Sharja to includes:
- Coachella 2013 and 2014 in Indio, California - Sharja's very first American music concert/festival
- Amadou & Mariam at The Fonda, Los Angeles - The most amazing Malian blues duo to ever live
- The White Buffalo at OC Great Park, Irvine - Rocking out with Sustainable Sally for her birthday
- Terakaft at Bootleg Theater, Los Angeles - Desert grooving with real Tuareg nomads
- El Haru Kuroi at Eastside Luv Wine Bar, Los Angeles - Latin rhythms with Tom after the Terakaft show
- Mighty Oaks at The Bardot, Los Angeles - Indie-folk that touched our hearts and melded our souls
 |
| Slug at Coachella Music Festival 2013 |
 |
| Many fellow volunteers at Coachella fell in love with our sweet camp setup |
 |
| Team Slug at Coachella Music Festival 2014 |
 |
| Celebrating Sustainable Sally's birthday at the OC Great Park |
Over the years and with loving devotion from its Captain, Slug gradually
began to assume all of the elements of a real home, an evolution I've been fortunate to observe and partially contribute towards. Matt found a
perfectly fitted couch for its interior, installed laminate flooring by hand,
and even let me help him tie-dye multicolored curtains for the windows. The overhead
space stored blankets and pillows while the "closet" and bench trunk kept a variety of
household items and tools. Pictures, postcards, and magnets playfully decorated its metal
ceiling, from which also hung a solar-powered camping "chandelier" that would sway with every turn. It has hauled bikes, surfboards, projection screens, and even a baby crib. Even despite its dusty facade, as Slug was not fond of baths, one of my roles as Co-Pilot was to ensure that this rolling abode at least maintained relatively clean windows. Undeniably, Slug became the unanimous vehicle of choice for all large scale jaunts, accommodating a variety of passengers from all walks of life. On the occasion of Priel's birthday in Little India, Slug was successfully able to accommodate and transport as many as ten full-grown passengers. But for me, the most memorable rides were the simplest trips transporting just me and the Captain, whether it be to and from our families for the holidays or merely around town. I will never forget the engaging conversations Matt and I would share on the long haul north for winter break, talking about an astounding array of topics from our mutual love for biking and time-lapse photography to our similar philosophical beliefs despite considerably different childhoods. So many personal tales were told and sentiments expressed while up late at night in the control deck, making Slug a meaningful mediator for exchange in addition to a meandering medium of transport.
 |
| Slug's max capacity: 10 full-size grad students |
 |
| Tie-dying fabric for Slug's curtains |
 |
| Road-trip down to Southern California 2012 |
 |
| Road-trip up to Northern California 2013 |
 |
| Team Slug on its way back from a full moon drum circle on the beach |
The most recent Slug-trip was a truly special and epic weekend, a nostalgic return to Mexico undertaken solely by Captain Matt and myself. Everything about this particular trip helped to revive golden memories of Team Slug's past experiences south of the border, as well as generate entirely new ones as a result of Matt's creative and spontaneous attitude. The trip down was exceptionally festive than usual, as innumerable flower and balloon stalls lined the streets of Tijuana and Rosarito on the occasion of Mexican Mother's Day. Following a large breakfast of huevos and menudo coupled with a nearly two-hour long nap on the open beach, Matt handed me a wetsuit and told me he was going to show me how to ride some waves. Anyone could testify that, apart from the warm waters of the Aegean or the calm lagoons of Equatorial regions, the frigid and tumultuous waves of the northern Pacific have never exactly been my cup of tea. But Matt was determined to change that for me by teaching me how to boogie board and, as with everything he's guided me through over the years, I was excited to tackle his newest challenge. Squeezing into a tight, black wetsuit for the very first time, I grabbed the board and followed him into the chilly sea. Bombarded by a relatively rough current, I initially tumbled around in Mother Nature's washing machine before finally growing accustomed to correctly timing and catching the right waves. Matt indeed showed me how to ride them, as I glided effortlessly across the water and shot straight towards the shore in one of the most rapid and thrilling activities I've ever engaged in. But the novelty did not end at the beach that day. Much to Matt's absolute delight, we stopped by a store and purchased a handful of flying firecrackers and a couple of colorful fireworks, all illegal by US standards. Matt was determined to bring them back for his family's annual Fourth of July festivities, and the two of us excitedly contemplated the various cavities within Slug that would best conceal our recently acquired contraband. I had never played with fireworks before, and Matt was generous enough to light some for our enjoyment that evening upon arriving at Slug's personal cliff-side campsite near the tiny village of La Bufadora. Stuffed with a full day's worth of fish tacos and tamales, we popped Slug's top and pulled out its couch to watch the sun set within a small gap between the clouds and the sea. Drumming beside a small fire with freshly brewed barley tea, Team Slug was eventually lulled to an early sleep by the sound of soothing waves, occasionally awoken by the buzz of a mosquito trapped within the ear.
The second day of our adventure was just as sensational, with Matt and I whirling around narrow winding cliffs, laughing hysterically while flailing our hands and bellowing out to the reverberation of our favorite Vanagon anthems. Watching him passionately sing behind the wheel made me smile as I reminisced about all of our past times on the road when I had the privilege of siting beside him at Slug's control deck, equally engaging in such gleefully goofy shenanigans. After exploring abandoned mansions along the exquisite and empty beaches of Lengueta Arenosa, we dived right back into our favorite Sunday morning flea market at the Hwys 1-23 junction, where we chatted with a local retailer of stolen American bicycles, watched a live infomercial on keeping a healthy diet (that somehow involved a pair of iguanas), and snacked on fresh mango and delectable tacos of juicy pork skin. Rushing back to Ensenada, our mouths dripping with the sweet red juice of a roadside pitaya, Matt treated me to a wonderfully fascinating aspect of his family upbringing. While many tourists come to Baja primarily for free-flowing booze, cheap souvenirs, and a wild party scene, I on the other hand found a solemn Sunday mass with Matt at the city's main Catholic church to be an absolute treat. Watching, learning, and even sharing in my friend's religious customs, alongside an entire Mexican congregation, was spiritually satisfying on a significant level for me and I'm grateful for Matt's welcoming invitation to let me join him in his tradition. Of course, getting sprinkled in the face with holy water upon exiting the chapel still playfully confirmed for me that nothing can ever really be taken too seriously by him.
To further add to the nostalgia of past Mexico trips, Team Slug once again found itself answering to the call of yet another distressed damsel. Gennie, a friend from the university that we serendipitously ran into on the street, had likewise spent the sunny weekend in Ensenada with her friends. However, the complicated details of her transit arrangement to and from the border would have force her into taking five different forms of transportation in an effort to get home. Having been left by her friends and stranded at a hostel in the tiny coastal village of La Fonda, Team Slug ultimately came to her rescue as we made our way back towards the US. Naturally, the return journey was delayed for a leisurely afternoon of boogie-boarding in some awesome waves, kite-flying along an empty beach, and pizza-eating in the back of Slug. Yet, the three of us eventually reached the Tecate border and passed through in one of the swiftest crossings we've ever encountered, still sparing enough time for a last-chance snack of hot churros to end such a fun-filled day. And for those of you sitting on the edges of your seats - the fireworks were successfully smuggled through!
Our special Team Slug adventure to Mexico was the ideal and most appropriate conclusion to nearly two years worth of exploring the open road together. As we relived past memories and simultaneously wrote new ones throughout the course of the journey, something deep within me knew that bonding with my best friend had ultimately reached its glorious apex on this particular road-trip. Matt gave me more than I could ask for in terms of a trip that was as enriching as it was enlivening, as sacred as it was sentimental. I felt so honored, fortunate, and even downright spoiled to have had both Captain and Slug all to myself for the entire weekend, a weekend in all its memorable perfection that will never be forgotten . And while that weekend will likely be the last Team Slug road-trip for some time, I pray with all my heart that it won't be the last of my lifetime.
 |
| Learning how to boogie-board for the first time with Matt at Playa Rosarito |
 |
| When Matt took a sharp turn and the camera started to slide off the dash |
 |
| Slug conquered a massive hill outside of La Bufadora |
 |
| The view from Slug's personal cliff-side outpost |
 |
| Just Captain, Co-Pilot, and Slug during a relaxing seaside evening |
 |
| Fresh pizza in the back of Slug, courtesy of Gennie whom we rescued |
 |
| Adventures south of the border - some of the happiest moments of my life |
The Orange Slug has seen many adventures long before I entered the picture and will likely witness many more after Matt drives onward with the rest of his life. But even in my absence, I can only hope for one thing. I implore that Matt will never retire The Orange Slug, not merely because of its ideal suitability for life-altering journeys or even the sensational culture and energy it emanates, but because of what Slug actually represents to me - the physical vehicle that drove me and my best friend... and the veritable force that drove us closer together.
UPDATE: In spite of being away from Captain Matt for nearly a year, the adventures don't fade quickly with Team Slug. In April of 2015, he invited me down for a reunion road trip, this time exploring the "hippie trail" from Salton Sea to Slab City. You can read about that amazing journey
HERE!
