| I fulfilled one of my life-time fantasies
in April of 1999, I bought myself a motorcycle! Not
just any bike, a Yamaha Virago
535, 1987 model. Middle age crazy, male menopause,
yearning for my youth? Who cares! It's great fun
and hopefully, a chick magnet!
I thought I'd try a little trip to San
Mateo last Saturday. I wanted to buy a leather jacket, gloves
and price out boots and saddlebags for the new bike. I had
talked it over with everyone who might know something about
the trip, including Paul, Alejandro and Armando the mechanic.
Armando told me the bike was in near prefect shape so I wasn't
too worried about that. I'd had some problems with what seemed
to be overheating but everyone assured me that this type of
bike doesn't overheat. Given the consensus, I believed them.
However something was causing the bike to loose power under
acceleration. Perhaps it was improper gearing, gearing up
too soon, maybe the fuel filter needed to be changed. At least
this would be a good chance to test it. I hoped to meet Gris
and Alex in San Mateo if we could get the timing right. I
wanted to leave at about 9:00, arrive in San Mateo by 11:00,
two hours to shop, maybe eat, hit the road by 1-1:30 at the
latest and get back to Cuernavaca by 3:00 to avoid the chance
of rain in the mountains. It can rain mightily at the higher
elevations in the afternoon, this time of year.
I packed light, a windbreaker, some old
gloves, an air pump and tire gauge. I thought a good while
about how much money to take and finally decided it would
be better to have too much rather than not enough. What if
the bike broke down and I had to hire a truck to carry it
back? What if I had to spend the night somewhere? So I clean
my pockets down to the lint and gathered $2700 pesos. With
that I could handle the worst that could happen!
I called Paul once more to get any last
minute advice. He suggested that I drop over and he could
draw me a map of the back roads. I did and he did. I finally
gassed up and hit the road at about 11:00, well behind schedule
but the weather still looked good.
The bike behaved well all the way up
to Tres Marias, where I stopped for some breakfast. Tres Marias
is a popular stopping place for motorcyclists. There were
two guys there when I arrived. We chatted and I asked them
about the road to San Mateo. They told me not to try it, too
many potholes, too quiet, no services. They suggested that
I head through Mexico and use the autopista. I really didn't
look forward to that, so I told them I just wanted to see
the first part the trip and if it was too much I'd turn around.
I thanked them and headed off at about 12:00.
The road was nearly perfect. There were
some potholes and lots of curves but all forest and mountains
and really pretty. I've traveled some in the Canadian mountains
and parts of this road were identical to parts of British
Columbia. I zoomed along, sometimes following other traffic
then I'd pass them and have the road to myself for a while.
I passed Huitzilac, Zampoala de las Lagunas, Santa Maria,
then the police stopped me&
Two patrolmen in a car were at the side
of the road. They signaled me over and approached me, smiling.
They asked to see my papers, which I thought were roughly
in order. I gave them the Tarjeta de Circulación and my driver's
license that I had just obtained, a few days earlier. They
causally admired the bike and asked when I bought it and how
much it cost. I felt the first twinge of nervousness. I told
them the truth, that I'd bought it about two month earlier;
I lied about the price, "$10,000 pesos", I said,
half what I'd really paid.
Still smiling, but now for a different
reason, the policeman kindly informed me that my papers were
out of order. I felt more than a twinge. He pointed out that
it clearly states on the back of my Tarjeta de Circulación
that I should have put the bike in my name within 30 days
of purchase. I'd looked into this for the scooter a year earlier
and found it was very expensive and rarely done, so I hadn't
bothered for the big bike either. The policeman then kindly
informed me that my driver's license was for cars, not motorcycles.
I'd asked for a license for motorcycles, honest!
Well, he was happy to show me in his
little book of rules that the fines would come to $1200 pesos
and that they would be obligated to hold the bike until I
paid the fines, the office would be open to receive payment
Monday morning. Now I was getting a little panicky. Sure enough,
he suggested that there was another way to solve my little
problem. If I were to pay a portion, say $800 pesos, he could
clear the problem with the other patrol cars along my route
and I could be on my way. I debated silently and quickly.
If he was telling the truth about the fines and office hours
it would cost me at least $800 pesos in hassles just to leave
the bike and return on Monday, plus the fines and who knew
if the bike would still be there on Monday or just stripped
to the frame. I paid. He even gave me a little scrap of paper
with a code "Teniente Tabaco 13" which I could show
to any other officer I might see. This would guarantee safe
passage to San Mateo and back. We all smiled and shook hands
and I jumped on the bike and roared off toward San Mateo.
Safe passage? I didn't really think so but I was half way
to San Mateo and this was the first cop I'd seen. I imagined
they were happy. Nope.
Less than five minutes later I saw the
lights in the mirror. I pulled over. Three officers this time
in white shirts, obviously the brass, possibly the local chief,
got out of the car. It was hard to keep up with their Spanish
but the gist was that they knew I'd just paid a bribe to the
other cops and that I was in a world of trouble. The first
pair of cops had already been arrested and I was on the way
to join them. What with the fines and lawyers it was going
to cost $10,000 to $20,000 pesos not to mention the mandatory
three months in jail. I could kiss the bike goodbye, too.
I started to shit my self. They searched me for drugs, took
the bike keys and held tight to all my papers. As we walked
toward the car I heard one cop trying to start the bike, I
had to go back and show him how and he roared up the highway
toward the last town. Now alone with the chief, he asked me
where I was from. "Canada", I said, as steadily
as I could. "Oh, canadiense, es bueno no nos gustan los
americanos." "Look", he said "I wan to
hep you, I wan to be you frien", now using a little English.
Not much, not well, but an attempt. Here comes the bite I
thought. I started to breathe a little, just a little. "How
much money do you have?" I had about $2,000 pesos left,
nervous, I said I didn't know. "Count it." I did.
"Give it to me." "Wait", I shouted "I
need something, let me keep $500, okay?" I gave him $1450
and kept $500. No, he wasn't happy with that. He handed me
a $50 and asked for another $100. I have no idea why, maybe
he was concerned about counterfeit $50's, who knows? About
this time the other cop came back on the bike, right on cue.
Now we were friends. He told me I could
continue on my way. "How fast will the bike go? You better
get out of here as fast as you can." I felt that was
good advice, before HIS boss hit me up for my last $450 pesos!
I didn't continue on to San Mateo, I didn't have enough money
to buy anything anyway, but I did have a nice ride back to
Cuernavaca. I didn't even rain.
Doug Hurd, Cuernavaca |
