During his final night in Xilitla, Walter awakened and couldn't go back to sleep. The full moon was so brightly streaming through his windows that it must have tricked his mind that morning had already come. He was also troubled about the Canadians for some reason. Any attempt to get back to sleep was met with futility. It was strangely silent in the night, so he wondered up to the rooftop to admire Xilitla in the still of the full moon light.
It finally dawned on Walter just exactly what was bothering him with regard to the Canadians. He'd been too hard on them and realized that maybe he was a little jealous of their journey. Not so much the chore of traveling by motorcycle and all the distractions of motor maintenance, toll fees, bad gas, and bad weather... but of how they were obviously so excited to be experiencing Mexico for the very first time.
Walter had criss-crossed Mexico several times by motorcycle, train, plane, bus and plenty on foot. He loved this country, but the Canadians's maiden voyage by motorcycle reminded him of how magnificently exciting that felt the first time he did it, and that he'd learned that it would never again feel like that for him. He could find that again in some other country perhaps, but it wouldn't be Mexico ever again. Once he isolated the cause of his general uneasiness, he consciously decided to make his petty jealousy very small, flicked it away into the night, and began to be happy for the Canadians and how they reminded him of how wonderful his own first trip had been.
Walter held his breath a few seconds to fully embrace the quiet solitude and then finally yawned. He could now return back to slumber with a quiet and happy mind. Perhaps he was imagine the Canadians taking those amazing curves down the mountains of Oaxaca to the coast, or perhaps seeing their first glimpse of the Pacific.
