PART II

We left Teotihuacan and moved on passing through a small town. They had a restaurant called "El Penguino" with a large painted penguin on the outside. This was too good to miss. I took out my own personal stuffed penguin, Fred, put his hat and sunglasses on and propped him up beside the wall. The owners came out thinking that I was a representative of a big advertising agency. They tried to pry money out of my wallet, but by then I had already taken the picture, scooped up Fred, and we were off in a cloud of cobblestones.

MEXICAN PARKING SPOT	FRED RELAXES	NO IDEA HOW IT GOT THERE

We rounded a corner and with no prior warning found a barricade in the middle of the road with a sign pointing right for a slight detour. As Leif drove down into a ditch, up the other side and out into a field, I heard him mutter under his breath, "I don’t believe I did that." We drove until we couldn’t take any more…then drove a little farther. We pulled into a ditch and spent the night. The following morning we woke up nowhere on the side of a mountain. Leif was using the facilities, as a family of walking peons rounded the bend on the opposite side of the truck. He was counting on my truck as a shield…so naturally I drove away. He was running along beside me with his pants half off and pleading for me to stop. Later he killed me.

Valley of the Dogs

After a full day’s drive, about a mile past a small village which I translated to Leif as "Valley of the Dogs", we pulled off to the side on the mountain road and crawled into the back to sleep. Earlier Leif had been reading aloud from his Mexican manual the section about the natives in this area still practising black magic. Our sleep was constantly interrupted by dogs howling and other strange noises drifting up from the valley below. Finally, Leif and I sat up simultaneously and an unspoken agreement passed between us. Seconds later we were rumbling down the road. We found a more comfortable spot to spend the night.

The following morning we ate at a fly infested restaurant. We had the usual "Pork Yucatan Style" which consisted of extremely stringy beef that Leif insisted was "cooked dog hit by bus." I kept falling for the same thing and ordered rice soup. As usual, I got a bowl of steaming rice – no soup! Leif returned from the bathroom adamant that I give it a go as it was a real treat. He was right – the toilet was high up on a pedestal somewhat like a throne. I felt like a king.

As I backed out of our royal restaurant, a volkswagon whipped in beside me and the driver opened his door. I hit the door. Luckily I stopped in time or it would have cut him in half. There was no damage, so after a few apologies we left.

We passed a funeral procession. The people were carrying a pink shoe box for a coffin. Not thinking, I said to Leif, "Their hampster must have died." Leif being a little more savvy than me kindly corrected me replying, "it’s a baby, you fool!"

About this time, a suicidal dog jumped out of the undergrowth and into my bumper. The bushes grows right to the edge of the road. I didn’t even have a chance to touch my brakes. We stopped but he was more than dead. I felt really bad about the whole situation and although it wasn’t funny at all, Leif was able to get me laughing later once he explained the whole incongruity of the situation…especially when he pointed out that I had mistranslated to some nearby kids and asked if "their dog was all right" when there was nothing left of him.

We always drove by military installations flat out – not because we were daring, but because we never saw them in time. Guards posted at the gates with machine guns have the authority to use deadly force if you don’t slow down to the posted speed. Several years later, I discovered a bullet in a hole on the passenger side. Interesting!

The Ugly American

Leif’s favourite trick while driving through villages was to gear down whenever we neared pedestrians. The truck was silent inside but had a small hole in the muffler. The sound would reverberate and was magnified in the narrow streets. Leif insisted it sounded like an airplane. People always scattered for cover holding their heads and peering skyward whenever Leif rode into town. He got a big kick out of it. While one of us drove the other had to scout for "vibradores" (or "vibra doors" as Leif called them). These were strategically placed speed bumps in the form of rounded cobblestones up to 6" high. Of course there was never any prior warning. We developed an intricate system where, if any of these unique anomalies were spotted, the usual practice was to hang on for your life while screaming "Vibradores!!" The jarring was usually enough to dislodge the tube-like speakers I had elastic banded to the sunvisors. With my great electrical know-how, I had wired them to a cheap tape recorder. We only had a few tapes. One of them was "America". We changed the words to one song as, "I’ve been to the desert in a hearse with no name". The other one was a tape of my neighbour Eugene (Ginge) Kandler on the harmonica.

It was one of those more than hot days as usual. We were zooming down the road at around 100 mph. The speedometer never worked properly but preferred to waver between 0 and 120. We were driving with the windows down to try and keep us cool and going fast enough that the velcro mosquito screens kept popping off. Way off in the distance we could see a train conductor standing by the tracks pleading with a herd of goats to let him pass. I’m not sure what he said, but seconds later the whole herd was on the road in front of us. I slammed on the brakes. My guitar flew through the air, neatly severing the leg off the ceramic pig Leif bought for his sister. Neither he nor his sister has ever forgiven me.

On our way to Yucatan, we took the long way and took several ferries. The first one we came to was at night. It was so poorly marked we almost drove off the dock. It was closed so we slept there and as usual froze all night. You die from the heat in the day and die from the cold at night. There’s no middle ground. At 7:00 a.m. we were woken to the most terrible squealing sound I had ever heard. I pulled back one of the lime green curtains and peered into the face of a screaming pig. A bus was parked beside us. Several men were trying to raise the pig onto the roof by means of ropes tied around its back feet. The pig did not want to go. I can’t say as I blamed him. The task was eventually accomplished and everyone had to back on to the ferry. We were last. There wasn’t room for us but by carefully maneuvering for 15 minutes, I finally got it into the designated spot. We were so tightly packed that we couldn’t open our doors. We were trapped inside. If a small wave had hit us I’m sure the jolt would have been enough to push us against the next vehicle and scrape off our paint. Out the window I spotted 7-8 sharks following us. They trailed us all the way to the other side hoping this was their lucky day. I could sense their disappointment when we disembarked. I don’t know why they didn’t go after the easier meal of kids that were swimming nearby. At this end of the ferry was a small tent. A Mexican poked his head out and marked our car off on a sheet. Leif later said, "they’re probably still waiting for us to come back" as we returned via a different route.

While driving down the main highway I foolishly asked Leif, "Do you smell something burning." Leif rolled his eyes and pointed out the window. I had neglected to notice that the sides of the road were on fire. Apparently this is how they deal with shoulder overgrowth. They also still practice slash and burn so it became a big joke that whenever we saw the frequent fires, one of us would ask, "Do you smell something burning."

About this time, I noticed the gas guage read way past empty. Ahead of us a chiclero parted some growth and stepped out of the jungle. He was wearing the custom whites with a rifle, bullet clips and machete. Chicleros are convicts who have been released into the jungle to harvest chicle from which gum is made. It is generally best to avoid them….so I pulled over and asked him where the nearest gas station was. He told us it was in a small village two miles back. We weren’t in a position to argue. "He seemed friendly enough" I said to Leif as he rolled his eyes. We backtracked and drove through the village twice without spotting any pumps. We kept asking around and finally narrowed it down to a solitary adobe hut. Leif said, "this can’t be it." I scratched at the owners door and he wheeled out a barrel of gas with a built in pump. We filled the truck and left in amazement.

One minute it was clear and sunny, the next we were in the worst rainstorm I’ve ever been in. Even with the wipers on full, we couldn’t see. It was so bad there wasn't a word for it…so Leif had to make one up. It was "gooran". We just stopped the truck dead not even attempting to pull over. I was able to fill a glass full of water from the leak in the back window. We sat around waiting for the storm to end. During a lull we discovered that we had parked directly over a railway bed. The rails here are not as wide as most but I’m sure the train would have been big enough to plow through my truck. Railways aren’t significant enough to be marked with a sign. We went on our way.

Leif suggested we pull in at the trailer park in Chichenitza Village since they had a welcome shower. Later that night we entered the trailer park restaurant and sat down in the too small chairs. The waiter sauntered over in tuxedo with a towel over his arm and dollar signs in his eyes. We reviewed the menu and decided the prices were too high. The waiter returned to take our order. I told him we had decided we weren’t hungry. We got up and left. He seemed puzzled. The two of us wandered down the street to another restaurant. As we munched on our tortillas, our old waiter dropped in. I gathered from his conversation with the owner, that the two of them were brothers. Eventually, much as we tried to hide behind the menus, he noticed us, smiled and said in Spanish, "I see you have regained your appetites." We were more than embarrassed.

The following morning we went swimming in the trailer park pool while a vulture eyed us from the top of a scraggly tree less than 30 ft away. It was a common scene which Leif always referred to as "A Mexican christmas tree."

Went to the Chichenitza ruins. We hadn’t been there long when another one of the gooran torrential rainstorms began. We took shelter in a thatched souvenir hut. It leaked. I bought some wet, warped postcards which I’m sure added to their uniqueness. All day long we had to hide in various pyramids to avoid the rain which would start and end with no warning. The ruins were extensive and fascinating. The rain only added to their mystery and somehow took one back in time when these ruins were used by another civilization.

TEMPLE OF THE WARRIORS	IGUANA DANCE?	OVERVIEW

SERPENT'S HEAD	EL CASTILLO	BY THE TEMPLE OF THE WARRIORS

DETAIL ON PYRAMID	TEMPLE OF THE WARRIORS	CLIMBING EL CASTILLO

EL CARACOL (THE SNAIL)	RUINS	RUIN AT OLD CHICHEN

DR. ERICKSON EXAMINES AN ARTIFACT	EL CARACOL	ERICKSON VON DANIIKEN

THE OBSERVATORY	EL CASTILLO IN THE RAIN	WET PARROT

PYRAMID SALES	"SLOWLY BUT STEADY"	(MICK) JAGUAR ALTAR

Later we were climbing down the interior staircase of El Castillo. A Chinese guy behind us kept repeating, "slowly but steady" with his accent. It was a phrase Leif and I picked up for later use. We saw the jade jaguar at the top (according to my notes – but I believe it was actually at the bottom). Then we climbed the outside staircase to the top. Inside was a ladder leading down into a hole. Not trusting whether the air would be safe or not, we climbed back down and got some candles from my truck…which would also help us see. I went first and we explored as far as we could. Not much to see but somehow interesting. We climbed back down to the bottom where we found another tunnel on the side. Leif had had enough of dark holes so I took my trusty candle and explored the lengthy tunnel to its end. It ended abruptly. I scared a few bats and retraced my steps. I was glad to be out of there.

CHICHENITZA CENOTE	SACRIFICIAL VIRGIN	LEIF ON THE FAR SIDE	CENOTE

ABERNATHY, LEIF'S 3-LEGGED PIG & FRED

We checked out everything. I wasn’t able to persuade Leif to dive into the cenote with me so instead we popped over to the Caves of Balacanche. Seven of us assembled outside the cave entrance which was actually a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere. Our motley crew were American, Canadian and Mexican. Apparently this cave has not yet been fully explored. It opened up into an area large enough to walk upright in. We had to crawl through a very small round opening which was tricky to get through. Inside was a large chamber with a pool fed by underground streams. It contained blind fish which had never seen light. Leif shone his flashlight in their eyes. Around the pool sides were Mayan pottery which lay exactly as it was placed some 3-400 years earlier. The first to leave was one of our extremely obese cavemates. He became wedged in the small passageway and couldn’t move with only his rear and legs showing. This was not a good move on his part as he had us all trapped. When our initial tries at pushing didn’t work we began devising more ingenious devices. These included tickling his feet, and threats of setting him on fire. Someone suggested waiting a few days until he lost some weight. I think the clincher was Leif feeding him the line from the movie "Deliverance", telling him to "squeal like a pig". This had an immediate effect. The fat man popped through the other end and ran for his life. We were an angry mob.

CAVE OF BALACANCHE

Cozumel was our planned next stop but it was so hot we decided we would vacate the Yucatan premises. Little did we know that we would both be summoned back years later by the Prime Minister of Canada (a Rube Line from a book by Dan Lamb). We headed back and once again found our gas gage reading more than low. A set of pumps was located in a small village. Unfortunately they wouldn’t work as the power had gone off several days ago. The proprietor suggested we wait a few days as they expected electricity in the near future. We barely made it to the next town.

Leif was driving. I spotted a dead rabbit in the middle of the road surrounded by feasting vultures. "Pull over", I yelled. He was slowing down and inquiring "why?" at the same time. "I want to lie down beside the carcass and have you get a picture of me surrounded by vultures. It will be neat." Leif tromped on the gas yelling, "No way…they'll peck out your eyes and then I’ll have to do all the driving."

CEMETERY OF THE SHALLOW GRAVES	A MEXICAN CHRISTMAS TREE	LEIF WOULDN'T LET ME GET OUT

The heat was killing us. We spotted another archeological zone sign at Uxmal. Neither of us wanted to go in as it was too hot…but we did – after all, we were on vacation. As usual, we closed all the curtains to hide our valuables. We saw the whole ruins in under 2 hours. I think it would normally take someone about 2 days but we ran everywhere. There was a price to be paid though. It cost us 8 cokes each. They are great believers in Pyramid sales. Between gulps of pop, Leif said to the proprietor, "It’s very hot here." He replied, "For you, maybe." To this day, I always associate Yucatan with intense heat.

THE GOVERNORS PALACE	CHAIN GANG	UNRESTORED RUIN

UXMAL OVERVIEW	WALL CARVINGS	UXMAL OVERVIEW

DETAIL OF WALL CARVINGS	PYRAMID OF THE MAGICIAN	MICK JAGGER - "LIVE AT UXMAL"

We returned to my car. Someone had popped open the little front triangular window and made off with all our traveller’s cheques, tent, tape recorder and tapes. I panicked and began racing through the jungle trails looking for a likely victim. There was no one around. We raced to the next town of Muna, glaring suspiciously at some old men at a bus stop and stormed into the adobe police hut. We were wearing ripped jeans and limping from a hard day of climbing. In my careful Spanish I spoke to the Chief and explained what happened. El Jefe slowly undid his holster and began fingering his gun as he repeated back to me in Spanish, "You say that the two of you are robbers and have stolen the truck outside?" It took some doing, but we finally got that little misunderstanding sorted out. The chief sent a messenger with his report to the next town…by bicycle. Leif and I looked over our situation. We only had a few pesos between us, some cookies and a tank of gas. We phoned home and made arrangements for Thomas Cooke Traveller’s Cheques to reimburse us at the next town. We arrived there Friday night to discover that the town’s office was closed until Monday. A holiday weekend – just our luck. We decided we couldn’t wait so we phoned and had the money transferred again to the next town. It was closed also but they did have a building with a phone so I left Leif in the truck to make the transfer call again. The switchboard had a million wires and it took over an hour to get through. Leif was in fine form when I got back. Apparently I had parked in a no parking zone. A policeman had been by every 10 minutes to hassle Leif. He couldn’t move the truck as I had thoughtfully taken the keys with me…and the cookies – I wasn’t anyone’s fool. The officer had wanted to arrest Leif but he was able to delay his arrest by pretending he did not speak Spanish – which in fact, he didn’t. Thomas Cooke was fast becoming annoyed with us and said they would wire our cheques one last time to Guadalajara. We pressed on.

TYPICAL ROADSIDE SCENE	FREE RANGE COWS	I GET THE EVIL BULLS EYE

We spent the night in another trailer park. Some Americans were boasting about their home in California. I deflated their ego by accidentally saying that California was my favourite province. The park had an outhouse with a goat tied to the outside. Inside was the biggest dead spider Leif had ever seen. Ants were carrying it up the inside wall. However, over the years this tale was slightly deformed into a slightly different version. Many times since, I’ve heard Leif tell of the large spider that carried the goat up the outhouse wall.

The next night we were exhausted from driving on our cookie diet. We pulled into an abandoned gas station near Quetzacoatl for the night. Beside us was a a large truck with high sides. We pulled our green curtains shut and bedded down on the rugs of many colours. I was almost asleep when I heard something ping on the roof. I shrugged it off. "Ping". I peered out the window in time to catch two teenagers ducking down under the tarp at the top of the truck. They were tossing bottle caps at us. I sneaked out of the truck and hid. Next time they peered over the edge I whipped a flattened can at them frisbee style and yelled some Mexican curses at them. Luckily for them, I missed or it would have taken their heads off. Leif was now awake so we decided to press on. We stopped at another gas station. This one was still open but we had the whole world as a parking lot. We had just climbed into our sleeping bags for the second time that night, when we heard a large crash. Leif rolled his eyes and said, "I suppose we might as well go and have a look". We strolled over to where two Jamaicans were having an argument with two Mexicans over a car accident. There seemed to be a language barrier. The back of the Jamaican’s car was mangled and they were trying to repair the brake lights before the police arrived. A small crowd had gathered. Leif and I kept a low profile. The local sherriff sauntered over, giving his car to one of his friends to have washed while he attended to business. He treated the whole situation with amusement and indifference and one knew he had already sided with the Mexicans. In Spanish, he told the Jamaicans he would have to impound their car and there would be a trial tomorrow morning. Of course the Jamaicans did not understand a word. The officer continued in Spanish that he would have someone drive their car into town. Out of the crowd, he picked a fifteen year old kid with tattered clothes and no shoes. Once they gathered what was happening, the head Jamaican screamed diplomatically, "No dirty Mexican kid is going to drive my car!" The officer said in Spanish, "I do not understand English." Leif had a premonition of what was going to happen and pleaded with me, "Don’t do it, Dave." But I had already stepped forward and offered my services as translator. The Jamaicans were still screaming. The officer asked me what their problem was. I was kind in my translation and said, "They do not wish anyone without authority to drive their car." The officer said, "Ahh. No problema." He motioned the kid over and deputized him while smiling sarcastically at the crowd. Twice I saw him wink. I explained to the Jamaicans what was going on. Their mouths dropped open as they blurted out, "we thought you were natives also." They were truly amazed. The officer put his arm around my shoulder and stated, "You will be at the courthouse tomorrow at 10:00 to translate?" It was said in the form of a question but we all knew there was only one possible answer. "Si" I replied. They left. I looked at Leif. Leif looked at me. Time passed. Seconds later we caught up to their convoy. They turned right, we went straight. To us, this was the Nam and we were here to survive. I imagine the Jamaicans are still in jail waiting for us.

We continued on our trek. Leif was sleeping while I drove through the mountains. I prided myself in being able to throw bits of paper all the way across the truck and into Leif’s open mouth. I had gotten quite good at it on this trip. A greyhound bus rounded the corner. It was moving fast enough that the rear end broke free and slid into my lane. There was nowhere to go. It was 1000 feet down a cliff on the passenger side. I inched as close to the edge as I dared (even closer) and hoped for the best. The bus came so close that the vacuum created a sonic boom. Leif immediately woke up, in time to look out his window to see our tires ? of the way off the cliff with gravel and dust flying everywhere. "You fell asleep" he screamed wrenching the steering wheel from my hands as pieces of our map flew from his mouth. By then the bus was gone and I had no defense. He still thinks I fell asleep. It just wasn’t true…that time.

THE DAVE WORKMAN BAND - 1976

By this time the thin men had lost ill-afforded weight having subsisted solely on stale cookies for three days. As we paid for gas with the last of our money, I felt a lump in my pocket. "Hey, look what I found" I said displaying a substantial wad of pesos. Leif killed me shortly after.

We finally arrived at the Thomas Cooke outlet in Guadalajara where we were questioned as to what was stolen (You never no when to expect…the Spanish Inquisition!). We gave our stories separately which was responsible for the report saying that we had lost two of everything (2 tape recorders, 2 tents, etc). My name and address was recorded as "David Gotdone Workman – travelling around in hotels". (My middle name is Gordon, by the way). The two of us tried not to snicker as we signed our report. On a good note, we got all our travellers cheques back. I still have a vision of a den of thieves in a darkened corner of some jungle cafe listening to Eugene Kandler on the harmonica. Perhaps it’s true what they say – "crime doesn’t pay."

Leif took this opportunity to phone home for the first time since he’d left. He had a justifiable fear that he would get cut off at any time so he rushed through his tale of adventure. I felt really sorry for his mother as all he did was babble nonsense. It barely made sense to me. I caught some fragments of the conversation that went something like this; "…goats broke the pigs foot, Dave fell asleep while he drove…Chicken how…almost got killed, Bwana was poisoned by coconuts, the pigs nearly got me…then chicleros stole all our money. I’ve got to go…the Jamaican’s are after us."

Now that we were rich hombres again, we returned to Ocotlan to visit our friends the Castellanos….well, more specifically, Ana Castellanos and her cousin Rosa Ochoa. In later years, Leif was to return several time to visit Rosa who later became Queen of Cuitzeo in the local beauty pageant. I was luckier as Ana came to visit me in Canada several times saving me air fare. We were welcomed into the family. Leif and I drove Ana and another girl to town for groceries. They made us pick out what we’d like and then wouldn’t let us pay for them. We felt terrible. Mrs. Castellanos insisted she wash our clothes. My white cords never looked cleaner than when she’d finished scrubbing them with a rock down at the creek. We were invited for supper at their adobe hut. Mr. C. always sat in a darkened corner facing out and wearing his guns. He was a hit man for hire, had a lot of enemies, was respected and feared by all and was always ready for the unexpected (like us!). He made Jesse James seem like a sissy. He was our hero. Years later he was shot in the back and killed by several men disguised as policeman. But I return us to happier times. As we were eating, a rat ran along the top of the wall near the roof. Mr. C. chuckled and said in Spanish, "Do not worry, it’s just a rabbit." I noticed two tarantulas dozing on the partition behind me. It was a small room and thin as I was, I couldn’t keep my back from touching the wall. The next time I looked, they were gone. Now I was worried. The place had atmosphere – I’ll give it that. An old peon farmer friend was also there for supper. He was smoking and threw his match on the dirt floor. Seconds later we smelled something burning. Smoke was wafting up from under the table. Apparently his sandals were on fire. It was more than comical watching him stamp them out. He was slower than but much like Tim Conway. We nicknamed him "Burnt Sandals".

Later, Leif, myself and nine girls piled into my truck. The only ones we knew were Ana and her cousin Rosa but we certainly had no complaints. They directed us cross-country for a mile to Lake Chapala. The route would have been an excellent test track for a 4-wheel drive, thought I, as I drove over a creek while sipping on my mexican beer. It was much stronger than Canadian beer. It was time to get changed for swimming. Being the gentlehombres we were, Leif and I got dressed in the comfort of my truck while the women changed outside. They appeared shocked when Leif drew open the curtains before they were ready, giving a little curtsy and saying, "How do, Ladies." We staggered around, climbed under a barbed wire fence and made our way down to the lake. The water was freezing but we stayed in five times longer than was possible just to show we were men. I tried to impart some wise words and came out with, "it gets deeper as you go out." Perhaps if you really think about it, these are very wise words indeed. We sat on some rocks to talk. Ana unfortunately chose one that held a scorpion. She would not let us examine the sting. Leif fearlessly managed to hunt it down and slay it. We drove everyone back along the treacherous trail. Ana was not feeling well and went to bed. We got her up later to go dancing. We weren’t going to let a little scorpion sting ruin our night. We drove our girls to a local bar. All the men envied the white gods. Even the band stared at us. Who were these skinny white men with the five beautiful women? Rosa was showing Leif pictures of last Christmas with someone dressed up as Santa Claus. As I left Leif to "Ponder Rosa" and got up to dance with Ana, I heard him plead with me, "Don’t leave me here – you know I can’t dance or speak Spanish." I replied as I waltzed away, "You have to – it would insult their honour if you refused". That was the first time I had ever seen Leif dance. Later he even admitted that he enjoyed it…a little. The girls bought us each a popsicle. Mine was grape with raisins. Secretly, I hid it under the seat. Leif laughed at me several days later when he found it...stuck to his shoe. We returned home around 11:30 at night. Mrs. C. was waiting at the door, looking very upset. She ushered Ana inside. Apparently, as is the custom, she was not allowed out that late. I caught snatches of the conversation mentioning how lucky she was that her father was out. I believe had he found out, there would be two less foreign skinny men in their quaint village. Leif and I slept in the truck.

ANA & ROSA	DEJAVU

Every Mexican family has it’s tale of buried treasure. The Castellanos were no exception. Mr. C. told us that someone in the family had buried a vast treasure in their enclosed back yard but it had become lost over the years. When he discovered I had a metal detector with me, I was commissioned to find the lost Castellanos treasure. I went all over the yard and only one area seemed promising. Mr. C. steered me away. (Several days later he asked me to try again and I noticed that the promising area had been disturbed and there were no longer any beeps from my gadget). Word spread of my amazing device. Burnt Sandals told of a cave in the mountains filled with treasure but it could not be retrieved because of "bad air". Luis was going to take us to it the next day…but it was never arranged.

The following morning we were invited to breakfast by Mrs. Castellanos. She made us quesadillas. I had made the mistake of mentioning that they were my favourite food. These are tortillas filled with extremely rich cheese. An ordinary person could eat two. After five each, I tried to explain that Leif and I were full and could eat no more. She looked hurt and said in Spanish, "You don’t like them?" We had to eat three more each to get back in her good graces…not to mention getting out of her husband’s gunsight.

Mr. C. told us he had a surprise for us. We were going to "casar". This was definitely a surprise that kept us in suspense as the word has two meanings. I explained to Leif that we were either going to go hunting or get married. Being an animal rights advocate, I couldn’t decide which was worse for me. Ana and Leif got in the back and I drove while Mr. C. directed me through the winding, narrow, cobblestone streets of Cuitzeo. He would yell "derecho" or "derecha" which didn’t help me out much, as one is left and the other is straight. Even if I had known it would not have helped me as I don’t know right from left. I turned the wrong way up a one way street and a surprised truck almost hit us head on. Mr. C. called the driver a "cabrone" and I hurriedly zoomed away before gunplay came into effect. We arrived at a farm, climbed a fence and placed a blanket down on the pasture. Apparently this was going to be a Mexican picnic. Fifty feet away, unhampered, two bulls were fighting each other. Secretly, as I bit down on my tortilla, I hoped they wouldn’t notice us. We also had "tomato sandwiches". This amused Leif as it’s a Canadian expression for sex (why?…I couldn’t tell you). Mr. C. complained that his back hurt. Ana suggested he remove his guns as they had slipped around and he was lying on them. She was glared at. Leif and I walked to a store and got us all cokes. Before we could object, the owner poured them all into glasses and added some black-specked ice. It was too hot to complain. Somehow the locals found out I had a treasure seeker with me. An old man led me to a fallen down courtyard where I began to run the machine in a grid. Suddenly it began beeping wildly. The old man’s eyes lit up. He did a little jig, rubbed his hands together and ran off to get a shovel. He was more than disappointed when we dug up an old spade. More people showed up and forced me to search for gold out in the fields. It was extremely hot. Leif had no choice but to follow me around. We nearly died. Only the thrill of the chase kept the crowds with us. Finally after two hours of bottle caps and nails, they let us give up. We walked back to the truck. That’s when Ana discovered she had lost one of her earrings on our trek. We had to retrace the whole route again with my magical machine. Fortunately, Leif’s roving eye picked it up.

Later that night as Leif and I were getting ready for bed in the cramped confines of the International Harvester in a small village parked beside the adobe hut of our friends, I turned around and smashed Leif in the nose. He still insists that I did it on purpose…perhaps I did.

The next morning, Ana led the two of us to her grandmother’s house to use the shower. Leif went first leaving me, Ana and Granny to chat in the next room. Our talk was interrupted by the unmistakable mechanical sound of a switchblade being extended and retracted. There was an embarrassing pause. Previously Leif and I had each purchased one of these interesting gizmos at the local market. Leif told me later that he had used it to open his shampoo packet and gotten the liquid all over it. He had tried to clean it by releasing the mechanism several times.

That night, Leif, Ana and I drove downtown to see a movie. We were wary about leaving all our camera equipment in the truck parked on a side street - especially since the last break-in as the small window no longer locked. Ana picked the movie. Inside, after we were seated, a drunk mistook our seats for the stairs and almost walked over us. I found 10 pesos on the floor and was ecstatic. It was more than I'd ever found with my metal detector. The movie turned out to be a blue classification about a guy being electrocuted in his swimming pool. I felt it would not be prudent to mention to Mr. C. that we took his daughter to a pornographic movie…not to mention having her out late the night before. That was two strikes against us so far. I was in a hurry to get back to the car as I didn't want to leave it unattended. It was completely safe. Later, we heard that the truck and its occupants were marked off limits, under the pain of death.

The two of us wanted to stay longer, but everyone was too hospitable. No one allowed us to pay for anything and I know they suffered because of it. We didn't want them to starve while we were being entertained. Everyone was sad to see us go. Our friends stood crying in their adobe doorways as we drove off into the setting sun - the white gods promising to return again one day.

I was navigating while Leif slept. Eventually he woke up, looked around and began accusing me of taking a wrong turn. "How could you possibly know that?" I asked. He replied, "None of the dead cows we just passed look familiar." It turned out he was right. I had taken the wrong road at Durango and had gone 80 miles out of our way. After that, Leif never fell asleep again (he's still tired to this very day). We retraced our route and ended up on a long straight stretch through the desert. Off in the distance I could see a mini tornado winding its way amongst the cactii. As I mentioned, the speedometer did not work. It was a strange truck. The more it warmed up, the faster it went so that one had to constantly back off on the accelerator. Eventually you were going about 120 mph and the accelerator was barely depressed. I lost sight of the twister until it popped up right in front of the truck. The front of the vehicle was air-lifted right off the ground for what seemed like 7 or 8 seconds. Luckily it was a straight stretch as this eliminated any thought of steering. That was the worst one, and fortunately only happened twice more.

It was Leif's turn to drive. We always changed shifts every two hours. He slid over to my seat and I got out and walked around. As I passed the front, I was sprayed by a hole in the radiator. We let it cool down then I rummaged around and found a chunk of "stop leak" that had been left by the truck's previous owner. We had no problems after that. We had no tools, not even a jack but the only thing we ever needed, I happened to have on hand.

Further into the desert, we noticed a dot on the highway. It turned out to be a donkey straddling the white line sideways...could this be the legendary "Donkey Hote"? The road was so narrow we couldn't get by. I braked to a halt. The horn and our shouts wouldn't budge him. As a last resort, Leif got out and slapped him off the road. Even then he didn't really seem inspired to leave.

MAYBE LEIF KNOWS WHERE THIS IS?	MAYBE THE LIGHTS OF MONTEREY?

Soon after, we pulled into a some kind of border spot check in the middle of the desert. It was just a hut with an overhang. I turned the ignition off so the official could hear his own questions over the roar of the muffler. When he was satisfied we were harmless, he said we were free to go. The car wouldn't start - probably from being driven flat out in the heat. Leif and I had to push it out of the way then gave it a 15 minute break before we resumed torturing the poor beast.

Crossing back into the U.S. I kept my eye open for the thief that robbed me of \\$5. We went through the Mexican area no problem but the Americans were suspicious of us. We were worried about our illegal switchblades in our pockets. The official looked all through the car, even in the rip in the back of the seat. Then he spied my green boy scout packsack. He began rummaging around inside while staring directly at me. "What's in here?" he said in an unfriendly tone. "Just some dirty pots" I replied casually. He snatched out his hand and told us to get going. We left and were joking around playing my guitar, wearing our leather cowboy hats and optional long hair when we were pulled over by the border patrol. We felt like fools but we were getting used to it. He was looking for wetbacks. We almost fit the bill but he let us go.

Our first stop was the nearest MacDonalds. I paid with a \\$50 bill. "Don't you have anything smaller?" asked the girl at the cash register. I replied, "No. I've just returned". That was too much for Leif. He spit his Big Mac out on the floor and we ran out laughing like the fools we were.

Somewhere on our route there were firecrackers for sale. Naturally we had to buy about \\$5 worth each. As we were tooling down the highway rejoicing at what a bargain we'd gotten, it suddenly occurred to us that we couldn't bring them over the border as they were illegal in Ontario. Apparently we decided that fireworks would give us more jail time than switchblades. Anyway, Leif looked slyly at me (his usual look), tied twenty of his red crackers together, lit them and lobbed them out the window onto the road. It was perfect! They blew up under the cab of the transport behind us. I can still see the shocked look on the driver's face as I watched in my rearview mirror. He almost lost control of his truck. We were pretty funny guys back then. That solved part of our problem but we still had 3 or 4 packs left. We pulled into a park rest stop for the night. For some reason, Leif did not like the people next to us. He convinced me to dislike them also. We threw our remaining firecrackers into the wastecan beside them. Leif tossed in a wad of burning newspapers and we slowly backed out. We circled the area twice before it really began to blaze. Then as the blasting of mortar fire pierced the air, we squealed the tires, yelling our heads off and drove into the night with the sounds of cursing campers receding in the otherwise calm night.

Eventually we arrived home after travelling a little over 10,000 miles. Yes, physically we were unscarred.