Boarding the train at 8:00 am was no easy task.  After immersing ourselves in the local culture as per our agreement with the sociology professor we spent the good share of the night,  into the early morning either celebrating Dallas’s win or drowning the sorrows of the Denver fans, depending on which culture we immersed ourselves in.
   It’s true what they say about the “Rhythm of the rails”, we were both asleep in no time west bound for the Mexican border.   I woke first I had to re-orient myself as to where exactly I was and why I was on a train that was stopped at a station no one else was on the train.  Shaking Mike awake I quickly remembered that we were to get off in Laredo Texas, and from what I could this looked like somewhere in Texas. 
  We found a washroom and splashed some water on our faces, then we found a diner close by that had some strong coffee and greasy bacon and eggs breakfast.  Reality began to sink in as I sipped the hottest, strongest cup of coffee I had ever drank in my life, you could have filled cracks in your driveway with this stuff!  One minute we were in a thriving bustling party town surrounded by thousands of people to now………… literally in the desert in the middle of Gods only knows Texas, we actually confirmed that we were in fact in Laredo.
   Getting into Mexico was easy we just walked across the bridge, no gates, no check points, just come on in!  Re-entry into the United States, was a different story.   In what appeared to be the main street of this Mexican border town we became the typical American tourist.  There was a Drug store and Dentist on every block.  At least three young boys came up to us in broad day light and wanted to know if we needed any Marijuana.  We declined of course.  As we window shopped and rustled up enough courage to actually go inside a store or two. 
   Turning the corner my gaze was directed at a young woman sitting on a small chair pushed up against the wall of a storefront breast feeding her infant.  This was not a common sight in Council Bluffs, so as one could imagine I was temporarily paralyzed.  At some level I knew it wrong to stare………. but I could not divert my eyes.  Grabbing my arm Mike said let’s go.   As Mike was dragging me down the street I kept looking over my shoulder, only to encounter the same scenario at the next corner!
   In the entire three hours we spent traipsing up and down the dirty but yet vibrant border town the only item we bought was a bottle of tequila.  Now we were of legal age to buy alcohol back in the good old U S of A, but you needed to be twenty one to bring it into the country.   Mike took the bottle and placed in a very private area and said don’t worry they won’t frisk me. 
   The customs agent that interviewed us was very nice but very professional, and he asked us questions that I am sure he had memorized long ago from repeating the same lines hundreds of times each month.  One of the questions had to do with, weather we had any illegal drugs on our person.  How many people answer YES to this question?  Well we must have answered the entire question correctly because we were told to go the next check point.  That’s when we noticed that some of the people were being patted down just before they went through the door.
   I must have looked more sinister than Mike because the officers chose to pat me down but let Mike pass right through.  Now the task before us was to get back to Laredo to catch the next train out of there.  Once again better pre planning would have behooved us, but it would not have been near as much fun.  On the map……… remember this was before Smart Phones and Google Maps…….. On our gas station pre folded map of the southwest, seven miles did not look that far.  So with no bus service scheduled for the next two hours we decided to hitch hike.
    The scene I am about to describe is right out of every hitch hiking movie ever made but I swear it is 100% true.   In less than five minutes there was this older flatbed truck pulling over, a long sleeved out stretched arm waving.    We ran up to the passenger side of the cab but could tell right away we were not going to be sitting in the cab.  It was filled with toolboxes, crates of parts, and other assorted stuff.  We soon determined that we were dealing with a language barrier as well; he motioned for us to hop in the back.  We gladly accepted the ride and climbed onto the flatbed truck, taking seats against the cab sandwiched in-between crates of chickens.
   Feeling pretty good about our adventure that day, sitting amongst the chickens’….. with feathers lazily floating past our faces, we decided to toast, with a shot of our tequila.   Now admittedly I was not nor will I ever be a connoisseur of tequila, but drinking something that smelled like Kerosene is more than likely not very good for you.  Bumping along the partially paved road at a top speed of thirty miles an hour, judging by the rate of speed everyone else passed us.  Every time a car or truck would whizz by us, a blizzard of chicken feathers swirled around us.
   We decided to share our ill-gotten booty with our tour guide.  While still tearing down the highway at thirty mph Mike leaned around the window while I grabbed him by his belt.  Mike handed the bottle to the driver, little did we know at that time that we would never to see it again; a small price to pay for a seven mile ride.  Gently pulling up in front of the train station we jumped from the flat bed and thanked our slightly under the influence new friend.  He waived emphatically and drove off in a cloud of blue smoke and chicken feathers.
   In keeping with tradition, and flying by the seat of our pants, we decided where we going to go next, as we stood in front of the arrival and departure board, looking  for the next train out of here.  Grand Canyon here we come.