San Carlos It was the weekend of the 4th. 18 days straight of +105 temperatures, 100 days without rain, and the pall of smoke from the largest forest fire in Arizona's history. Rumors of another terrorist attack and the probable excesses of this first Independence Day since 9-1-1. There was only one thing to do: ROAD TRIPPP!!!!!!

Tetas de Cabra, San Carlos, Sonora, Mexico.

A measure of how far much I've adapted after a year in the desert: it's 105 degrees, and I'm heading six hours straight SOUTH!

Oaxaca Street, Hermosillo.

With so many crossings already behind us, we breeze through the border and reach Hermosillo just after dark. For once we don't get hopelessly lost and have time to discover that Hermosillo is an elegant colonial town with many charming old neighborhoods.

The next morning, a bank of pink-and-blue cumulus clouds caught on a ridge of sawtooth mountains tells us we're close to San Carlos. Is it also announcing the arrival of the monsoon?

We dodge barbed wire, snakes and fire ants to take pictures of the cardon cactus. Big furry tennis-ball-size buds pop open to reveal fruit so brilliant-red we mistook them for blossoms. A man we passed nearly an hour earlier, walking to his job at the hotel, hails us from the highway. "Do you like the desert," he says cheerfully. "Es muy bonito!"

San Carlos twists around the bases of a half-dozen mountains, creating more than enough white sandy beach for everyone. At this time of year, most tourists are Mexican families, who, unlike our fellow countryman, can enjoy a day at the beach even when it's not accompanied by the relentless whine of ATVs and seadoos.

The Americans cluster in the fancy hotels on Peninsula del Caracol. "Do I look like that," I wonder, gawking at the billowing white ladies in their billowing white shirts, big floppy straw hats and sneakers.

At an internet cafe, the lovely almond-eyed waitress asks us where we're from, since we're different from the other tourists. We're all ears, as she explains that the difference is ... that we have better tans!

In Mexico, all colors go with all colors, so long as they're bright. This dazzling pallet of colors mirrors nature itself. Among the birds we spotted on this trip were the magnificent frigate bird, the blue-footed booby, the yellow-backed oriole, the crested caracara, and striped back tanager.

This might be my first real vacation in the usual sense of the word. It's the first trip I've taken where I wasn't covering vast distances by foot, bicycle, or public transportation, or doing battle with blistering heat, drought or extreme cold. Interesting concept!

On our way back to Tucson, we slip behind the Pemex station in Magdalena, down to the river outlined in lime green cottonwood trees. At the center of a leafy green plaza is the site of one of Father Kino's original missions.

The entire town had come out to enjoy the shade on a steamy Sunday afternoon: families sleeping on striped blankets, old men in stiff white straw cowboy hats, lovers strolling hand-in-hand. A mercado bursting with colorful blankets, embroidered blouses and huaraches. And under a simple domed shrine, the bones of Father Eusebio Kino himself, who from 1687 to 1711 founded 30-some pueblos and explored the Sonoran Desert from Cucurpe to the mouth of the Rio Colorado. He chose well.