The Adventure Begins With a Bang

Post date: May 21, 2010 2:10:57 PM

This is one of those times when you begin with “Where shall I begin?” Such beginnings forecast a long, slow moving front with lots of storms and, since the storyteller lives to tell it, it must end well.

Things could have been much, much worse, I realized, and it is 24 hour periods like I’ve just experienced that remind me of not only that, but also the fact that when tragedy strikes, courses of action become so ridiculously simplified. When so much control has been taken away, what one does have control over becomes quite clear.

Let’s start again by saying I’m pleased by my decision to make this trip a reality. Unfortunately, time limits what I can relay. Some stories may remain my secret until my grave.

After clearing 200 miles from Brownsville, I decided to finally settle in a stand of brush and trees behind an abandoned construction site adjacent to some apparently utilized establishment (I saw a truck there, and a light. I pulled my “moto” (motorcycle) under a raspy, rusted wire blocking the entrance and found a suitable path to drive through the brush. It was bumpy, and I was moving cautiously. The sun had just set, but there was light. In a small rivet of earth, I needed to accelerate to push past it. This is when my nightmare came true (again)… I lost all electricity in the bike.

At first there’s panic, which produces an enormous amount of sweat and heavy breathing. Then, adrenaline pushes action, so I wheeled it further into the brush so as to become out of sight to anyone who actually pulled into the construction site at night (ie. police, drug traffickers, etc.) I immIdiately thought it was the fuse again. Checked it, but it was fine, and this brought a whole new level of panic. Mosquitoes swarmed me. Never, ever have I witnessed such starved mosquitoes, and that is when I remembered I had forgotten to start the malaria pills. I spray on my lemon-eucalyptus bug spray, and it worked, but I doused myself with 1/6 of the bottle to achieve that. That did not deter the swarms of gnats, however. So, I’m soaked in sweat, beating off flies, and trying all combinations of switches. Nothing. Zero power. Not for the headlight even. The main power was down, and it was a problem I had not yet encountered. What am I going to do? I speak little Spanish, and understand about 1% of what is spoken. Why can’t Mexicans all speak like they do on my Spanish lesson cds? Plus, I’m miles past Ciudad Mante. I needed a plan.

Light vanished. I set camp. I crawl into the tent sweaty. Birds and unknown creatures continue to screech and buzz. Then comes that moment of silent, still reflection. I am alone. I chose to do this trip. This is what I knew might happen. I remind myself of what I said: “As long as I stay alive, healthy, and free, this trip will be a success.” I laughed a very sincere laugh. My blood was pumping, so I pulled up the service manual on my netbook. Why, oh why did I never take a course on electronics? It should be mandatory in high school, along with a menu of other courses I need not discuss here. As I’m pouring through the pages of the manual, which is not as easy as with real paper, I eventually decide that the battery must be fine, because it was running just before the power quit. A bad battery would slowly deteriorate, right? I thought maybe I’d instructed too much voltage, but all the fuses were intact, and the manual showed me no fuses I did not already know of. “Ignitor coil? Ignition switch? Crankshaft sensor?” My mind roiled. I decided to set it down for the night. In the morning I would wiggle some wires, inspect the wires and connections, and further troubleshoot. It was too hot to cover up, so I laid down on my inflatable Thermarest mat and read some from the survival book I bought in Brownsville. I finished the intro, and faded off to sleep.

I awoke before dawn, ate tuna wrapped in tortillas, cleared camp, and rolled the gear to the road so as to be visible in case a good Samaritan mechanic stopped by. Hopefully no police. Too many bad stories there. I tore off the gas tank, inspected every wire, every connection, and was contemplating removing the ignition switch when I realized I was over my head. Time for some espanol (Spanish), I guess. The lady across the street probably helped me, but I could not understand her. Why don’t they just answer Yes or No to my yes/no styled questions? I trekked half a mile to the Pemex gas station to use a phone or phone book or anything. I needed an electrician, internet, or a phone. They did nothing for me. Luckily it had been cloudy up to this point, so it was maybe just 80 degrees. Time to hike and try my thumb at hitchhiking for the first time in my life, in Mexico.

Half a mile, two dozen or more vehicles, and nothing. “I’ve hiked twelve miles in a day with a fifty pound pack. I can make Ciudad Mante!” I said to myself. I had enough water and mandarins to get me there. I can sleep wherever I lay down. I pull out a fifty peso bill (5 dollars) and wave it with my thumb hand. Nothing. Some guys just waved back at me. Another mile and I pull out a 200 peso (20 dollars). Shortly thereafter, my good Samaritan, by the name of Alejandro, arrived.

I could have written about the weather, the geography, or the various idiosyncrasies of Mexico, but this story is top on the list at this time.

Alejandro speaks English. He worked on a farm for thirteen years in North Carolina, though he was born and raised in the town south of Ciudad Mante, and he currently uses a backhoe for employment these days. What a friendly guy. He said the area was safe, although troubled, so it was patrolled by policeman and Army men he said could be trusted. He also said that it wasn’t the hot time of year yet. !? He was wearing a one piece blue laborer’s outfit and never broke a sweat. I was wearing daisy duke running shorts and a t, and just standing outside breaks the beads on me. San Diego spoiled me/weakened me. Will I ever acclimate to this heat? He declined my money and took me to a motorcycle shop, offering to translate for me once I asked. It was 11 am at this time. The old man was there in this beat up looking shop (by American standards), with three teenage boys assisting him. Words were exchanged, and we decided to go check out the bike where I left it, hidden behind a giant tank and trees at the construction site. Alejandro and I in his pickup, the others on their motos. The old man said he needed his tools. They kindly helped carry my stuff to the truck, and we worked together to heave the bike into the bed. I sat in the back to support the bike on the way back to the shop.

Alejandro hesitantly accepted my 20 dollar gift upon his departure. I wish him well. Turning to the mechanics, they quickly diagnosed at least one of the problems as a bad battery. In minutes they had alternate power to the bike, and I heard it run. Ever here great music? That’s what that bike sounded like. I subdued the excitement with rationalizations because I knew there must be more to the story unless my fidgeting with the wires and connections had resolved the gap in electrical current. But, overnight the gap must have remained open or something because the battery died. The “meistro” went to buy me a new battery.

I took this time to roam. A clear creek runs through Ciudad Mante, and it was conveniently located directly in front of the shop. Alejandro informed me that it was filtered (I saw the plant), so I cautiously dipped first my hands, then my face, into the water. I did not see others in the water, so I didn’t want to be the weird freak foreigner bathing in the community water supply in the middle of town. I eventually went all in. Ah! Revelations! Angel trumpets! Water! This renewed me. I felt confident in my mechanics. I then walked around the town a little bit, bought some beans, juice, and Ramen noodles at a corner shop. My pictures tell more. The “meistro” returned two hours later with a battery slightly larger, warning me the left pannier may not fit. I said, “If the bike works, I will be happy.” They installed it and, Voila! It ran. Time and again, and for minutes on end. I helped to install the panniers and seat after watching them rerun the wiring from my accessories. It was 2:30pm when I paid the $120 for the battery and Meistro’s assistance, then another $15 to the young mechanic who did most of the work. They were a pleasant, curious bunch. Some of their friends stopped by, I suspect, to watch the Americano in the too-short shorts (no one in town wore shorts, it seemed), as I loaded the bike. I had told them in rough Spanish that I was on my way to South America. I gave them my website address, and they seemed intrigued by that. I told them the photos I took with them would be on there. The young mechanic seemed proud, as well he should be.

I still don’t know how it could have been just the battery. Maybe my fidgeting did something. Maybe I just need an electrician’s course.

Grabbing another quick bath before I left town (I saw some kids on rafts below a dam just upstream… whew!), I whizzed out of there and clocked the mileage to be 9 miles I would have had to hike had Alejandro not picked me up. So many fortunes bestowed upon me today. Like I said, things could have been much, much uglier.

I now sit in my reward, my $25 room at Hotel Tropical in seedy Tamazunchale, treated by exquisite air conditioning and a comfortable bed. The shower cleaned me uncomfortably. The hot-cold knobs were useless; it was straight burning hot. Washed some stinky clothes in the sink, ate beans and tuna burritos on the rooftop, and sit prepared to make for Teotihuacan, the ancient Aztec capital, which sits just north of Mexico City. Here they call Mexico City “Mexico.” Are there towns in the U.S. so bold as to be called “America” or full-on “United States of America?” Of course, probably 50% of the Mexican population lives in Mexico City, so maybe they deserve that title. I’ll be the judge of that. They better not rob me.