We got near the border and Dave concluded that we were to detour. There were pylons across the highway on the right side of the road. Although there were no signs indicating a detour, Dave did not hesitate to take a detour. He said we had no choice but to take the road through the woods. I questioned the decision, stating that it did not seem very clear. Thus we continued on the unpaved road through the dense woods. On and on we drove! I declared: “I can’t imagine that this is a detour without signs to assure us that we are on the correct road.” After going a fairly long distance, Dave stopped the car and suggested that I get out and ask the guy near a big gravel truck if this was the road for the detour. The guy looked like he was from South America; he spoke little English. I tried to get some assurance from him that we were on the correct road for the detour. I seem to understand from him that we should go back.
It wasn’t far from this inquiry that we were compelled to turn around. We reached the dead end of the road with a barrier gate across it. Back we went, driving over a dusty gravelled road . Two dump trucks met us. Thankfully, we did not get a gravel stone thrown at our windshield.
Finally, we got back on the highway. I could see the Border complex of buildings in the distance.
The pylons on the right demanded that we swing to the left side of the road and go a short distance then get back on the right of the highway.
Dave was obviously shaken up by the detour experience. When we got to the Border buildings, directions were not clear as to which lane we were to enter.
The detour through the woods gave feelings of anxiety, fear and uncertainty.