I think it was Dennis who first came up with the answer of why there are so many speed bumps (called "topes") in Mexico. Imagine a sleepy Mexican village on Sunday afternoon. There is only a swirl of dust on the road and a few locals with endless boredom in their eyes sit on their porches. The dullness of the time has overwhelmed everyone. Suddenly, the eldest man stands up, looks around and says: "Hey guys, let us go and build some topes!!!" The eyes of the men lighten up and all of them stand up full of vigour. And then they go and build them. They build the rim benders, the shock rippers, the CV joint busters, the steering rod smashers, the one punch car benders and, the mother of all the topes - the total car crashers. As we were driving deeper and deeper into Mexico, the story seamed to be less and less comical each time the co-driver shouted "Slow down! Tope!" and later on just "Tope!" But, I guess I am getting a bit ahead.
We left Tucson the next day after our party with Greg and his teammates. Greg was nice enough to follow us all the way to the Mexican border. Or perhaps he was just worried? The day before I left my transmission in his garage and persuaded him to mail it to us in case of need. So, was he just making sure that we cross the border without leaving other parts of the car in his garage? (Just kidding Greg, just kidding).
We drove through surprisingly green Sonora desert and then turned towards the Copper Canyon (Barranca del Cobre). My life was easy. Dennis has been living in Baja (Mexico) for many years and so it was him who took care of all the stuff that had to be done in Spanish. As every race driver, Dennis was keen to drive a new car. Pretty soon I was sitting in the co-driver seat and enjoyed the view of the countryside.
Since we missed the Copper Canyon train we decided to drive all over the canyon with our Trabi. And if two stubborn men decide to drive "all over the canyon" then it is all over the canyon. The canyon is bigger than the Grand Canyon in the States and so we drove up and down and up and down and up and down. Oh, did I say that we drove up a lot of times and down a lot of times? The Trabi's two stroke engine was begging for mercy and so we sometimes stopped in the uphill, let it cool and enjoyed a bit of sightseeing. The small brakes were heating so fast that we also stopped during our descends and enjoyed the sightseeing once again. We drove and drove until we reached the end of the road in a little village of Batopilas. Located on the banks of Batopilas river at the bottom of one of the canyons, the village spreads mainly along one side of the river and it seems to bring to life El Publo Magico (magic town) of some long forgotten Latin American writer.
The next day we drove back, up the slope of the canyon, through the rest of the canyon into a jungle full of sweet smell of ripe mangoes and then through the acrid smell of rotting mangoes towards the Pacific ocean of Los Mochis, Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta. Although we did not see much of the ocean with its famous beaches, we sat in little restaurants and food stalls, talked with carefree locals and, of course, over and over opened the hood to show the engine to the many Trabi admirers. Yes, we knew that many tourists equate Mexico with its beaches, but we were more interested in less touristy areas and so we turned back to the inland aiming at the Teotihuacan pyramids.
As we stopped at Teotihuacan, its famous war god Tlaloc must have some gripes with our Trabi and struck its rear wheel bearing. But, in the past, Tlaloc was already weakened by the bloody genocide of Cortez. Thus it was easy to take out our spare bearings, fix the car at the local open air car shop and go to see Tlaloc, the Feathered Serpent God and the rest of the party at the pyramids of Sun and Moon. The 60 meters high pyramid of Sun might be one of the biggest structures in Central America, but the (necessary) extensive repairs with concrete and the guessing whether there were 4 or 5 levels made me to prefer the smaller, but perhaps more authentic, Moon pyramid.
As the car was once again ready to go, we drove west through the heavy rain of tropical storm south of Veracruz towards the fascinating jungle of Chiapas with it Mayan pyramids. After a few topes the countryside changed and we were in Palenque. The pyramids are such that all I can say is that if you ever have a chance to go there, do it. They are massive and seeing them amid the lush green jungle is almost overwhelming. And there is something else: some feeling of stillness of time, slight unease of unknown, perhaps a sense of foreboding, of long solitude...I do not really know how to describe it.
From there we drove and then took a boat to one of the most interesting Maya ruins in Yaxchilan. Nested in the middle of dense jungle on the river bank next to Guatemalan border, even the half hour boat trip on the silty river meandering through the jungle is quite an experience. But then you end up in a place almost swallowed by the jungle with its howling monkeys, birds and oddly shaped tree roots and it makes you think a bit about false permanence of civilization--any civilization. But, I guess, that was just me again, extrapolating from the specific to the general to the surfeit of the reader.
I think the Mayan war god's name is Voltan, but whatever his name is, he did not waste much time and struck our rear muffler immediately after the Yaxchilan. Actually, he tried to do so already in Palenque, but the local car shop fixed it pretty quickly. This time it was different. We came to a detour that took us through a deep muddy dip. As I saw the dip coming, I just shouted "stay on it" and Dennis complied. A few hundred meters later our heavily battered rear muffler gave up and dropped to the road. We picked it up, put it into the car and tied the open exhaust pipe to the floor with the only piece of thin binding wire we had. Sure, that lasted a long time...about 5 km. Then we stopped again and looked for anything else. Luckily, we stopped close to a small garbage pile. Only when your car breaks down and you have nothing to fix it with you might discover the full truth of "one man's trash is another man's treasure". We found an old dress belt and used it to attach the exhaust to the floor. It lasted until we stopped for the night and found the muffler shop. And I guess it would have lasted for ever.
That night came the time of the famous Montezuma revenge for me. Suffering from a perfectly timed diarrhea, I asked Dennis to drive. So the muffler got fixed in the shop without my presence, I do not really know how I made it through the heat at the border, but all the papers were done and Dennis drove me to Guatemala.
There is a well known mariachi song "Mexico Lindo" (Beutiful Mexico) and to me it applies not only to the country but to the people too. During our trip, there were just too many people that let us work at their shops, lent us their tools and tried to help. This, I would say, compares more than favourably with the treatment I received in the States. Yes, I have been hearing that you should "defer all non-essential travel to Mexico" and "the gun battles between rival criminal organizations or with Mexican authorities have taken place on streets and in public places during broad daylight". But one should drop the TV remote and go to see Mexico for oneself.
OK, we were supposed to get killed by the drug traffickers, murdered in carjacking or at least get kidnapped. It seems that we did not try hard enough; true, we did not drive during the night, did not flash expensive stuff; and, frankly, would you like to carjack Trabant? And so as we were crossing the border into Guatemala the only negative thing I could say about Mexico was: "Why the hell are you putting these stupid topes all over the country?"
We left Tucson the next day after our party with Greg and his teammates. Greg was nice enough to follow us all the way to the Mexican border. Or perhaps he was just worried? The day before I left my transmission in his garage and persuaded him to mail it to us in case of need. So, was he just making sure that we cross the border without leaving other parts of the car in his garage? (Just kidding Greg, just kidding).
We drove through surprisingly green Sonora desert and then turned towards the Copper Canyon (Barranca del Cobre). My life was easy. Dennis has been living in Baja (Mexico) for many years and so it was him who took care of all the stuff that had to be done in Spanish. As every race driver, Dennis was keen to drive a new car. Pretty soon I was sitting in the co-driver seat and enjoyed the view of the countryside.
Since we missed the Copper Canyon train we decided to drive all over the canyon with our Trabi. And if two stubborn men decide to drive "all over the canyon" then it is all over the canyon. The canyon is bigger than the Grand Canyon in the States and so we drove up and down and up and down and up and down. Oh, did I say that we drove up a lot of times and down a lot of times? The Trabi's two stroke engine was begging for mercy and so we sometimes stopped in the uphill, let it cool and enjoyed a bit of sightseeing. The small brakes were heating so fast that we also stopped during our descends and enjoyed the sightseeing once again. We drove and drove until we reached the end of the road in a little village of Batopilas. Located on the banks of Batopilas river at the bottom of one of the canyons, the village spreads mainly along one side of the river and it seems to bring to life El Publo Magico (magic town) of some long forgotten Latin American writer.
The next day we drove back, up the slope of the canyon, through the rest of the canyon into a jungle full of sweet smell of ripe mangoes and then through the acrid smell of rotting mangoes towards the Pacific ocean of Los Mochis, Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta. Although we did not see much of the ocean with its famous beaches, we sat in little restaurants and food stalls, talked with carefree locals and, of course, over and over opened the hood to show the engine to the many Trabi admirers. Yes, we knew that many tourists equate Mexico with its beaches, but we were more interested in less touristy areas and so we turned back to the inland aiming at the Teotihuacan pyramids.
As we stopped at Teotihuacan, its famous war god Tlaloc must have some gripes with our Trabi and struck its rear wheel bearing. But, in the past, Tlaloc was already weakened by the bloody genocide of Cortez. Thus it was easy to take out our spare bearings, fix the car at the local open air car shop and go to see Tlaloc, the Feathered Serpent God and the rest of the party at the pyramids of Sun and Moon. The 60 meters high pyramid of Sun might be one of the biggest structures in Central America, but the (necessary) extensive repairs with concrete and the guessing whether there were 4 or 5 levels made me to prefer the smaller, but perhaps more authentic, Moon pyramid.
As the car was once again ready to go, we drove west through the heavy rain of tropical storm south of Veracruz towards the fascinating jungle of Chiapas with it Mayan pyramids. After a few topes the countryside changed and we were in Palenque. The pyramids are such that all I can say is that if you ever have a chance to go there, do it. They are massive and seeing them amid the lush green jungle is almost overwhelming. And there is something else: some feeling of stillness of time, slight unease of unknown, perhaps a sense of foreboding, of long solitude...I do not really know how to describe it.
From there we drove and then took a boat to one of the most interesting Maya ruins in Yaxchilan. Nested in the middle of dense jungle on the river bank next to Guatemalan border, even the half hour boat trip on the silty river meandering through the jungle is quite an experience. But then you end up in a place almost swallowed by the jungle with its howling monkeys, birds and oddly shaped tree roots and it makes you think a bit about false permanence of civilization--any civilization. But, I guess, that was just me again, extrapolating from the specific to the general to the surfeit of the reader.
I think the Mayan war god's name is Voltan, but whatever his name is, he did not waste much time and struck our rear muffler immediately after the Yaxchilan. Actually, he tried to do so already in Palenque, but the local car shop fixed it pretty quickly. This time it was different. We came to a detour that took us through a deep muddy dip. As I saw the dip coming, I just shouted "stay on it" and Dennis complied. A few hundred meters later our heavily battered rear muffler gave up and dropped to the road. We picked it up, put it into the car and tied the open exhaust pipe to the floor with the only piece of thin binding wire we had. Sure, that lasted a long time...about 5 km. Then we stopped again and looked for anything else. Luckily, we stopped close to a small garbage pile. Only when your car breaks down and you have nothing to fix it with you might discover the full truth of "one man's trash is another man's treasure". We found an old dress belt and used it to attach the exhaust to the floor. It lasted until we stopped for the night and found the muffler shop. And I guess it would have lasted for ever.
That night came the time of the famous Montezuma revenge for me. Suffering from a perfectly timed diarrhea, I asked Dennis to drive. So the muffler got fixed in the shop without my presence, I do not really know how I made it through the heat at the border, but all the papers were done and Dennis drove me to Guatemala.
There is a well known mariachi song "Mexico Lindo" (Beutiful Mexico) and to me it applies not only to the country but to the people too. During our trip, there were just too many people that let us work at their shops, lent us their tools and tried to help. This, I would say, compares more than favourably with the treatment I received in the States. Yes, I have been hearing that you should "defer all non-essential travel to Mexico" and "the gun battles between rival criminal organizations or with Mexican authorities have taken place on streets and in public places during broad daylight". But one should drop the TV remote and go to see Mexico for oneself.
OK, we were supposed to get killed by the drug traffickers, murdered in carjacking or at least get kidnapped. It seems that we did not try hard enough; true, we did not drive during the night, did not flash expensive stuff; and, frankly, would you like to carjack Trabant? And so as we were crossing the border into Guatemala the only negative thing I could say about Mexico was: "Why the hell are you putting these stupid topes all over the country?"