My wife and I, plucky adventurers that we are, decided on a four-day trip into Mexico on a shoestring budget. While not everything turned out as we had hoped the trip was mostly enjoyable and always memorable.
Stepping out of our bug bespattered Festiva we were more than willing to call it a night. Having driven down from Albuquerque, New Mexico, we arranged to have our car left at a motel parking lot in Douglas, Arizona. The next morning we walked over to the Mexican bordertown of Agua Prieta, which means "dark water" (best not think about it). We walked about a dozen blocks through Douglas and about as many in Prieta before we came to our bus terminal. A half an hour and three enchiladas later we were on our way!
Perhaps I should have listed Nortena music first in the title; it was the first thing we heard as our driver pulled out in a cloud of dust from the station. Out of consideration for those in the back of the bus, he made sure it was loud enough for all. The bus itself was comfortable: air-conditioning, cushiony seats and a very forgiving suspension.
After leaving the town, we were on a road that roughly paralleled the border. A half an hour into the trip we learned that "express" means different things to different people (and bus companies). We had naively assumed that this would be a more-or-less straight shot to our destination of Hermosillo. Instead we detoured for the very first small village along the way, Naco. A dog on the front step wagged its tail as we pulled up to a small stone structure that was the bus terminal for this town.
Cananea, several miles down the road was much more substantial. From a distance you could see the town, situated in front of a large hill and a much larger mountain. Before the town was even visible you could surmise where the wealth of this place came from seeing that hill: it was almost entirely deforested. Evidently strip-mining played (or plays) an important part in the lives of the Cananeans.
There were a couple weathered-faced sellers of chicharones and limes standing against the weathered wall of the bus station. As we backtracked down the hill I was struck by the pleasant but modest decor of some of the houses. We soon took a left outside of town and eventually started climbing up the mountain I mentioned earlier.
Gradually the Chihuahuan desert grasslands gave way to scrub oak and pine. We noticed that the driver didn't seem to slow down for the curves at all.
Next:Imuris, Benjamin Hill and the Nogales Highway to Hermosillo.
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"Maybe he wants to lighten the load by flinging some of the passengers out the window," I joked to my wife.
But she was covering her eyes, "I can't believe the way he passed that truck on a curve like this. Tell me when its over."
A little wide-eyed boy sitting in front of us quietly crossed himself. 
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