Getting From There to Here
However you slice it there is a little Mexican in me.
A Little Mexican in Me (and maybe even a little bull 
More than a decade ago we formulated a desire to live in Mexico. Those were rose colored glasses aspirations. All we could see was more freedom and less cost – little else was considered or mattered.
What we soon discovered about the land and people of Mexico, the world around that, and the heart that beats within, is a fascinating, sometimes raucous story; eventually it became personal to us – Mexico bared its soul.
For example:
Last Friday a couple of hombres were making arrangements to retrieve a motor-home from our Rancho del Cielo property. The Dodge motor-home came with the house, as did a long story we will not get into. Friday turned into Saturday which is indeed one of those Mexican characteristics.
Anita had already made it clear she was not going along. These kinds of maneuvers make her quite nervous. She just did not want to be there.
Unexpectedly the guys showed up. I rode the scooter 3.5 miles to the base of the mountain which happens to be the Xico cemetery. Then transferred to one of their vehicles to trek the 2 miles up to the Rancho on a road barely serviceable for burros and horses.
A Long and Winding Road to our Rancho
The reason for the meet-up was based on my not wanting to drive through the town of Xico and on to Ursulo Galvan in a caravan that included an old gringo motor-home being towed sans license plates and documentation. These hombres gave every indication that rules and laws were not something that concerned them – but a white-boy in the mix might have just been that extra attraction to tip (off) the scales of justice.
We had been told a tow truck was going to climb the mountain and cart the motorhome down.
Even before we took possession of the Rancho some six years ago, we had learned the brakes were faulty on the motor-home. It had been there at rest under a substantial carport now for about 8 years. You might imagine how reticent we were to be involved in moving that thing down that treacherous path they euphemistically call a camino. But, also how very happy we would be to gain that carport parking space.
Wisely the motor-home was resting on blocks to preserve the tires (and that worked by the way). I offered the use of my 2.5 ton floor jack imagining that the boys might have the barest of equipment even with a tow truck in tow. How right that thought turned out to be.
A Ford Expedition, a rather beat pick-up truck, four hombres, three women and I arrived at the Rancho. I wondered where the tow truck was.
The hombres proceed to back the beater pickup truck in place to connect a chain to the motorhome. Shocked I ask if they were planning to haul the huge motor-home down the hill with that puny ½ ton pickup? Si!
Here is where the division of thinking; the alternative realities of a mostly practical guy from Americka and four relatively young hombres reached a huge gap. What had I got myself involved in?
The only thing I knew at that moment was:
- Once that motorhome was past our Rancho gate and planted on the camino, I wash my hands of it all – FOB just beyond the Rancho entrance – we were done.
- I was to be headed back to my scooter in front of this effort. Get out of Dodge and away from that Dodge motor-home as quickly as possible.
The hombres were in great spirits, having a good laugh at my expense seeing my look and response to their plan. Funny nervioso gringo.
We removed the blocks. The six tires supporting the large motor-home needed air. I dragged out my air compressor and a shiny new tow chain with hooks (theirs had no ends and was quite questionable).
The motor-home would not budge. They rocked their vehicle back and forth, finally allowing slack and getting a running charge. Their truck groaned as the chain snapped taunt. The motor-home still did not budge.
They then attached chains to two vehicles adding the Expedition – I kid you not – still would not budge.
Things were looking dim for gaining back that carport parking space.
Someone produced a cell phone. A call was made. We were now waiting for – perhaps a tow truck for real?
Twenty minutes later, after a lot of jocular talk and laughter over my now very much concern, up the drive, comes a 10 yard diesel dump truck, a real behemoth.
The really large dump truck was quickly and to my thinking skillfully maneuvered into our driveway and in front of the motorhome.
Yes, it had the power to drag the motorhome from its resting place – tires kicking and screaming as the rear wheels followed reluctantly – without turning.
After a couple of brushes with cement carport pillars and a cement post at our gate, the motorhome had been dragged clear of the Rancho and rested in the roadway.
I looked backed at the large open space that was now our vacant carport and breathed a moment’s relief – until I started imaging this procession causing a road blockage that might draw attention by some officials.
The hombres realized, as if a light went off, that very soon all the rubber would wear off the back wheels as they still did not rotate, and that that was probably not going to work. They proceeded to attempt to remove the back dually wheels to try and free the frozen axle connected to the rear differential.
This is where one of the hombres, the three mujers and I left the scene. Now like Anita, I could no longer watch and needed to get to a place where I could only imagine what was going on.
A few hours later the entourage pulled up in the Hood. The dump truck deposited the motor-home, replete with freely moving back wheels, to a parking space in front of one very happy hombre’s casa. The entire family immediately commenced to cleaning the unit up.
The Eagle has Landed
I retrieved my jack and chain. The hombres were all smiles.
Would I have done something like this in my youth? Perhaps in the sixties when freedom was still available in the U.S. Today there is no way that vehicle could have been pulled by a huge dump truck through any U.S. streets without being stopped – no way. This not even taking into account the risks of getting that thing down the mountain.
At the end of the day I made some new friends. There were moments where we all were as one. But the reality is while there is now some Mexican in me, we will always be from different worlds.
We have been working feverishly to get packed and headed off to our winter quarters in Puerto Escondido. The end of that tunnel is in sight. It is no small task for a couple that easily get into a routine wherever we are parked. Look for us next time in Puerto Escondido. Stay Tuned!
