Three Jews and a Mexican: The End of the Road

The morning dawned heavy on a Jew and Mexican. Moldman had left the night before to go back home and prepare for his post-collegiate life. This left one Jew and one Mexican, locked in a struggle for survival the likes of which this world has never seen. Not with each other, of course – fights between a Jew and a Mexican tend to be one-sided affairs, with the victor largely depending on whether influence or sharp items are the weapons of choice.

No, our struggle was simply based on our state of being. Our bodies, pushed to the limit by four weeks of college living, had suffered the added burden of two weeks on the road. We’d come literally thousands of miles, from one coast clear to the other. We’d hiked through 110-plus degree weather, cheered a winning dog in a race in the deepest South, and stood three feet away from Gary Busey, events that might destroy lesser men but had only served to make us stronger.

We’d come from New Jersey to Las Vegas and now it was time to say farewell. Dustin was to drive to Los Angeles to make a new life for himself before being called back to Iowa to help stop HillDog’s inevitable victory. I was to remain in Vegas for another night and then meet my parents in San Diego, to spend a week driving up the Pacific Coast and into the northlands of San Francisco.

On the morning of Day 16, two friends stood to the side of the car that three Jews and a Mexican had called home for two weeks and said farewell. The Jew got back in his car and the Mexican walked into the Luxor hotel and that was that.

The road trip certainly gave us many memories, most of which we have recounted here, all of which we hope were, for the brief periods of time you spent reading these, entertaining. We still talk to each other about the road trip all the time, and it gives us an excuse to email each other at work or in school or wherever we may be about something we saw that reminded us of the trip – a GPS meltdown, a lady flashing her boobs, sketchy motels, Sanjay, you name it. “You have to specify the HBO,” “Touchy pants!” and “The kinky one in the green shirt” have all become inside jokes, which often leave those around us confused and frightened.


Perhaps someday we will have a sequel, and Three Jews and a Mexican will again hitch their covered wagon and travel north, or along the mid-western territories, or even through an alternate Southern route. Only time will tell. For now, however, we will content ourselves with making random calls to Sanjay and talking about those great two weeks touring America, while “Comfortably Numb” plays softly in the background.