One thing about Mexican breakdowns

During all these years and umpteen bazillion miles on Mexican highways, I have to say that we have only had two incidents involving a robbery (unless you define the term more broadly to include corrupt police "fines"). That's significant, with all the reports we hear. Only twice was Jim was robbed at gunpoint, and both were when he was traveling by bus, not car. We suspect the passengers were actually just giving a forced donation to some political campaign, but we'll never know. It was a scary thing to have the bus pulled over to a deserted road in the middle of the night, but no harm was done.

At times we have been wary of help offered when we have been broken down, but in every single instance, the help has come directly from honest and helpful people. In the U.S. we have sat unnoticed in the heat for hours without a single person stopping to offer assistance, but in Mexico, we have never stopped more than five minutes before some kind Samaritan offers us aid. The disadvantage of breaking down in Mexico is the unlikely availability of any needed spare parts, but even then God has been gracious to make a way.

One thing about Mexico is that they are not afraid to build a part or make do with something else when parts are not available. It sure beats dealer prices, too! Once we were stopped on the side of a road with a tail pipe that was dragging. A man with a machete appeared out of nowhere, causing me to utter a few frantic prayers. There was not cause, though, for he was the answer to a prayer, not the cause for one. He took his machete, whacked the knitted part off my grandmother's clothes hangers we were carrying back to Oaxaca, and used the wire to rig up a support for the tail pipe. That took ingenuity!

Another time we were broken down on a dark rainy evening, just outside Tampico, where we hoped to spend the night. The entire wheel had come off the travel trailer and gotten lost in a ditch someplace. Two men came along to help right away. One took Jim in his car to the city to search for the right size lug nuts, and the other stood guard outside our van for me and the children. When the rain started coming down harder, I asked the man if he wouldn't come inside the car to get warm, but he nobly refused, insisting it wouldn't be proper. These were just two of many suspected angels along our journeys. Is it any wonder we traveled free of fear?

The kids still recall the time we were helped by strangers in the U.S., who (wouldn't you know it!) were Mexicans on a highway in Texas. That was almost comical. The reason they remember that occasion is because it cost them something. A friend had given us a whole box of deluxe chocolate candies, which I gave to our "rescuers" when they refused payment for even the gas they incurred to help us out. Talk about taking candy from children! Was I ever the bad guy. Jim remembers this story for a different reason. It was the only time we ever ran out of gas. Ever. Coincidentally it was when I was driving, and he was sleeping!

Lest I be accused of being "racist" when referring to our heroes, let me post a photo of one of our favorite rescuers when we had the luxury of breaking down close to home. Our dear friend, John Hood, came by on New Year's Day, 2000 to see why our van had mysteriously stopping running. I still remember him joking that the "Y2K Bug" had gotten it. How we miss John!