Road Warriors

Nick is having a hard time keeping his sanity. He has created a game where he notches an arrow and explodes the car in front of us. Another variation is checking the wind direction, adjusting his scope, and shooting out the tires of vehicles around us.

It's all in his head. Clearly. They wouldn't sell us firearms that would do that kind of damage.

We tried.

(No we didn't)

Other times he dramatically honks the horn at other drivers. Most times it's for interested waving drivers, or kids in backseats waling on each other. However the off time it's to try and scare people.

It never does. Cheech's is out honked by bicycle horns.

Driving down the center of the highway and 'bah-bah-bahing' as the white lines disappear under the hood is another FAVOURITE.

Chris, the headlight cover

We met Chris today. Chris speaks with his arms crossed for the most part. Not in a way that closes him off to conversation, but in a way that allows him to use quick hand movements to reiterate a point.

Such as "are you here about my cousin's car you know the old Pontiac with the rear shift it's the one with the new tires it's over here I can show you." He had gestured towards the car fifteen times during this interaction.

We were not talking to him because we were looking at his cousin's car. We didn't know his cousin had a car. We didn't know Chris. We wanted to speak to the people who ran the wrecking yard.

So I asked him "is this your wrecking yard?"

"No"

Insert significant confusion here.

We were clearly at a wrecking yard. He came up to us as if he knew what he was talking about, which, moments after meeting him, it was quite clear that he did not have any clue whatsoever.

Just as confusing, Chris was speaking to us as if we had had a coffee with him that morning, a beer the night before, and we coached little league together.

"Do I know you?" I asked, immediately wondering why I'd asked that since I was completely sure of the answer.

"Yeah you do I'm Chris"

Chris and I were tight.

Chris had a tattoo on his right arm. We could see it between gestures. It was a tattoo of his first name. It was helping him as much as it was us.

"Does anyone here work for the wreckers?" I tried.

"Yes" he answered, clearly still thinking about his cousin's car.

We waited patiently for the rest of an answer that never arrived.

I looked at the trailer behind me labeled 'office'. It gave me an idea.

"Is there anyone in that office, Chris?"

"Yeah a bunch of women"

Is that so, I thought to myself wondering why we were even bothering. The gaping hole that remained after the headlight cover had flown off Cheech 20 minutes earlier no longer seemed important.

No longer speaking to Chris was becoming an increasingly important one.

So I turned around and walked away. It was our only choice. The conversation was clearly going to continue in this way for the rest of time, and we still had to talk to the 'women' inside, have them not find what we need, get back on the road and find the lost cover for ourselves.

There was no more time for Chris. Besides, he was late to tea and one does not keep the mad hatter waiting.

We have named the recovered cover Chris. 

America

Had a nice breakfast this morning. The cleaning staff at the hotel where Mexican, and quite surprised when we spoke a bit of Spanish.

I had a Texas shaped waffle this morning because .... America.

That's reason enough, isn't it?

The desk jockey was coaching me through the process, figuring I wasn't going to get through the ordeal unaided.

I showed her. I fried up the best damn flour and water mixture that front office had seen. I used the artificial syrup liquid to trace our path as soon as I realized it was Texas, which took a while because I am used to round, not the strange shape in front of me.

We're en route to New Orleans today.

Nos vemos.

Even more embarrassing

The first time Roberto, my mechanic, made a house call I was worried about a sound that the car was making that apparently cars always make.

The second time he visited Nick, Matt and I had tried to replace the spark plug wires. We had already got the rear shocks changed, and had done a could of other things, but we thought we'd try this because, well our success rate had been 100% thus far.

We felt pretty good.

When Roberto came a week later to fix nearly everything we'd done he said to me, en Español, "You did this?"

"Si. Esta bien?"

He smirked, looked at Miguel, and said "no".

Miguel said to Nick, en español, "These are good cars to learn on because you can't mess things up too bad, and they're not too hard to fix."

So while my assistant spoke with Jorge's assistant, Roberto and I (mostly Roberto) went about undoing the work that we had proudly done a week earlier.

When we were working on it, my brother-in-law and father had tried to couch me out to f doing it at all, but, as I said earlier, I was batting .1000 and completely unstoppable. Steve and Dad, when they realized what I was tackling, had me slow the process down - but by the time they had done that the firing order had been forgotten and no amount of YouTube could put it back together again.

In the end all I had done was mix up the first cylinder with the second, but I might as well have put my right shoe on the left rear brake pad.

The car wasn't going to work. End of story.

A little too optimistic

So yes, posting something everyday for the next year was a little optimistic, but that doesn't mean I'll wait 365 before trying again. This time I'll start with smaller goals and build up to everyday.

Its been a while, so I'll have to get back into practice.

We're putting the final touches on the car. Roberto, my mechanic, cane by the house because I tried to fix the distributor, and ended up taking a cab to work.

Very frustrating when we're only four days away.

Roberto has made 3 house calls since I've started calling him, and each of these house calls has been a result of my taking more apart than I should have. In all, these visits have cost me 700 pesos. That's roughly $12 bucks an hour for him to drive to my house, fix my screw ups, and have three beers with us.

Yes, I pay for friendship. I'm okay with it.

He visited the first time because I thought I heard a knocking in the engine when it was running, bit the reason Roberto came to me was because the car wasn't starting at all. We had pushed the car to get it moving after he sat for two weeks over Semana Santa.

I had felt like a pretty high roller when the mechanic showed up at my house. You see, I had met a parent of one of my students who owned a couple of bugs who said to call him if I needed help ever.

My car wouldn't start. I needed help.

"Jorge. Hello. Soy Brad. El maestro de su hija. Bueno, gracias. Si, my car won't funcionando. No, nada. You're assistant? You don't need to send him. That's amazing, thank you!"

Manuel, Norge's assistant, arrived shortly after with Roberto. Manuel and I stood around while Roberto hot wired the car, tweaked a few things, told me the knocking was the sound of the engine... that's it. Just the engine.

Turns out I was a new parent and my daughter had the hiccups.

How embarrassing.

Four Things

I am going to pledge to write one thing everyday for the next year.

In one day I turn 32, which means I have one year left of childhood. Papá says that Christ was a man at 33. I'm not going to give my life for a cause, nor is this about faith. This is simply a look at my childish life thus far, and a look forward into adulthood.

In two weeks I'll be crossing the Mexican-US boarder in a 99 old style VW Bug. You are all welcome to read along with the ride. Nick, my copilot, and I have our first three nights figured out - we'd love to stay at your place if you'll have us.

In 397 days I'll be marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. I'll be doing this just 31, days after I become a man.

That's all for now.
I love you all.

Bird