Although this isn’t exactly where it all began, before I was dodging and/or killing some of the most deadly snakes in the Western Hemisphere, I decided to drive rather than fly to Costa Rica. I mark the beginning of this adventure in the epicenter ofthe Redneck Riviera: Panama City, Florida, where I purchaseda four-wheel-drive Nissan pickup truck. A coupleof days later I was pounding Coronas and shots of tequila in Boy’s Town, NuevoLaredo, Mexico, where I had misspent several spring breaks beforesettling down and getting serious about life. My ‘pesonality’ is so much better appreciated south of the border.

For any who are thinking about trying it, let mebe the first to tell you that driving fromFlorida to Costa Rica by yourself is not without its risks. I don’t want to start any arguments with womanly feminists, but that trip would be somewhere between highly and extremely dangerous for any…