I chose a border crossing that looked inconspicuous on the folding paper map I had. It was at the end of a long straight single-lane highway that ran for several miles (ten at least, as I recall from memory) from the nearest small town on the American side. At the crossing itself, there was a small town, more like a village really, on the Mexican side, and just the border crossing facilities (no town) on the U.S. side. I crossed with no problem and drove to a small convenience store/gas station in the Mexican town. I figured I'd need some Mexican currency and it'd be easiest to exchange the cash I had near the boarder where they'd hopefully be used to exchanging pesos for dollars.
The store was sparsely stocked, and most of the items it sold seemed to be locally produced, things like pork rinds in unlabeled clear plastic bags, sealed with staples. I selected a commercially labeled bag of chips and soda in a bottle, then got in line to check out.
There were several others, all Mexicans, in the store and in line (as I recall it was essentially the only store in town). After waiting my turn I placed the items I had selected on the register counter and handed the cashier a twenty-dollar bill. But he waived it off, saying something in Spanish that I did not understand. A man behind me in line who spoke English told me that the cashier could not make change for the twenty. I told him it was all I had. Then the man behind me said something to the cashier in Spanish that prompted the cashier to quickly accept the bill, and then literally empty all of the Mexican cash (bill only) from the register and give it to me. It seemed everyone was satisfied, though I realized I was probably getting short changed (I only got about eight U.S. dollars worth of pesos back), but I didn't mind.
I then got back in my car (actually, it was the Chrysler New Yorker I had swapped my Buick Skylark for in Seattle with a lady-friend before I absconded from parole) and headed South into the desert on the only road out of town (not going back to the U.S.). I did not get very far before I came across a police checkpoint, or inspection station of some sort, with signs both in English and Spanish that indicated I was required to pull over. So I did.
The uninformed police inside a small building at the station informed me that before I could continue past the "ten-mile border zone", I was required to have my car bonded. They explained that this was necessary in order to prevent car thieves from taking cars stolen from the States into Mexico to be sold. Then they directed me back to the border town where I had come from where I could get my car bonded (they could not do so themselves, their job was only to make sure cars entering Mexico were properly bonded and/or registered).
So I drove back to the border town and quickly found the bonding office, which was one of only a few business buildings there. They looked up the year, make, and model of the car I was driving in a book and told me the bond would be about $1000, as I recall (or some similar amount that I could not afford).
I was thus forced to either abandon the car at the border and take a bus into Mexico, or return to the U.S. I chose the latter, even though I knew it would be more risky trying to re-enter the U.S. than it was leaving.
I had no problem getting back into the States though. The border officer at the crossing just asked what my business was in Mexico, and then waved me through after I told him I was turned around for failing to bond my car at the border zone (which probably happens a lot).
I then drove North on the single-lane highway that headed back toward the interstate, but decided to stop for the night at a state park campground along the highway in the middle of the desert. There were surprisingly (to me) several other campers already there, some families, and all in tents (as I recall it was a tent only campground, no campers). Because it was in the middle of a flat desert area, all the campsites were in plain view of each other. I drove around and picked out a site some distance away from the other campers and pitched my tent, then ate and relaxed until night came.
After dark I tried to sleep inside the tent, but was disturbed by howling coyotes much too close for comfort. So I broke camp in the dark, threw everything back in the trunk of the car, and drove back out to the highway and headed North again planning on finding a cheap motel in the first town I came to.
But, as soon as I got back on the deserted highway, I got pulled over by a border patrol. They asked what I was doing in the area (near the border) after dark, and I explained about the howling coyotes and deciding to look for a motel. After checking my license and registration (it had only been about a week at this point since I absconded, so there was still no warrant for me yet for the parole violation) and the contents of the trunk (looking quickly, I supposed for drugs and/or illegals) they sent me on my way.
I found a run down motel and spent the rest of the night there under my own name. Then the next day I found my way back to the interstate (I-10? I don't recall exactly) and then headed East. I stopped in Tucson and parked the car in a crowded bus station parking lot, packed some suitcases and bags with everything I though I'd need to survive on the streets for a while, and then called a taxi to pick me up in front of the station and asked the driver to take me to an inexpensive hotel or motel. My plan was to abandon the car at this point, making it look like I had perhaps caught a bus to somewhere else. I feared that someone might have already connected me to the Martinez murder, so ditching the car seemed wise.
But, the next day I was able to walk downtown and found the Tucson Public Library, where I checked the Internet (yes, they had the Internet in those days available at most large public libraries) for news about the murder and me. I found no news about me, and all the news about the murder indicated that they were looking for a local suspect. So it felt safe for me to retrieve the car and continue East, which I did.
On my way leaving Tucson, I picked up a hitchhiker who was lugging a green (army type) duffel bag with his thumb out on the Freeway entrance going East. I figured having someone else in the car with me would be less suspicious than driving alone, especially in a white sedan matching the description of the one used to kidnap that boy in Southern California. I was just trying to play it safe.
The hitchhiker turned out to be a moderately dimwitted man who had just been released that day from the jail in Tucson, and he was trying to get home, to Houston, Texas. So I told him I'd drive him all the way, and did so. Then he and a buddy of his tried to rob me in Houston, but that's another story.
[J.D. February 20, 2019]
