I have always depended on the kindness of strangers… or their cousins

I generally don’t talk about my personal life on this forum, but – for those who were wondering – I did manage to make it to Mazatlán… thanks to the kindness of strangers… and their primos… and suegros and cuñados.. and…

I was a bit leery about taking my (rapidly) aging Volvo to Mexico, for the most part because it’s so damn hard to find parts.  Even through it was only a 500 dollar car, repairing the steering ran me almost double that.  Still, we’re not talking about a high-dollar vehicle.  I insured it for just liability in Mexico ($126 for the year) and stuffed that sucker full.  

There has been a quirk that no one, not even Bam Automotive of Alpine Texas’ mechanics (who use the “real parts”, but otherwise are the equal of any Mexican shadetree mechanic), was ever able to find.  With no warning the car would lose compression and the engine would just die.  

The only times this had happened before was around the Marfa Lights, which – say what you will – is too weird to be coincidence.  We all believed it was just an old microchip, somewhere in the engine, not worth fixing, since it only happened now and again.  

Now and again was every couple of kilometers once I got to the autocuata in Ojinaga.  Damn!  My “copiloto” was starting to freak, especially once he figured out that his cell phone might – or might not – work in a foreign country.  I still haven’t figured out who he expected to call.  That’s not how things are done in Mexico… not even within a few kilometers of Ojinaga.

Really, if gringos are going to move here, they need to learn patience – right this damn minute! – if they’re going to survive.  That, and getting into “familia.net”.  It’s hard to get across, even to foreigners who have been in Mexico that one doesn’t wait as long as we think; that you won’t be kidnapped, tied up and held for ransom by whomever does eventually stop; and… whomever it is that does stop has cousins, and brothers, and in-laws and a granny and… all of whom are part of the roadside assistance program.  That is, if they weren’t in the bed of whatever pickup truck stopped in the first place (“usos y costumbres” in Texas require you have a dog riding in the bed of the truck.  In Mexico, it’s a passle of primos). 

So… the guy down from Odessa (another factoid of use for paranoid gringos… nearly everyone in northern Mexico, and throughout the Republic, has family ties to the U.S.).  So… co-pilot (worried about leaving his camera equipment carted it along) and I rode back into Ojiaga with la familia (whose name I never did learn) so that brother-in-law Chito could get his old truck (a 20 year old Toyota with no ignition switch) to go back for el Volvo.  Which required a chain, which we borrowed from primo José – then towed the car to primo Martín – un mechanico.  Being Easter Sunday, Martín couldn’t get the junk parts off a Ford he needed… so back in the truka for a visit to another primo José, who manages a little downtown motel.  

In the morning, Chito showed up – at the time agreed (another fine Mexican myth shot to hell!) to take us back to Martín’s casa – where the Volvo engine was being pulled out and oil leaks checked on the front lawn.  But not before a stop to visit Mamí… and abuela… and a dozen or so cousins, in-laws, brothers, sisters, etc. from west Texas and northern Chihuahua.  And get a free breakfast that mamí insisted we eat first.  Which we did.  I am gracious enough to accept a free meal.  

On to Martín’s, where the Volvo appeared to be holding oil pressure, and running fine.  The problem seemed to be some worn out “O” rings, which – not having Volvos available – were replaced with those off…. damned if I know!

And on to Lerdo.  Where the car died…. bizarrely … about 5 meters from Rolly Brook’s front door!  This time, I was in the capable hands of la familia Valderrema, Rolly’s adopted clan.  Between and among them (they have their own street, it seems), Actually, the car didn’t stop by Rolly’s house, but at Valderrama Central – Doña Martha’s house.  The whole car seemed to be shaking apart (and shaking up the copilot – who still has some trouble figuring out “no se preocupe”), so after a few of Doña Martha’s justly famous chiles rellenos, there was a…. uh…. challenge … to be resolved. 

I really wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of driving that car through the “Devil’s backbone” between Durango and the coast anyway.  And it was only a $500 car to begin with.  So… I’ll have to go back to Lerdo to get my stuff at some point, but it made more sense to leave the driving to Omibuses de Mexico by now… and someone in the extended Valderrema family has a beater Volvo to drive around Lerdo.  Which – if it keeps dying out – isn’t a problem.  They can call a cousin to give them a ride.  

(Yeah, for you anal retentive types, selling a used car is technically illegal for foreigners.  Did I say I sold it, and it’s only a problem if I import another car.  And I’ve got at least six months to find the primo of the cuñado of the compadre of the guy at customs who can resolve whatever minor legal issues there might be).