Golf Cart

Diana found us an amazing rental house in Mexico. It’s one of those places with wall-less rooms overlooking the ocean, lots of amazing bric-a-brac, and just enough metal spikes along the walls to make you double check the locks before bed.

To acquire amazing views of the ocean, the house is situated atop an extremely steep hill. So steep, every morning we hear cars and trucks lose their grip on the rutted, loose cobbled road. We half expect to see a Bimbo truck land in our little outdoor tub over coffee.

On our first hike into town, we all said, “Buns of steel! We sure are gonna get a workout, huh gang?”

On our first hike back from town, Luca said, “Carry me!”

Luckily, there are lots of little golf cart rental places around. We went with the one recommended by our rental manager because he knew the telephone number. They delivered the cart and showed me how to siphon electricity from a nearby telephone pole. They also demonstrated how to put a little rock under the back tire to prevent the cart from rolling into the ravine.

“Wait! How do you drive this? Any tips?” I asked as they happy sauntered away.

“Go slow!” they said with a wave.

I decided to try a test run before taking the whole family down Road De Los Muertos. I took Elijah with me because he was almost eleven and had a good life.

We executed a jerky, panicky 27 point turn in our driveway and crept down the hill. The nobby wheels held wonderfully and we only slipped a billion times. Our napping neighbors were awakened by Eli’s screams of, “We are going to die!” And, “This is the best day of my life!”

It’s funny how tequila makes you a great golf cart driver. By the end of the first day, I was flying up and down our hill. I’ve even secretly taken the boys on little morning excursions where I work the pedals and they steer. Diana is not a fan of these trips.

When we get back to the states, I plan on trading in my Prius for a far better Mexican model.