driving through Mexico

The last gasp; our poor little Tercel just couldn’t make it up the steep hill. And we were on our last energy as well. I had never heard Kent say “I am just DONE” before (my common refrain) but in the town before San Pedro La Laguna, that was it. He was done. As was I. And the car. But we did make it to San Pedro and right opposite us on this steep hill was a parking area for a hotel and Kent could just coast back right into it. We were staying there whether we liked it or not! Thank God. We had arrived.


Our drive down the eastern coast of Mexico was beautiful. We had left Texas a week ago and it didn’t take too long to get used to the more aggressive approach to driving on these roads. Pass at will, make approaching vehicles move over, move onto the shoulder yourself so the big trucks and buses can pass you and hopefully not squash you like a bug.


The only thing we were a little bit worried about were the Federales. It’s not like we were obvious or anything: CA plates, 2 mountain bikes strapped on the trunk, boxes piled high in the back seat. And that first day when I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the lights flashing, the adrenaline rush flooded me with sweat. “I swear I wasn’t speeding, Kent!” I pulled off the road and just waited for the officer to saunter up to the car and give us a huge ticket. He approached us and asked in perfect English where we were from and where we were going and apparently satisfied that we weren’t doing anything illegal, he said that he had noticed our bike rack was bouncing around. I knew that wasn’t true but I jumped out of the car anyway and checked it. “Thank you for being so observant and watching out for us,” I gushed. “Drive safely,” he replied as he got back into his fancy brand-new Chevrolet muscle Federale car. We got back on the road.

I predicted that we would be stopped every day, but that was it. Instead, it was the roads further south and nearly stopped us. Along the way we took a day to explore a UN Biosphere called “El Cielo,” famous for the migratory birds that stop there. The 4-wheel drive “road” we rode our mountain bikes up was tough enough that I sometimes got to practice my “mountain-bike walking” skills. And we chose to go back down the old road which was hardly that, so steep and rocky and slippery that I actually walked the entire 7 km down. I am the original mountain-bike chicken. But Kent even got off his bike for a good part of the way.
We had another day of riding further south in an area called Los Tuxtlas, having found a wonderful colonial hotel in a small town to stay in. We rode up the small volcano near town, up a road that eschewed switchbacks for the direct route up. Man!


But I had started talking about the roads. Vera Cruz is the state we ended up naming “topelandia” for the gazillion speed bumps called topes that you had to inch over in every town. Sometimes they were unmarked, forcing a screeching halt in order to keep the car’s suspension from being broken.

Add these creatures to the perfect roads which regularly without notice degenerated into axle-destroying hole-infested pavement and it was nerve-wracking. Whoever was driving at the time couldn’t take attention off the road for fear of coming upon a tope or hole and also had to watch for oncoming passing traffic in our lane. Very tiring. When the roads were good, they were perfect and when they were bad, they were way bad.

This abuse may have compounded the problem with the Tercel’s clutch. We both became quite adept at manipulating the gas and clutch pedals while quickly putting the stick into gear as we went over topes or around holes. We were worried enough that in one small city, we went in search of parts after figuring out what we thought the problem was. We received better help than we might have at home and a mechanic even did some work at no charge. We could have waited there for the parts to come, but it would have been about a week. So we decided to go for it. That decision almost cost us.

Our final day pushed us to the edge, yet was full of little miracles. We emailed Joe LoMonaco of Proyecto Fe who was sending some people down in early February and asked him to bring us the parts we needed to fix the car. Then we headed for the border. Our experience in the past had always been positive with the men who rush the car to “help” you through the confusing border paperwork, so we accepted one’s offer. Big mistake. He was a number one swindler and tried to bilk us out of almost $200. We had enough information to know what he was doing, but we were missing one important piece of paper – the original title to the Tercel. We had copies but not the original. An official said that we couldn’t pass without the original title and our little swindler used this to push us to pay a kind of bribe. This is where Kent’s patience and knowledge of Spanish, and God’s providence stepped in. As we waited in line to pay a finally agreed upon $75, Kent turned around and there stood a man who looked at him in a funny way. “Hey, don’t you work for Rainin in Oakland?” What? Turns out Michael is a Guatemalan who had worked with Kent a few years before. No way. Talking with him gave us the confidence to grab our paperwork back and deny our little swindler anything. He was pissed. But a young woman customs officer stepped out of her office and said she would work it out. And she did, for the expected $5.00 charge. What a start to the day!


We drove into Guatemala and very soon were on steep roads that sometimes required 1st gear to climb. Up and up and up we climbed into the clouds. And over the topes, an even more vicious strain of topes than in Mexico. Our car scraped and huffed over each one. As we finally turned off the main road and started the descent to Lake Atitlan, the way grew steeper and steeper and then we started down the final steepest descent, switchback after switchback down the volcano. At one point, we met a truck around a corner. We tried to reverse back up the hill but the just Tercel couldn’t do it. So we were at an impasse until a pick-up showed up with a bunch of guys who got out and temselves pushed us back up the hill. Down a steadily deteriorating road and a succession of higher and higher topes and Kent let out his, “I am DONE!”

So we at last arrived in San Pedro to be met by the final straw: a diversion around roadwork – we led the line of cars down a narrow street until the cars coming the other way stopped us. Who was going to go around? It’s not like we could back up or anything. So, we squeaked by each other, the bike tires scraping the wall that hemmed us in on one side. Oh man. I had to get out at one point to swing the bikes so we wouldn’t screw up a wheel or anything. And the final last gasp into the hotel. We were hysterically relieved. And then, a funny thing. Turns out the hotel is run by Christians, one of whom is the nephew of the head teacher of the school we are going to. Go figure! He later called his uncle Francisco and we met, after all these months of emails. Wednesday we go up to the community and school to begin figuring out how we will best fit in. An amazing end to an amazing God-day!

leaving home

A milestone - our filthy, icky, paint-spattered, over-used clothes into the garbage. After 2 months of daily use in fixing up the house, the clothes are discarded and we are on our way at last! I never thought the day would come. But we leave knowing our house is in good order. On to Guatemala until sometime in the Spring (you know how definite our plans have been...) and then on to Europe to bike tour for the rest of the year.

But first we drive through Mexico to Guatemala - land of unbelievably gorgeous textiles, stunning (and active) volcanoes, a multitude of different indiginous Mayan languages and one of the worst educational systems in the Western Hemisphere, third only to Haiti and Nicaragua.

The rural highland village Kent and I will work in is on Volcan San Pedro, above Lake Atitlan, a popular tourist destination. In Panyebar, kids suffer from skin disorders and worms gained from lack of shoes. Families farm small plots of land on the volcano. Most women cook over open wood fires in their homes and families have medical conditions associated with the smoke. Up until the recent past, Panyebar had only elementary schools and children did not receive an education above 6th grade. But about 3 years ago, a middle school opened, supported by friends and churches in California and Alaska. This community will be most of the focus of Kent's and my time.

Our roles are still fairly undefined. Most likely, Kent will be working with a research project that is endeavoring to quantify how cooking with clean-burning, vented stoves affects the health of families that have always used open fires. I will work with the middle school, teaching science and English and assisting the teachers.

Many of you have donated funds and materials for both the stove project and the school - we do not go empty-handed. In fact we bring FOSS science kits, school supplies, financial donations and good wishes. Just hope those FOSS kits make it through the border crossings intact! "Uh, officer, that white powder is just citric acid..." Maybe our mountain bikes will distract them!

So we leave, knowing that we bring much but will receive more as is usually the way in such things. In the mean time, it's Motel 6 and roast chicken from the grocery store until we hit the taco stands in Mexico!