It was curious to me that I had never known of the mountain tunnel outside of the city of San Miguel. Then again, I'd often felt this energetic pull that kept me from venturing far from the city--though much of that energy had been devoted to scrambling for a living.
Using my intuition and a faint remembrance of online directions, I managed to locate the tunnel. Along the way we passed the presa and I noticed a landscape that had simply evaded my attention all those years of living in the heart of the city. Water bottles jiggled inside the car and I munched on my Tortitlan milenesa sandwhich as I observed a strange site. Were those oriental structures sitting on the side of the mountain? Apparently some religious group had built meditation huts that appeared to have wandered from the Tibetan landscape. To our right a small group of men were pulling boulders and stones out of the mostly dry Rio Laja, and I wondered what that was about, considering the constant construction in San Miguel.
"Look! Here is the landmark!" I called out to my companion, just as I was thinking we'd gone too far. Amazingly, the owner of the House of Angels pulled up at the same moment.
"It's pretty rough on the way up," he told us, looking critically at my Ford Focus. "I have four-wheel drive--do you want to just come with us?"
Later, when Sierra and I were climbing down the mountainside, I realized how serendipitous our encounter was. Had I ventured up on my own, most probably I would have wrecked my suspension.
Some things are just meant to be.
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