The crossroads on Mexican Highway 15 sit worn out and creased at a wide spot on the road just like a folded crease on a map. Los Mochis and Topolobampo Bay are to the west, Culiacan and Mazatlan to the south, and Ciudad Obregon and Guaymas to the north. I have no idea what is to the east except for dry, inhospitable mountains peopled with rumored robbers and worse.

We were riding north with an American family in their Volkswagen bus along with jars of colorful tropical tarantulas on the seat next to us. I very carefully checked the lids. There may also have been iguanas. I don’t like spiders, especially large spiders – large, brightly colored spiders, but I don’t mind lizards, even if they are large.

They were driving to Topolobampo Bay or Los Mochis. They dropped us off at the watermelon stand thinking that we could or would continue hitchhiking north. Maybe they thought they had seen the last of us.

On the upside/south side of the arroyo at this intersection there was a watermelon stand with hundreds of watermelons stacked under a canopy. We had been hitchhiking for weeks, were nearly out of money, which is just about what we started with, and were hungry and thirsty.  Watermelon heaven.  And about 900 miles between us and a borrowable five dollar bill.

The watermelons were selling for about a peso or so, or 8 American cents in 1964. Although we were short of cash, we found enough money for watermelon, in a very plural way. We only had a thousand miles to go. We got one each, broke them open and dived in—no forks, no knives, no paper plates, no napkins, no cleansing water–fingers and beards and stained t-shirts and watermelon juice and a bright yellow sun. And flies. We were young. Hordes of flies were not a problem—caveat musca is the way we looked at the swarming situation—we laid waste to watermelon after watermelon until we fell asleep by the road, satisfied and covered with dust, dried watermelon juice and the insatiable flies.

They were the best watermelons I have ever eaten—and a sure sign that heaven sometimes touches the earth without scorching everything below—as hot as that day was, the heat was forgivable, the watermelon divine.