The Story Of The Faibisch's Three Month Trip in 1976 Through Mexico, Belize and Guatemala In a School Bus Named Gus

We’ve been to Mexico many times and it was our introduction to foreign travel.  In the 1960’s and 1970’s we were young,  didn’t have much money and Mexico was our travel choice. 

Our first trip was in 1966, just two years after we were married, when Misti was pregnant with our first son, David.  The previous year I had a serious automobile accident and as a result looked for and bought, what was then, the safest car on the market.  It was a used 1961 Mercedes Benz 220S sedan, with low miles and in excellent condition.

We were excited about the car and decided we’d take it for a trip.  At age 26 I guess I was a bit fearless or dumb, or both, and we chose Mazatlan, Mexico as our destination for a long weekend journey, and to try out our new car.  We looked at a map, realized it was a roughly 4,000 mile round trip, but off we went.

I was impressed that the car hummed along at better than one hundred miles an hour, and we got to Mazatlan in two days of non-stop driving.  We stayed one night and then another two days driving home.  Sounds crazy now, but it was our first foreign adventure and paved the way for many more to come.

The following is a diary of our 1976 trip to Mexico and Guatemala in Gus:

Montara, California, November 9, 1976
Our journey has started. We left San Francisco this evening and are spending the night with our good friends the Carlson's in Montara. Tomorrow we head south going half way to Los Angeles or spending the night near Morro Bay. Leaving has been exciting, many goodbyes and bon voyages and the realization of how many wonderful friends we have.  

Misti drove Gus to the office to get me and everyone came down to see us off. Paula announced on the PA system that "the bus was leaving for South America" and everyone piled on Gus to say goodbye amidst hugs and kisses.

Our adventure is beginning and we’re just beginning to realize its magnitude. An incredible experience awaits us and we’re anxious for it to start. There are so many unknowns:  How will the four of us get along living in the small space of a school bus? How will David who is 9 and Mike who is 6 get along?  How will Gus hold up on the trip? Can we drive the long distances we plan, through Baja to the mainland of Mexico and then through Mexico to Central America?  So far we're pleased with Gus's performance. We appreciate his low gearing and ability to pull heavy loads up hills. Tonight will be our first night sleeping in Gus and frankly it’s quite plush. Our bed is comfortable and there’s a cozy feeling being surrounded by the redwood walls and ceilings. With Gus's several layers of insulation we should stay warm without needing any heat.

The kids are excited and each has his own way of demonstrating the excitement. One thing that’s happening is an restructuring of time. Michael volunteered to do his homework at 8:30 tonight which is unprecedented; usually he fights about doing it at all. The thought of having three consecutive months with no specific plan or itinerary is difficult to grasp. Twelve years of non-stop working with only occasional two or three week breaks have created a pattern that may not be easy to change. I welcome this opportunity to experience another way of life and already feel a lightness, almost a giddiness, about my new found freedom. I predict that I’ll enjoy this experience and when the time comes I'll return refreshed and ready to carry on with my life.

A few words about Gus.  Gus is what they call a half size school bus, he’s about 25 feet long and weighs six tons unloaded.  He’s a 1965 Chevy and his body is made by Wayne Industries in Indiana.  I worked three months outfitting Gus for our voyage: a small kitchen with a propane stove and oven, table that seats four and folds down to a spare bed, full size bed in the back and pull down beds for the kids, a good toilet and a shower with solar heat.   

Corona Del Mar, California, November II, 1976

It’s the third day of our trip. Last night we stayed at Morro Bay in a campground facing the ocean. We left the curtains open and woke up to the sights and sounds of the Pacific at our door.

We got a late start Wednesday morning and the kids were anxious to get underway. We decided to take California Route 1 along the sea to Santa Cruz rather than Highway 101 which would be faster but not as scenic. It was a good decision and a nice way to start our trip; it's a pretty road and even nicer sitting high in Gus with great visibility.

We stopped in Mission San Miguel since David is studying about the missions in school and he wanted to see a real one. It rained on and off the first day and we had our first mechanical problem, the left windshield wiper stopped but I was able to fix it by tightening a loose bolt.

We're very pleased with the way Gus handles. Before leaving we had some reservations about how he would perform at sustained speed especially on the trip to Los Angeles, but he does well as long as we don't go any faster than 50 miles an hour. Gus is very stable and doesn't sway in high wind. Other drivers respect our size and give us a wide berth. We chose to keep the bright yellow school bus colors when we had Gus repainted since we felt that yellow is highly visible and a safe color. An added bonus is that many drivers mistake us for a real school bus and give us a lot of respect. Gus's six ton weight provides a good feeling of security even among other trucks and buses. All traces of the backlash we worried about have vanished and the ride is very smooth. I guess the added weight of 60 gallons of gas, 30 gallons of water, 12 gallons of propane and all our food, clothing and other supplies have made the difference. When we had Gus checked before we left, ISI Motors in San Rafael gave him a clean bill of health and said the drive train was fine.

Tuesday night we cooked dinner in Gus for the first time, other than our pre-trip trial run at Samuel Taylor Park. Misti prepared steak and artichokes and it was delicious. The appliances work well and we're glad we decided on a real refrigerator rather than an ice-box since it uses almost no propane and keeps everything cold. We even have our own ice cubes which will be a treat when we get to the hot weather.

Wednesday afternoon driving in heavy rain we discovered a roof leak. When I mounted the tank for shower water on the roof I didn't seal the bolt holes well enough. A little rain revealed the leak and I tried to putty around the base to avoid having to remove the entire tank. But I wasn't able to seal under the tank because I couldn't get my fingers into the small space. I reasoned that the curve of the roof would shed the water before it leaked through the holes. Not so, in hard driving rain the water finds an opening either where the tank bolts come through the inner roof or near the rear skylight. I plan to repair this by sealing the front and back of the tank.

Wednesday morning we stopped in San Luis Obispo and toured the mission. I've seen enough missions. The heaviness of the walls and ceilings and lack of light (why didn't they ever use skylights?) seems oppressive. The relics of furniture, all so heavy and dismal, make me think there was little happiness within these walls. I was glad to get out and into the sunlight.

Wednesday afternoon we stopped for lunch at Anderson's pea soup restaurant in Buelton and had their traveler's special, as many plates of pea soup as you like, delicious onion bread and butter and a glass of wine (milk for the kids). We took a quick tour of Solvang, the Danish community and since it was pouring decided to head south for my Aunt Eunice's house in Corona Del Mar, where we planned to spend the night.  We arrived at Eunice's in the early evening and it was good to see her. She cooked a delicious chicken and spaghetti dinner and we talked into the late evening. A nice day ended, many more ahead.

We spent most of our time in Orange County making small repairs and improvements to Gus and visiting with Eunice, Helen and Romano, and Phil and Ingvall, all cousins. On Saturday we took the kids to Knotts Berry Farm which was fun, not as fantastic as Disneyland but a nice amusement park with some good attractions and rides.

We saw Helen only once on Friday. Her baby, Nicole, is cute as a button as we expected would be the case having such handsome parents. Helen seemed tired and I think is a little disgusted with the coffee shop she and her husband Romano operate in Newport Beach. They’ve had the shop about a year and spend most of their time there. They plan to sell the business and Romano hopes to work with my uncle Dave building homes in Orange County.  Friday night we spent time with my cousin Phil and his wife Ingvil, who live in Costa Mesa. Phil works with the University of California at Irvine and is waiting to receive a research grant in his field of psychology.

It seems our voyage has created excitement and perhaps even envy among the people we've stayed with. I find that people are unable to comprehend the magnitude of our journey. To drive a school bus 10,000 or so miles through Mexico and Central America is not an everyday trip.

Poway, California, November 16, 1976
We’re now staying with our friends, Louis and Barbara Van Boom in Poway, a small town about 25 miles northeast of San DiegoWe arrived Sunday night after spending three days with our relatives in Orange county.

I had an experience the last day we were in Poway, the day before we crossed the border, which I’d like to relate. I had borrowed my friend Louie's motorcycle to go to an auto parts store to get some lights for Gus. On the way back I was stopped by the California Highway Patrol because the motorcycle registration was expired. When I showed the cop my driver’s license he told me a special license was required to drive a motorcycle. I told him I didn’t know that and had only borrowed the motorcycle to run an errand and was leaving the next day with my family for an extended trip to Latin America. He proceeded to write two tickets ignoring my pleas of innocence; I never did have much luck with cops.

When I got back to the Van Boom's house I called the courthouse and discovered that the ticket for not having a valid license to drive a motorcycle was fifty dollars. I asked for and got an appearance before a judge in San Diego that afternoon by explaining that I was leaving the country for three months and wanted to act like a responsible citizen and take care of this matter before leaving. The judge was an old man who should have retired years ago. He was tired but fair and was excusing many of the cases brought before him. I explained the circumstances and he dismissed the charges.  Justice lives but sometimes it’s difficult to find where it hides.

La Paz, Mexico, November 26, 1976

We’ve been in Baja one week now and have had many experiences, all good, even the problems, if that makes sense.

Our first stop was George's Restaurant , world famous as the sign says, in Rosarita Beach about 30 miles below the border. We had a leisurely seafood lunch and were serenaded by two mariachis. I made my first mistake with Mexican currency by tipping them 100 pesos which is the equivalent of five dollars, when a 20 peso note or one dollar is what I had intended. An inexpensive enough lesson which gave me a better feel for the value of the peso.

In Tijuana we exchanged $150 for pesos, at a rate of 24 to 1 or double what it had been for the past thirty years. For our $150 we got 3,600 pesos which made us feel quite wealthy. The fact that the peso had been devalued for the first time in thirty years was sheer coincidence with the timing of our trip, and it occurred about a month before we left. This meant that our money had doubled in value.

We spent our first night in Mexico camped a few miles below Ensenada on the beach in a place called Estrella Beach. We arrived at the trailer park in the dark and except for a VW bus camped several hundred yards away, we were the only people there. As was our experience in Morro Bay, there was no one around to pay so the night was free. We awoke early the next morning and decided to go back into Ensenada to find a mechanic to check the charging system since the ammeter gauge showed a small discharge.  

A week before we left I had a second battery installed in Gus to operate the interior lights and stereo. We had an isolator installed so each battery would operate separately, i.e., one could not drain the other, and both would be charged while running. The error I made was not having a heavy duty alternator installed to handle the increased load of the two batteries.

We got stuck in Ensenada after having breakfast in Gus near a lovely beach. Ten young kids helped us push Gus but we still couldn’t get him started. We asked a nearby car to give us a jump which got us going. The ammeter showed the system was charging so we decided to continue on rather than look for a mechanic in Ensenada. We didn't realize that it would be about 700 miles before we reached another town of any size.

On Thursday, our first full day in Mexico, we drove to Catavina, a small town in the desert about 200 miles south of Ensenada. We camped at a parador which is a public campground fenced in with bathrooms and water. The bathrooms were new and clean, unusual for Mexico, and it looked like they had just been built. There even were showers but as we were to find is true in most of Latin America, there was no hot water.  We had planned on staying in El Rosario, about 75 miles north of Catavina, but we encountered a drunk in a mercado who kept chasing Misti, and that made us leave.

On Friday we planned to drive to Guerro Negro but instead wound up going toward San Ignacio and spent the night on Playa Alta Mira off the main highway. The kids played in the sand and collected shells and rocks and we had a lunch of soup and Monterey dry jack cheese washed down with Dos Equis beer. There was a truck with two men collecting large rocks on the beach; we chatted briefly and found out that the rocks were used in building houses. We were finding many opportunities to practice our Spanish and it was improving each day.

The next morning we drove into San Ignacio to see the town and the mission. We were pleasantly surprised with the town, literally an oasis in the middle of the desert-like terrain. We toured the mission and chatted with the Padre, a soft-spoken, gentle-mannered man originally from New Orleans. He gave us some interesting background about the town and Baja in general. We learned that the Mexican government had garrisoned about 100 soldiers in this small town to marry with the town girls and help populate Baja, which the government is anxious to do. After shopping in the market we headed south for the town of Santa Rosalia, about 45 miles away.

Santa Rosalia was settled by the French in the late 1800's and the French influence is immediately apparent with wrought iron railings on the buildings somewhat reminiscent of New Orleans and many of the men having a definite Gallic look. We had a delicious and inexpensive lunch in a small hotel and then walked down the main street to the plaza where they were preparing for a fiesta.  We later learned that Mexican towns are always preparing for fiestas, and got the impression that not too many North Americans visit this place.

A few words about my perception of the Mexican people and their reactions to us. We’ve found that the people are extremely friendly and cordial and the friendliness appears to be genuine. They smile, wave hello and have a pleasant demeanor well beyond that of their North American neighbors. We are immediately perceived as strangers, blonde hair and blue eyes do not a Mexican make, but a smile and "buenas dias" from us is enough to get a pleasant reception. Almost all truckers wave to us as we drive by and in small towns kids and adults return our smiles with hand greetings. Perhaps some of this friendliness is attributable to Gus, the sight of four gringos driving in a funny looking yellow school bus with a big wooden box on top is a bit different, and people pay attention to us.

The biggest difficulty in adjusting to Mexico is losing our American paranoia. We’ve learned to always be suspicious of strange places and this suspicion is no doubt a deterrent to being well received in a foreign country. But as our fears diminish our pleasant experiences increase, perhaps to the point where we forget we’re in a foreign country where we should be wary of what we eat and say and do.

Our Spanish gets better each day since in the past week we've had to use it to buy gas, shop in stores, eat in restaurants, camp and for everything else. No one here speaks English, why should they?   At first we used the phrase, "Habla Inglis", "do you speak English?", but found this to be the wrong way to start a conversation. By first asking if someone speaks English you just scare them off and that’s the end of any communication. I’ve found it much better to start in Spanish and try not to use any English at all. If the person has any English chances are they’ll struggle to use it.
 
Cabo San Lucas, Baja, Mexico, November 27, 1976

I’m writing this after many glasses of tequila.  We’re in a trailer park in Cabo San Lucas at the tip of Baja, California and tomorrow we take the ferry to Puerto Vallarta on the mainland of Mexico. Our trip so far has been fantastic, we’ve had experiences that will last us the rest of our lives and I'm sure there are many more to come. It's raining tonight, the first rain since California about fifteen days ago.  It’s humid and very hot but thankfully no bugs.

Tonight Misti and I "stepped out", which is to say we left the kids in the bus and walked a short distance to a bar in the trailer park which seems to be the hot spot in Cabo San Lucas. After several drinks Misti went back to put the kids to sleep and I stayed to have another drink. I struck up a conversation with a Mexican guy who drives a dump truck in Cabo San Lucas, a giant of a guy who kept insisting on buying me more shots of tequila. After awhile I started running out of words in Spanish and at about the same time the tequila started to hit me. It was time to leave.

Because we’re moving so much I keep falling behind in my story, so let me back up to where I left off in Santa Rosalia.  From Santa Rosalia we drove 40 miles south to Mulege where we found a trailer park right on the beach and stayed two days. When we first arrived we met our "neighbors", David and Perry, both from Los Angeles. I struck up a conversation with David and he offered to take me out on the boat he had rented for the day; Misti and the kids had gone clamming on a nearby beach. We motored out among the rocks in Concepcion Bay amongst the seagulls and pelicans and the solitude and magnificence of the setting were overwhelming. I was actually here doing and enjoying this, not just dreaming about it.  I knew this was just the beginning of our experiences and many more lay ahead. A great feeling, like discovering a fortune that you could spend however you liked.

I realize now that to enjoy a vacation you need enough time so you don't feel you have to enjoy it since it will soon be over. Being limited to a few weeks stifles the feeling of freedom that I think is necessary to nourish the pleasure. To combine the feeling of unlimited freedom of time with freedom to roam and travel is rare for most people.  There must be more to life than a steady diet of 49 weeks of work and 3 weeks of vacation.

We enjoyed staying two days and nights on the beach near Mulege. The second day we went clamming and filled a huge pail with what must have been 300 or more clams. I've only clammed once before and couldn't believe this place. With three adults and our two kids we filled the pail in about 30 minutes, all you had to do was put your hand almost anywhere into the sand and there were several clams waiting to be pulled out.

That night we barbequed the clams and had a feast. Michael had his first taste of raw clams with David Holmes opening them and Michael slurping them down raw.  We couldn't eat them all and gave the rest away the next day when we left. We really didn't want to leave this spot but had miles to travel before catching the ferry at Cabo San Lucas, so we left in the morning bound for Ciudad Constitucion.  As we were leaving the campground we saw the shrimp boat coming in and we paid a fisherman a dollar to take us out to get some shrimp. We bought 2 kilos, about 4 pounds, for 100 pesos (about four dollars) and feasted on shrimp for the next few days. The kids got a kick out of touring the shrimp boat, a rusty, salty, smelly old vessel out of Guaymas on the mainland of Mexico.

From Mulege we drove to the town of Loreto where we had a drink at the El Presidente, a beautiful new hotel that seemed very American. It even had clean toilets that worked. Misti mentioned to the bell clerk that we were looking for a plumber to fix a leaking connection in our propane tank and he volunteered the services of one of the hotel's handymen. We had bought spare fittings and copper pipe in Mulege when we first discovered the leak. The guy just bent the pipe by hand and tightened the fittings. The repair worked fine and I gave the guy about $2 which he thought was fine.

We drove on to Ciudad Constitucion, a town of about forty thousand and the largest we had seen since we left San Diego about 800 miles to the north. The campground shown in the AAA book was about a mile out of town, we found it and were the only people there. It was actually an open pasture in the back of a farmer’s house, a lonely place and we were a little afraid, but we had nothing to fear. In the morning there were chickens and cows and a goat around the bus. Michael played with a goat that was tied up and the goat got frightened and broke the rope. It took the farmer and several helpers half an hour to finally get the goat tied up again.

In the morning we decided to find a mechanic in Ciudad Constitucion to look at the alternator and regulator. Since Ensenada it was behaving strangely, charging strongly some of the time and then not charging at other times. When we stopped at a bank to change some money and Gus wouldn't start, a cab gave us a jump and we decided we’d have the charging system looked at before going on to La Paz, about 120 miles to the south.  

The farmer had given us the name of a mechanic, a crude looking automotive electrical shop but we had the feeling we were in the right place. He tested everything using a voltmeter and quickly diagnosed the problem as the alternator being burned out. In San Diego we had bought a spare alternator and gave it to the mechanic who was amazed that we'd have a new alternator. Crazy gringos he must have been thinking, why replace the alternator when it can so easily be rebuilt. He put the alternator on Gus, checked the system and everything was working well; total bill was $l US. I explained to the mechanic that in the United States the same repair would have cost thirty dollars or more and gave him 100 pesos about $5. But our troubles with the alternator were not over.

We left Ciudad Constitucion Tuesday morning headed for La Paz planning to spend one night there and then on to Cabo San Lucas to catch the ferry to Puerto Vallarta on the mainland.  But that was not to happen. As it turned out, the parts shop in San Diego sold us the wrong size alternator and this was to cause a problem. About 75 miles south of Ciudad Constitucion we started hearing a strange noise coming from the engine and the water temperature gauge started quickly moving up to hot. I pulled over and saw that the fan belt was off, not broken, but the real problem was the water pump and fan housing which had torn apart since the alternator pulley wasn’t lined up with the other pulleys.
 
I had been under the hood for just a few minutes when a car stopped to help. The guy, who spoke no English, said that he would take me north to the closest town which was Santa Rita, to find a mechanic and a replacement part. I should have looked at a map first, it was a mistake to go north since it was actually further to Santa Rita than to La Paz. The guy stopped at several places rattling
off words in Spanish trying to locate the part. I knew these tiny roadside places most likely would not have the exact part we needed but the guy kept stopping in about a half dozen places. Finally, in Santa Rita, about 75 kilometers from where Gus was broken down, and where Misti and the kids were waiting in Gus, I decided to go back. I gave the guy 30 pesos (about $1.20) for his help and asked him in Spanish to please get me a ride in the other direction.

We stopped in a Pemex station where there were three young rock musicians in a beat up Chevy van going south to La Paz. They offered to give me a ride and off we went. They spoke no English and seemed somewhat reluctant at first to talk, I guess they felt there could be little conversation between us.  But I pushed my Spanish and we talked some and I related my predicament.  When we got to Gus the three of them got under the hood and tried their best to get us under way, using a coat hanger to wire the fan housing on but this didn't work. Then they volunteered to drive us into La Paz, about 60 miles, where we could buy the part and return by taxi in the morning. I hesitated to leave Gus stranded in the middle of nowhere and said that instead I would try to drive to La Paz going only several miles at a time, without the fan or water pump working. I thanked them profusely and tried to give them something but they refused and said they just wanted to help.
 
Our efforts to drive into La Paz that night were futile and ended in almost total disaster. We could only drive a mile or less before the radiator overheated and we had to stop to let it cool. At this rate it would be Christmas before we got to La Paz. The first time we stopped to add water the radiator was boiling violently and David and I both came very close to being scalded. When I loosened the pressure cap the hot water just gushed out like a geyser, luckily neither of us got burned. We added water and started out again, the second mile was uphill and we quickly overheated. At the crest of a hill on a curve, I decided we couldn't go any further and pulled off the road; the radiator was boiling with steam shooting out, it was very dark and I was fighting to steer Gus off the road.

This was a low point in our trip, things just couldn't get any worse. Then, out of nowhere, Los Angeles Verdes (the Green Angels) appeared, the Mexican patrol that cruises highways looking for people who need help, and did we ever need help. They greeted us, quickly diagnosed our problem, and set to work removing the radiator and fan housing as Gus sat there helpless. They did have a spare housing, but it didn't fit. They said the next day was their day off but they would pick up a part in La Paz and bring it to us and get us going. They said not to be afraid to spend the night on the highway, that there was really nothing to fear, and from their tone of voice we believed them. As they pulled away they said "believe in the people of Mexico". I knew these people would try their hardest to help us even though we were strangers in a strange land.

We spent the night in Gus on the side of the highway, a little afraid and concerned about our plight. Early in the morning the men returned and set to work. They put on the new fan housing and found the problem was with the alternator pulley. They proceeded to rebuild the alternator mating the old one, which I luckily had kept, with the new one we had gotten in San Diego. They worked for about two hours to get everything back together and then followed us the entire way to La Paz making sure we had no problems. I gave each of them the equivalent of ten US dollars, thirty dollars in all, and they were very pleased. They had driven about 150 miles round trip, bought the replacement part in La Paz, replaced the fan housing, worked on the alternator to make it fit, filled us up with water and followed us back to La Paz.  I can't imagine getting even my best friend in the US to do that let alone a mechanic. We were lucky to have so easily gotten out of what could have been a real jam.

An experience which I must relate is when we took Gus in to the mechanic in La Paz recommended by the Green Angels. Gus badly needed a tune up, oil change, lubrication, etc. since he had gone about 1500 rough miles down the Baja from San Francisco and the low 81 octane Mexican gas had caused some problems with Gus's carburetor. Gus was idling rough and was begging for attention. The shop was named "El Pulpo" (octopus in English) and the mechanic's name was Jose, a man in his late 40's who was a master.

He knew Gus well even though they had never met. He needed no manuals or written instructions. First he removed the carburetor and proceeded to clean and rebuild it. Then the fuel pump which was leaking ever since Orange County. Then a tune up, cleaning the plugs, new points which were badly worn, and condenser. An oil change, new filter, adjustments here and there. I told Jose we were planning to go as far as Panama and he knew he had to do a good job. He worked for five hours completely rebuilding the carburetor and tuning the engine. He did everything well, listening to the sounds of the engine and knowing what was right without needing any gauges. The total bill was $35 U.S. and I gave Jose a 100 peso tip, about $4 U.S.  In the United States the same work would probably have cost $200 or more and taken several days after an appointment was made two weeks in advance. Viva los mechanicos de Mexico!

In La Paz we stayed at a very elegant hotel, the Los Arcos, our first hotel of the trip. We got a separate room for the kids which they loved; it was the first time they had a hotel room to themselves. Each room had something called a servibar which is a small refrigerator stocked with a selection of liquor, beer, wine and soft drinks. The kids couldn't believe they had their own supply of cold drinks in their very own hotel room. After traveling the entire Baja, about 1000 miles, without one shower we luxuriated in the beautifully tiled showers and being able to use all the hot water we wanted.  

We stayed in La Paz three days before leaving for Cabo San Lucas to catch the ferry to Puerto Vallarta. The second night in La Paz we stayed on the public beach close to the barbecue pits and pulled Gus right onto the sand about ten feet from the Sea of Cortez. It was isolated and our remaining paranoia made us frightened so we locked Gus up tight. Of course no one bothered us. The next night we stayed at what was to be the first of many Mexican trailer courts. It had hot showers, people who spoke English, a treat for us and, a connection to potable water. We've since found many more and they’ve become our link with our gringo culture.

The next morning we left for Cabo San Lucas where we spent one night before catching the ferry to Puerto Vallarta. Cabo is a lovely little town at the very end of Baja, California, where
the Pacific Ocean meets the Sea of Cortez. It’s apparently one of the best fishing places in the world and has recently been discovered by the Americans; there are several beautiful and expensive hotels here.

Sunday afternoon we boarded our ferry, the Puerto Vallarta, with Gus stowed securely below next to massive Mexican trucks and buses. The Puerto Vallarta is a 7,000 ton German ship built in 1974 and one of the six Papenberg Sisters. Three of the ships were delivered to the Mexican shipping company Sematur while three others are being used by the Finish ferry company Viking Lines.

We spent the first few hours exploring the ferry and loving the fact that we'd be on her for almost a full day and night.  We took a cabin that was an extravagance at 500 pesos each, but we only paid salon class, 125 pesos, for the kids. Gus was only 1000 pesos, about $40, which is pretty good considering he weighs six tons. The total fare for the four of us in a stateroom with private bath and Gus below was about $130 US; not bad for 18 hours on the Puerto Vallarta as it plowed its way across the Sea of Cortez and Pacific Ocean to the mainland of Mexico.

The crossing was good except that David and I got a little seasick; some dramamine and eating dinner helped. The ship is beautiful and we spent much of our time exploring it and watching the Pacific Ocean.  Especially pretty was Lands End where the Pacific and Sea of Cortez meet. We passed this point just as the sun was setting and the view through the rocks at the point’s end was spectacular.

The ferry brought us to Puerto Vallarta; a pretty town but too touristy and crowded for our tastes. We had planned to stay only one day but wound up staying two since we had a number of chores to do including our laundry and getting our windows screened. We stayed at a campground with a swimming pool which was great since it was very hot and humid. We found a place that sold fresh seafood and bought four lobster tails at a good price, the best meal we’ve had so far.

Melaque (near Barra de Navidad), Mexico, December 2, 1976

From Puerto Vallarta we headed south toward Manzanillo but Misti discovered the town of Melaque in Cross' guide and we headed there. Melaque is in the state of Jalisco, about 150 miles south of Puerto Vallarta. We found a campground right on the beach and decided to stay for two days.  Parked next to us were Chris and Jeff, the guy from Novato Lumber who had sold us many of the parts we used in building Gus, and two young guys from Canada who had been hitchhiking with them. This worked out well because Jeff and his friends spent a lot of time with David and Michael and one night they all stayed up until about 11 playing Kismet.

The second night at Melanque we had dinner with Chris and Jeff, their two friends, and a guy by the name of Doug who was from Southern California. He was in Mexico to buy and sell hardwoods and had located a mill near Melanque where he got the wood. Doug invited all of us to his casa, a three bedroom cottage on the beach that he was renting. We fried some fish that Misti and Chris had bought at the market and had it with a rice dish and cold beer.

Doug related some of his recent adventures in Mexico and told of his being busted by the Mexican police for marijuana in a town called Campeche on the Yucatan coast. A real horror story. He and two friends finally got out of a miserable jail by paying $5,000. I had brought two joints to dinner and at one point started to light up when Jeff cautioned me not to because of Doug's experience. At the time we were carrying some dope but it was hidden away in a secret compartment and I wasn't at all paranoid about it.

The next day we left Melanque and drove inland toward Guadalajara, on a mountainous road that gave us our first real taste of driving in Mexico. For some reason, in all of Baja we had few encounters with trucks or buses or even cars; traffic was light, driving in Baja was easy and from Puerto Vallarta to Melanque there was little traffic. But this all changed as we neared Guadalajara. Suddenly driving was a matter of paying very close attention to who was trying to pass, and it was usually a big truck or bus. Maybe it’s the state of Jalisco, the home of machismo, where men enjoy the idea of driving big trucks and buses toward each other head on until at the last second one finally gets out of the way.  A dangerous game of Mexican chicken.

A few words about bathrooms in Mexico. Using a bathroom in Mexico is always an experience. In the U.S. most bathrooms are of about the same standard with the possible exception of an occasional dirty or non-working toilet, usually found in a poorly maintained gas station. Here, almost without exception, the bathrooms are incredibly filthy and the toilet doesn't work. A toilet that flushes is a rarity. In the U.S., sanitation is pretty much taken for granted; toilets work and when they break a plumber is called for immediate repair. Not so in Mexico. Here it’s common to walk into a bathroom that has several toilets all filled with poop, and it's difficult to get used to this. After a few toilet experiences you quickly learn to always carry a roll of toilet paper since most toilets have no paper and of course no toilet seats.  On the German built ferry from Cabo San Lucas to Puerto Vallarta the bathrooms were immaculate; ultra clean by any standard.  But at night they all stopped working and quickly filled with Mexican truck driver's poop. I found that when one must, it’s certainly possible to use a toilet that hasn’t been flushed.

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, December 8, 1976

We’re staying in a KOA campground just outside of San Miguel de Allende, a town about 200 miles from Mexico City. Yesterday we arrived in Guanajuato and spent the night there at the Guanajuato Motel, high on a hill overlooking the city. This was our second motel in the four weeks we’ve been traveling.  Guanajuato is a quaint city, very old and colonial with most of the buildings dating back to the 1500's. There are several working silver and gold mines with one, the Valenciana, a famous mine that during colonial times produced two- thirds of the world's silver.

The first hour in Guanajuato we drove through the city and got stuck on a street too narrow for Gus. As Misti was guiding me back, a man appeared to help. He was a tourist guide and he helped me back Gus out of the narrow street without destroying any signs or light fixtures. We asked him for a hotel recommendation and he suggested the Guanajuato Motel as being moderately priced and comfortable, which it was except for the fact that it had no heat and Guanajuato at an altitude of 6500 feet gets very cold at night. He also sold us a tour of the city for the next day; we agreed to this because we had heard so much about Guanajuato and wanted to see it all.

Unfortunately, the next morning Misti got a touch of the turista and felt like hell, but being the trooper she is, she wanted to go on the tour and said she was well enough to try it. We decided not to see the cemetery which contains mummies of people who died about a hundred years ago and have been preserved because of the very dry climate in Guanajuato. We stopped at the native market and bought a number of things; four copper plates which we plan to give Rhoda as a gift, a copper pot which we plan to give Judy and Bill, several baskets for hanging fruits and vegetables in Gus and toys and serapes.

We left Guanajuato in the afternoon headed for Queretaro but stopped first at San Miguel de Allende and heard about a festival at one of the churches.  At the campground we met two couples, Robin and Sandy from Atlanta and Doug and Nancy from Seattle. Both are going to Oaxaca and have been bumping into each other for the past week.  We struck up an instant friendship and asked if they’d like to join us going to town to see the festival.  

We went to the church and watched them make preparations; moving tables and rigging the fireworks. I was fascinated by the two men who were setting up the fireworks. They were masters who were preparing an extravaganza and meticulously tied each rocket and charge and then taped and ran fuses. We all piled into Gus, fourteen of us with Robin and Sandy and their four kids and Doug and Nancy and their two kids plus the four of us, and went to town at about 8:30. The fair was fun, girls and boys doing native dances, a band with lots of brass and a kid drummer who was about seven years old.

But the big thrill was the fireworks which started about 10 p.m.  First they shot off rockets that would follow a wire path down the street and then turn around and come back with flame and sparks flying. At first I thought they were some kind of rocket designed to turn around in mid-air, but then I saw the wire. Next they shot off clusters of skyrockets which were real fire and smoke, heavy duty fireworks. They would shoot giant rockets about 100 feet into the air, one after another, and flaming pieces would fall to the ground while everyone tried to get out of the way. Little kids from the town would try to catch the flaming pieces, a touch of early Latino machismo.

Then they lit the two towers that contained the fuses and rockets and charges that we had watched them put together earlier in the day. This was an amazing fireworks display that makes the best I've seen before seem like a small firecracker. The difference is that these were close and on top of us, smoke-fire-explosion-spark, an experience that wouldn’t be allowed in the U.S. The finale was a super charge that scared everyone.  Misti and Mike and retreated quickly with sparks and fire at their toes. A memorable experience in San Miguel de Allende.

Mexico City, Mexico, December 9, 1976
I'm in a bad mood; several bad experiences today and I'm drowning my sorrows in tequila. We left San Miguel de Allende this morning for Mexico City after an incredible night watching fireworks at the festival. I guess I didn't get enough sleep as we were out pretty late. What started me in a bad mood was a side trip we took to a town by the name of Tula, about 50 miles north of Mexico City on the road from Queretero. Our guide book talked about incredible Toltec ruins which were only about nine miles off the main road. Well it was probably four times nine miles, and we got lost.  We never saw the ruins, the town was ugly and dusty, and it put me in a bad mood. The side trip delayed us by about two hours which meant that we entered Mexico City at night when it was dark.

We got lost trying to find the campground which isn’t surprising considering the size of Mexico City.   We finally found the trailer park, Cabello, which is in the middle of Mexico City near the university. I got into a fight with the woman who owned the park who kept trying to back us into a tight spot which was too difficult and not worth the effort. I finally convinced her to let us pull in forward which I did on the first try. I came very close to blowing up and telling her what she could do with her trailer park, but Misti was right in saying that we should stay put since it was dark and we had no other place to go.

Mexico City, Mexico, December 12, 1976

This is the end of our third day in Mexico City and we've seen and done a lot. I wasn't sure at first how I'd like this city. I had heard that it was overpopulated, congested, that its traffic was awful and that there was major air pollution. All this is true but I love the city anyway. It has so much feeling and character and aliveness; it bursts with energy and people. It reminds me somewhat of a Latino New York City, where I grew up. The city has an amazing history being the oldest in the western hemisphere and everywhere there is evidence of the city's history and tradition.  

The first day we took the bus and metro to Chapultapec Park and toured the castle which at one time was used by Maximillian and Carlotta. More recently it has been the home of the President of Mexico. The building is quite elegant and beautiful, marble floored ballrooms that can host a party of thousands. The rooms are styled with a European grandeur and I can easily picture wigged men and gowned ladies waltzing on the polished wood floors. The views of the city are fantastic and two snowcapped volcanos can be seen in the distance.

We loved riding the buses and taking the metro. Public transportation here is very cheap; three cents US, 60 centavos, to ride the bus any distance and five cents US to ride the metro from the two furthest points. There are three metro lines with connections from one to the other at two designated stations. The stations are clean and well maintained and seem always to be very crowded. The system is easy to use as there are only about 30 stations and each is clearly marked by name and a symbol on a map above each train’s doorway. The symbols are linked to the station's identity, for example, a pyramid, fountain, statue, etc. The system reminds me more of the one in Tokyo than any that I’ve seen in the US.

The trailer park we’re staying at is located on Hortensia Street just off Universidad, about a mile from the University of Mexico. It’s a convenient location for taking a bus or the metro into the central part of town. The second day we went to the Zocolo which is the central part of town and dates back to when the Aztecs lived here. We explored the National Palace (Palacio Nacional) which contains a number of great murals by Diego Rivera. The building is a beautiful stone structure with a large courtyard and lots of military in evidence. All entrances and exits are guarded by soldiers armed with machine guns.  Michael had to go to the bathroom and was "escorted" by a friendly soldier with a machine gun who waited for him and brought him back. Michael loved this.

We also went to the main post office to see if anyone had sent us a letter care of general delivery ("lista de correos"). A pleasant old lady went through all of the letters in the "F" slot searching for our impossible to pronounce in Spanish name, but there were no letters for us. We were hoping to find a letter from Dave Slopak, a friend who had to abandon his car in Mexico City several years earlier and who had asked us to bring back the car radio.

We next went to the National Palace of Fine Arts and saw some of the murals and other artwork. In the afternoon we went to the National Museum of Anthropology and History located near Chapultapec Park which displays archeological finds from all of Mexico's various historical periods. We only spent three hours in the museum; thirty hours would not begin to do it justice.

As we were going in we met some people from our trailer park who advised us to take the ninety minute tour which only cost ten pesos (fifty cents) per person with the kids free. Mexico likes kids. It was the best dollar I've ever spent. A young Mexican woman gave the tour. She was quite pregnant and so full of spirit and pride for her country that the talk took on special meaning. She only took us through three of the twenty seven halls. The tour was especially enlightening because I had forgotten the Mexican history I had learned in grade and high school and this was a pertinent refresher course with dramatic examples and representations of the peoples and how they lived and died. Someday I'd like to spend more time touring this museum, although I’d like to have a better knowledge of Spanish since nothing is written in English.

The kids were well-behaved on the tour. Misti had told them we might take them to the amusement park in the new section of Chapultapec Park if they were good, and they were. We followed some other people who were going to the park and had to first walk a mile to get a bus and then another half mile to the park so it was dark by the time we got there.  The park was better than I expected; old time rides just as they were when I was a kid.  For some reason the park was empty; strange since it was Saturday night. All the rides were open but they had almost no people on them. There couldn't have been more than a hundred people in this enormous amusement park.

The prices were refreshing; one peso each (five cents) to get into the park and then each ride was two pesos (ten cents). Only problem was that some of the best rides wouldn't allow kids on, like the Crazy Mouse (Raton Loco) which Michael kept screaming he wanted to go on. The roller coaster (Montano Russo or Red Mountain) is the biggest I've ever seen, bigger than the Cyclone in Coney Island which I grew up with. I wanted to go on but the minimum age was fifteen so the kids couldn't go, and Misti doesn't like roller coasters, and I didn’t want to go by myself.  

We went through a haunted house that was exactly like ones I remembered in Coney Island when I was a kid in the forties. The kind with the fat laughing lady in front and a small three-wheeled car-type thing that goes through sets of doors amidst shrieks and sirens and flashing lights. Better in many ways than anything Disney has to offer.

Puebla, Mexico, December 13, 1976
We arrived in Puebla yesterday and plan to stay two days. Puebla seems like a nice city; one of the larger and nicest towns we've seen so far. Perhaps we like it because Mexico City was so terribly busy and crowded and polluted. Puebla is a good size, about three-fourths of a million, and it’s a pretty town with a good feeling.

We spent the morning shopping and exploring. David stayed at the trailer park and played with some friends he had met, Mike came into town with us and we explored several churches. I’ve been in more churches in the past month than in all the rest of my life and the one today near the central plaza was indeed the most beautiful we’ve seen so far.

Mexico is really into religion, much more so than the United States or any other country I’ve been to. The Spanish really did a number to the Indians in selling them on Catholicism, and Mexico embraced the religion after it ousted the Spanish.  As a longstanding atheist it was at first difficult for me to understand how so much energy could have been and still is, channeled into religion, but after being in Mexico awhile I’ve begun to make my peace with its religion.   

I recently read an abbreviated history of Mexico, a refresher to what I had learned many years ago in school. and I’m impressed with the progress the country has made in recent years. There has been considerable emphasis on education and social reform, and you can see the results as you travel through the country. Misti and I drove to Mazatlan from San Francisco ten years ago, in 1966 before David was born. On this trip we’re noticing many changes; the people seem much healthier and robust and there are fewer sick and poor people. Some of this difference, of course, may be attributable to changes that have taken place to us; but we’re still impressed with what appears to be a healthier and more stable country.

Coatzalcoalcos, Mexico, December 21, 1976
We’re in the town of Coatzalcoalcos, a city of about 125,000 situated at the mouth of the Coatzalcoalcos River where it meets the Gulf of Mexico. We’ve had a rough time in the past few days; some moments of despair and feelings of utter hopelessness. For several days we suffered from a bad case of culture shock, This is what happened.

On Friday last week we spent the morning in Vera Cruz first having the alternator repaired since when it was done in La Paz it apparently wasn't lined up just right. This was a pleasant enough experience; two mechanics worked on the alternator and voltage regulator for about two hours rebuilding and checking them, total charge about $20. The remainder of the morning was spent having screens made for Gus. The afternoon before we had located a shop that did aluminum work and the owner agreed on a design and price to make framed aluminum screens, two for each side. We had bought screening in a ferreteria (hardware store) and the aluminum shop was to make the four marcas (frames) and install them. We had breakfast in Gus Friday morning while the screens were being installed, with a horse looking in through the rear door. The people at the aluminum shop were very nice and the agreed upon price was about 900 pesos or about $45 US, a lot of money but we felt that screens were necessary for our journey into the tropics.

We left Vera Cruz Friday afternoon headed for Lake Catemoco, a resort town on a lake that some people we met in Puebla had told us about.  About half way we encountered some of the worst roads yet, and this was the main and only coastal highway into the Yucatan. The road was torn up and had huge pot holes. At one point I passed a truck that had slowed for the bad road and we hit some big holes going faster than was prudent. Things came crashing down and the hammock we were using to store miscellaneous things dumped its contents on the floor. This rough road may have been the cause of a mechanical problem which I will now describe.

When we got to Lake Catemoco we had trouble finding the campground and I decided to go on to the town of Coatazcoalcos which was another 75 miles. That was a mistake. We were on a mountain road when I noticed that Gus was straining to go uphill; I couldn't go any faster than 25 miles an hour in third gear, which wasn’t right.

We were coming to the town of Acuyacan, a name we shall remember for the rest of our lives. We had read in our AAA book that there was a prison in Acuyacan where the prisoners made hammocks and hung them out the windows to sell. We were fascinated by the Yucatan hammocks and had bought several in Guadalajara, and thought we’d take a few minutes to see if we could get some more. That was a mistake. When we got into the town I noticed that Gus was having trouble moving at all. My diagnosis was that the brakes were locking, perhaps from getting hot. I inspected the rear wheels and smelled something burning and decided to have a mechanic inspect the brakes. The nightmare had started.

We went to one mechanic who said he was too busy but he told us about another down the street.  At this point Gus was running; the only problem seemed to be that the wheels were partially locking and I thought this was a problem with the brakes.

The mechanic and several assistants, young boys about 13, proceeded to inspect Gus. They removed the axles and finally decided the problem was inside the differential (en dentro). They based this on a clicking noise they heard. They said they thought they could fix it and would look at it in the morning. We stayed in Gus that night parked near the mechanics house and awakened early the next morning to hear noises from under Gus.

The 13 year-old boy had jacked Gus up and was removing the differential. This was being done in the dirt which was disconcerting to say the least. I dressed and watched the boy, using my broken Spanish to find out what he was doing. They removed the entire differential and then completely took it apart including the no-spin assembly which is a special type of differential that gives better traction in snow and mud and doesn't allow one set of wheels to spin independently. I brought out the Chevrolet shop manual which fascinated the mechanic; he was called "maestro" which means "the teacher".

He studied the pictures and diagrams but was unable to read any of the words which were in English.  I showed him that two springs in the no-spin unit each had to be 2 1/2 inches plus or minus 1/8 inch in length. I brought out a ruler and measured the springs; one was 2 inches and the other about 2 1/4 inches. The mechanic picked up on this and apparently felt it was the problem. He said he would make spacers for each side which he had done in a machine shop for a cost of 80 pesos (four dollars). They spent the remainder of the day putting the differential together, between working on about five other cars and trucks. The suspense of not knowing if they had fixed the differential was driving me crazy, and between my limited Spanish and their heavy slur it was difficult to get any information. Finally, just as it was getting dark, they finished putting the differential back on Gus and filled it with oil, which took about an hour using pieces of cardboard as makeshift funnels.

At this point we had only been in Acuyucan one night and a full day and we were hopefully on our way. I opened two bottles of cold beer, offered one to the maestro and congratulated him on the fine job he did. This was after we had taken a test drive of about a quarter of a mile and everything seemed fine. I gave the three young boys who had worked on Gus tips of 20 pesos each (one dollar) and paid the maestro's bill of 550 pesos (about $35) which wasn’t much considering they had been working on Gus all day. But our problems weren’t over.
 
We left heading for Coatzacoalcos and got no further than half a mile when Gus started making loud noises which seemed to be coming from the differential. My heart sank and we went back to the mechanic. By this time it was about 8:30 and it was dark. The maestro and several of his apprentices and friends got into Gus and we went for a drive; very short since by this time Gus was making really loud and scary noises. We brought Gus back and they began to remove the axles, jack up one side and then the other, drive it forward and then back again. Finally the maestro's diagnosis was "en dentro mucho problema"--"a big problem inside the differential". He said we should talk in the morning since it was getting late. Misti, the kids and I spent another very uneasy night parked on the dirt road by the mechanic's house and the mechanic went home with the shop manual under his arm.  He could only look at the pictures since he hadn’t learned English overnight.

I had nightmares that night. I knew that our situation was getting worse and no help was in sight. We were in a small town with a population of about 500 and the town wasn’t an especially pretty one. The streets were dirt and muddy and we felt dirty and dustv just being there. We felt very isolated since no one spoke even a word of English and it was a great strain on me to try to constantly communicate in Spanish. To make matters worse, these people spoke with a slur that made it almost impossible for me to understand what they were saying. This was undoubtedly the low point in our morale and in the trip.

The next morning the maestro appeared at about 8:00 a.m. and we invited him into Gus for some coffee to discuss the next step. His conclusion was that we needed another differential unit and he had no idea where we could get one. He seemed certain there wouldn't be one even in Vera Cruz. I asked about Mexico City and he shrugged his shoulders with a "Quien sabe", "Who knows'?" We were clearly in a fix.

I decided our best bet was to call my brother Russ in Miami and "cry wolf" because frankly Misti and I were at the point of tears. We were tired of the town and the people there, the mechanic and his wise guy kid assistant, the dirty streets, the chickens and pigs, not being able to talk intelligently to anyone. We wanted very much to go home, we had seen enough of Mexico and yearned for California which seemed so far away. I thought for a moment of just leaving Gus and the four of us flying home.

We called Russ and immediately felt better. He reassured us that he would do everything he could to help and told us not to worry. We desperately needed this reassurance and it was good to know that he was standing by to help and was only a thousand miles away. It was Sunday and nothing could be done. We spoke with Russ again Sunday night and he said there was air service between Miami and Minititla, a town 20 miles away, via Mexico City and with daily flights. This too was reassuring.

On Sunday we checked into a hotel in the central part of Acayucan, a fairly nice and clean place. We had to get away from the dirty greasy street where the mechanic did his work and where Gus was parked and the ever present inquiring eyes of the neighborhood children. We had a late lunch and Misti and I went to a movie that night, actually two movies. The first was a double feature in English with Spanish subtitles but the soundtrack was so bad we could hardly follow the movie and the Spanish titles didn't help much. The first movie was Macho Callahan with David Jannsen, a gory movie about an escaped civil war prisoner. The second, I forget the name, was with Elizabeth Taylor and was so bad we walked out. It was early enough so we went to the other movie in town, paid our 15 pesos each (75 cents) and went in to see all of the seats filled and about 200 people standing, something I had never seen before in a movie theatre. The movie seemed good but was in Spanish and we couldn't follow it so we left. We walked around the plaza and then went back to the hotel.

The next morning we decided to go to either the airport at Minititlan or the town of Coatzacoalcos to get Gus fixed. We took a bus which was quite an experience. We saw a woman nursing a baby and another woman with a live chicken in her bag. We decided we’d go directly to Coatzocoalcos which took more than two hours to go the 40 miles with stops at every little town along the way. I had told Russell I’d call him since he was looking for the no-spin differential and was thinking of putting it on a 2:30 flight from Miami. It took us fully an hour to make the call. Russell said he needed to have the serial numbers and number of gear teeth and gear ratios before he could do anything which meant going back to Acayucan and having the mechanic tear the unit apart again, which wasn’t going to happen.
 
We looked in the yellow pages and found a Chevrolet dealer and decided that might be our best chance to repair Gus and we told Russ that was our plan. But there was another trauma to befall us.  We hadn't eaten breakfast and it was after 1:00 so we decided to get a bite to eat. We found a seafood restaurant on the river and ordered four huachanangos (red snapper) Veracruzana; we had that dish in Vera Cruz and loved it. As we were sitting at a table overlooking the river waiting for our food to come, Michael wandered down some stairs and in a few minutes came back screaming. I had never heard him cry and scream that loud. He had been bitten on the ass by a dog.  

Misti began crying and we didn't know what to do. I took Michael into the bathroom to see if the skin had been broken and it was a little. The restaurant owner showed us the dog's rabies vaccination certificate which somewhat eased our concern. A young Mexican man who spoke English, the first English we had heard in a long time, came over to translate and help.  Misti suggested that we take Mike to a clinic where they could look at the bite and treat it and a young girl offered to drive us. We took Mike to a Red Cross first aid station where three cute young Mexican girls finally persuaded Michael to pull his pants down so they could see the bite. They put some medication on it and said everything would be fine.

The girl then drove us to the Chevy dealer. The Chevy people were nice and tried their best to understand my broken Spanish and my explanation of the problem. I was apparently mispronouncing the name of the town Acayucan and they thought I was saying Cullican which is about 2000 miles away on the other side of Mexico so they must have thought I was a crazy gringo. I pointed on
a map to where I meant and then they nodded an understanding. We were impressed by the orderliness and cleanliness of the place; mechanics were wearing uniforms and there was even a mechanic with a white coat who looked like a doctor. We very much wanted to get Gus out of the dirt and mud of Acayucan and bring him here.

I asked if it would be possible to have Gus towed to their shop. They said it would be very expensive and they didn't do any towing. I asked if they could call a towing service and a very nice young man in the office must have spent two hours on the phone trying to make arrangements. When the tow truck pulled up and sloshed through the mud, it had been raining, I was a little apprehensive for two reasons, first, the truck looked like it had been through several world wars. It looked very tired and beat up. Second, the driver and his helper were kids who couldn't have been older than 17. My fears were soon to be allayed.

Michael screamed because he wanted to go in the truck but there wasn't any room so Misti took the two kids to the Hotel Alex which had been recommended by some people at the Chevy dealer. Off I roared in the tow truck with red lights flashing and loud Spanish music playing on the tape deck. I had several fears; could these two young kids manage to pull Gus who weighed six tons back the forty miles or so from Acayucan? Would the maestro be there? Would his feelings be hurt that we decided to take Gus?

I asked the tow truck driver to first stop at the hotel in Acayucan where we had stayed the night before. I ran in and got the desk clerk to agree to charge for only one night since we had left early in the morning even though we didn't check out. I paid the bill, ran to the two rooms and gathered up all of our stuff, and ran back to the tow truck with suitcases in hand to direct them to where Gus was.  My Spanish was getting better by the minute.

When we got to Gus there were about ten men gathered near it and the maestro was not one of them. I spoke briefly with the second in charge and explained that we had decided it would be best to tow the bus to Coatzocoalcos since there was a Chevy dealer there. I asked him to please explain this to the maestro. They were all very nice and helped us push Gus so he could be lifted by the tow truck.

It was a nervous ride back with me praying that we wouldn't drop Gus. The young driver was amazing; when we got to the Chevy dealer he backed Gus through a narrow gate into their lot. I paid them 960 pesos, about $48, for the towing and gave them each a 50 peso tip. They volunteered to drive me back to the hotel Rex where Misti and the kids were staying. The place was really a dive with a bathroom that had to be seen to be believed. The room for the four of us was 100 pesos (about $5 US). We spent the night relieved that Gus was out of dusty, dirty Acayucan and on the pavement near an honest-to-goodness Chevy dealer. Things were beginning to look better after a rough three days.

That night a "norte" (hurricane) blew in. The wind must have been 70 miles an hour and blew through the cracks in the windows and kept us up most of the night.

Next morning bright and early we left the hotel for the Chevy dealer. The storm was still blowing and when I opened the door to the hotel I was knocked back by the force of the wind. We took a taxi to the Chevy dealer which was to be our home for the next two days. The people were exceptionally nice; patient with our limited use of the language and very polite and friendly. The mechanic asked if we planned to live in Gus while they repaired the differential and I said we did. They then proceeded to push Gus into the street where we parked it. We were to spend the next two days and nights in Gus on the street.

The next day they took the differential apart and we saw that the maestro's makeshift plan didn't work. The spacers he put in caused a retainer to crack and that was making the terrible grinding noise. I asked if they had new retainers and got the familiar "no hay" meaning there are no such parts here. But they smiled and said they could have new ones made. We stayed in Gus that night parked on the street.

We awoke early the next morning and they were working on the differential, but there was another problem. The mechanic in Acayucan had trouble putting the end piece (ring gear it's called) back on the differential casing and must have forced it. By doing that he badly stripped the threads and now the ring gear wouldn't go back on. More problems. The mechanic and the guy we called "the doctor" because he wore a clean white coat, couldn't get it back on. So they put the differential in the back of a pickup and took it to the machine shop where they machined new grooves. Back to the dealer, they put it together and with the new grooves t worked fine.

Now the decision about where to install Gus's repaired differential, in the street where it was raining or try to somehow get Gus into their shop. They chose to bring Gus inside where it was dry and it took every person in the dealership including people that worked in the sales office and typists to push Gus up the driveway and get it into the shop.  Probably fifteen employees, plus the four of us, pushed the six ton school bus up the driveway. Where there’s a will there’s a way, especially true in Mexico. We also had them put on one new brake lining and change the oil and lubricate Gus. The total bill for labor and parts for everything was1300 pesos or about $65 US; pretty incredible. We had been stuck five days, from Friday night through Wednesday afternoon and had spent close to $200 in getting Gus fixed including tow charges and hotel. That took a bite out of our budget, but we were on our way again and were anxious for our journey to continue.

Even though we worried about Gus we still had a pleasant two days in Coatzolcoalcos. We ate in some good restaurants and did some shopping in the market. Our Mexican insurance had expired on Tuesday the 21st and Misti went to town to renew it. She was told that all insurance companies had orders from Mexico City not to write any tourist insurance policies, the reason being the devaluation of the peso and the fact that payoffs on claims had to be in US dollars. Misti pleaded with an agent and finally got someone to call every agent in the book and we finally got one who wrote a policy. We were to be haunted by this insurance problem several more times.

Coatzocoalcos, Mexico, December 23, 1976
The sequel to our mechanical problems. As it turned out there never was any problem with Gus's differential. The mechanic in Acayucan misdiagnosed the problem and if my Spanish had been better we very likely would have avoided the cost and delay of five days. The problem was with the brakes grabbing, as I originally thought, and not with the differential.

We got an early start from Coatzocoalcos and drove about 40 kilometers south toward Villahermosa when we noticed the same problem that Gus had before they messed with the differential. Gus slowed almost to a crawl and there was no doubt in my mind that the problem was the brakes. We returned to the Chevy dealer getting there just as they opened and they removed both rear wheels and diagnosed the brake problem as some springs being too tight which caused the brakes to grab. If all goes well we'll be on our way toward Merida by noon. We'll probably spend tonight in Campeche about 8 hours south and the next day, which is Christmas Eve, in Merida, Yucatan.  

Onto other things that we’ve experienced. First, two statements by Michael that are worth recording. We were listening to the radio, in Spanish of course, and Mike said, "How come the radio is so smart it knows how to talk in Spanish?" We explained why. Another remark was about Christmas and Santa Claus. He had heard from David that in Latin America gifts were put into a child's shoe and Mike was concerned because he had such small shoes. Misti told him he could use one of my big boots and that made him feel better.

Progresso, Mexico, December 26, 1976

We’re in the town of Chucxulub a small town near the beach resort of Progresso which is the port for Merida on the Yucatan coast. We finally left Coatzocoalcos about 1:00 p.m. and drove as far as Escarcega in Campeche state. We had planned to drive to Merida but the distance was too great and the driving was difficult with dark and narrow roads. We did a lot of night driving which was scary since the road wasn’t a good one, very narrow with no shoulders and much of the road had a steep drop-off on both sides and Gus is wider than most cars.

We stopped about 10:00 p.m. and spent the night comfortable in Gus parked near a Pemex gas station. The next morning we headed toward Merida by way of Campeche. We gassed up in Campeche and spent half an hour looking for a kilo of shrimp to buy but were only able to find processing and packing houses who wouldn't sell directly to us. Campeche is the largest shrimp processing city in Mexico and one of the largest in the world.  

We arrived in Merida mid-afternoon and our first impressions of the city were good. After the long 600 mile drive from Coatzocoalcos through very desolate terrain, Merida was like an oasis. It was clean and sunny, bright and cheerful and we were glad to be there.

We decided to stay in a trailer park near the airport but first wanted to go into town to look around. We had dinner at the Cafe Merida which looked good from the outside and the food was very good. This was where we met Pancho, a Texan expatriate living in Mexico who was to be our companion, for better or worse, for the remainder of our time in Merida. It was Christmas Eve and we were planning to go back to the trailer park and decorate our small plastic Christmas tree that we had bought in a supermarket. We had just finished buying Christmas presents in the market in Merida; nothing like waiting until the very last minute.

Pancho approached as we left the Cafe Merida, we chatted and he told us he had just bought a doll for his little girl, Sussanah. He said he was giving an international Christmas party in Progresso a beach town about 20 miles from Merida, and he invited us. He said we could spend the night in Gus parked in front of his house just a block from the beach. He of course wanted a ride home and since we had no plans and wanted to see the beach we took Pancho home and met his wife, Dolores who was Mayan, and his daughter, Sussanah. We had a few drinks and went to bed fairly early. We didn't sleep well that night because the house next to Pancho's was having a party and had loud music blasting until about 5:00 a.m. We couldn't sleep but kept thinking the party would be over soon and the music would stop but it never did. At about 5:00 a.m. we finally moved down the road toward the beach and got a few hours sleep.

The next morning we went into Merida to look around.  We took the kids to the zoo in a park called Centanario Park.  We enjoyed the zoo, seeing the strange (to us) animals, the people and especially the older Mayan Indian women dressed in their bright native costumes. They all looked like sisters and seemed to share a physiological disorder which made them appear to have distended stomachs.

After the zoo we went to the Cafe Merida for a shrimp cocktail which Pancho had told us was very good. And of course, we saw Pancho there, since the cafe was his favorite hangout. We gave him a ride back to Progresso and thought we'd go to his "international Christmas party.  Pancho must have asked every American and European in Merida; about ten of us piled into Gus and off we went to Progresso with an assortment of people from Canada, Sweden, the US and various other places. This was the afternoon of Christmas day.

About our Christmas on Gus. We had bought a small (about 10 inches high) artificial Christmas tree in a supermarket in Coatzocoalcos and decorated it Christmas Eve with cute little figurines, bulls, torreadors and fighting cocks, which we bought in Guadalajara. After the kids went to sleep we filled my two boots with oranges, candies and small toys and of course, fireworks; gifts from Santa. Michael had two more concerns about Christmas. He was afraid that Santa Claus wouldn't be able to find his way down to Mexico and that he wouldn't be able to fit through the skylights on Gus. We had a pleasant Christmas morning, exchanged gifts and had a nice breakfast.

The Christmas party at Pancho's house was weird. The people were nice, Americans mostly, some Canadians and three people from Sweden. We never did feel comfortable about Pancho. We decided that he was probably an alcoholic and an incredible bullshitter. He was charging people 100 pesos ($5) for the party which wasn't bad considering that this included food and drinks. Dolores, Pancho's wife, had prepared a nice buffet meal with pork chops cooked in a Mayan red sauce, a nice salad and some other dishes we didn't recognize. There was also a keg of beer and a tequila punch that was pretty good. We met some nice people at the party especially Ruth from New York and Steve from Jacksonville, Florida; the two of them had met in Mexico and were traveling together. There were also three people from Sweden who were nice but strange, a guy who seemed to be dying from consumption and who spoke very little English and his wife and wife's sister. All three seemed to be very ill; thin, coughing, and always taking medicine they had.

The next morning Pancho took the kids fishing at 5:30 a.m. and Misti I went along because she didn't trust Pancho with the kids. I was exhausted from drinking and staying up late the night before so slept later. I got up about 7:00 and drove Gus onto the pier where they were fishing and we had coffee and breakfast. Pancho had been nipping at a bottle of tequila and then went on to warm beer. He clearly had a drinking problem.

I had somehow gotten my first touch of "tourista". I don't know how, perhaps from the food that Dolores had prepared (although no one else was sick) or more likely, from some liguados, milkshakes made with fresh fruit, that I drank in the market in Merida on Christmas Eve. I had a case of the runs and stomach cramps, bad enough to be vomiting and restrict my moving around.

We drove Pancho and several other people into Merida and at this point were beginning to feel like the local bus service. After dropping Pancho off at his apartment in the city and saying our good-byes, we cut out for a trailer park in Merida to spend the night before heading toward the coast. Pancho and Dolores very much wanted to go with us; they had some property on the Caribbean and an uncle they wanted to visit, but we were tired of them and Pancho was really getting on our nerves.

We found the trailer park and it was my haven since I had a really bad case of the runs and spent most of the day on the toilet. Luckily they had nice bathrooms which even flushed, a real treat.

The insurance on Gus ran out on Sunday, the day we were in the trailer park, so we had to wait until the next day when everything was open to renew it. We took a city bus into Merida and after a lot of hassle and another trip back by Misti, we finally were able to renew the insurance for six days. We took the kids to a circus that night and slept in Gus on a city street parked across the street from the zoo. The next morning we bought a hammock at the Merida prison and left early for Chitchen-itza to see the Mayan ruins.

The ruins at Chitchen-itza were the best we had seen yet, but frankly I'm not that terribly interested in ruins. The Mayan civilization must have been a grand one and I enjoyed climbing the pyramids and looking down and fantasizing that I was living back in Mayan times, but other than that I didn’t get much of a thrill from the ruins. Perhaps if I had studied more about them I'd be more interested. Several miles beyond Chitchen-itza we explored a cave that went perhaps a mile or more underground and was dimly lit; kind of scary and very interesting.

We drove on to the city of Puerto Juarez on the Caribbean coast where the ferry leaves for Isla Mujeres (Island of Women) and stayed in a campground on the beach. We arrived late at night and had trouble parking Gus in what was the most crowded campground we had seen. It was only a few days after Christmas and apparently many Mexicans were on holiday and had chosen to go to the Yucatan which is a long day's drive from Mexico City.

We left early the next morning to explore the city of Cancun and spent a few hours on a nice public beach. Cancun is a tourist city designated by the Mexican government (FONATUR) for the jet set with many expensive hotels and no campgrounds. It's obvious that this place is not intended for the likes of us. We thought of staying in one of the hotels but after learning we would have to spend more than $100 a night for the four of us, Gus looked more attractive than ever. We decided to head toward Chetemal and look for a trailer park.

Puerto Morelos, Mexico, December 30, 1976

We found a pretty place and plan to stay awhile. It's a campground in the small town of Puerto Morelos, about 25 miles from Cancun, right on the Caribbean and if we can renew our auto insurance for five more days we plan to stay here and enjoy the beach. The weather is perfect; hot sun and warm water, clear as only the Caribbean can be. About 500 yards out is the second largest barrier reef in the world, second only to the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.

This seems to be an ideal place, only 40 pesos a night, about $2 US.  A beautiful unspoiled beach right next to Gus, pleasant neighbors, nice bathrooms with real HOT water, the first we’ve seen in Mexico where the water is hot enough so you have to mix it with cold water. And even a nice small town nearby with basic supplies. Misti bought a kilo of fresh lobster tails for 100 pesos and that was our meal for the first night.

Puerto Morelos, Mexico, January 2, 1977

This is our fifth day at the trailer park in Puerto Morelos and we hope to stay for several more days. We’re enjoying this interlude in our travels and this is the longest we’ve stayed in one place. It’s good to take a break and enjoy the beach and sun.

The second day here was New Year's Eve and we went into Cancun to renew our insurance for the fourth time since entering Mexico about seven weeks ago. We weren't successful but did contact an adjuster who says he can call Merida and possibly renew the policy by phone.

Isla Cozumel, Mexico, January 5, 1977

We’re on the island of Cozumel off the coast of Mexico. Another very pretty spot; perfect weather and world-class white sand beaches.

Last week when we went into Cancun to renew our insurance I called my brother Russ and his wife Rosemary and invited them to come and spend some time with us. They said they’d like to and within a few hours were on a plane to Cancun, only a one hour flight from Miami, and we picked them up at the Cancun airport that evening. It was great seeing them after being away from family and friends for almost two months.

The first night we all slept more or less in Gus, and outside in hammocks, after going through two kilos of shrimp which we bought in Cancun. Russ said he wanted to sleep in a hammock and must have been bitten by every mosquito in the Yucatan. The first night they were with us was New Year's Eve. It's funny that Misti and I didn't even know it was a holiday; it's the first time I can ever recall not knowing that it was New Year's Eve. After Russ and Rosemary told us it was New Year’s Eve we celebrated by lighting off some fireworks.

The next night Russ and Rosemary got a room in the trailer park, which was a real treat for them since it had a private bathroom complete with shower. On Saturday we went to Isla de Mujeres by taking the ferry from Puerto Juarez and spent our time there on a boat tour which went around the island. The boat stopped at a lagoon where there were thousands of colorful tropical fish which were lured to the boat by dropping pieces of lime into the water. The boat went to a beach where there were turtle pens and the kids rode on the backs of giant turtles. The people who ran the boat barbecued large fish and served it with crackers, ceviche and beer.  

On Sunday we spent the day in the campground in Puerto Morelos, Ojo de Playa Mar, enjoying the beach. Russ bought a kilo of lobster which we had that night for dinner. On Monday we took the ferry to Cozumel Island, a one hour ferry ride from the town of Playa del Carmen. Russ was treating and he wanted to go first class. First we rented a VW Safari and went to look at some of the hotels. We all fell in love with the Caribe Cozumel which is probably the most expensive and plush hotel on the island.  The cost was well beyond what Misti and I would pay, about $85 US per night which included breakfast and dinner.  

We had dinner in the hotel that night and an even better buffet style breakfast with all kinds of tropical fruits in a salad. On Tuesday we rented diving equipment, masks, snorkels and flippers, and explored the water and rocks near the hotel.  A memorable experience, unbelievably clear water and thousands of fish of all sizes and colors that come right up to you so you can almost touch them. Even Russell, who can't swim, got into the water and enjoyed it.

We had planned to stay on Cozumel Island only one day but Russ and Rosemary couldn't get a flight back to Miami until the 6th, which meant they had to stay two extra days. We checked out of the Cozumel Caribe and into a hotel called the Barracuda which was nice and not nearly as expensive.
On Wednesday we snorkeled in a lagoon and Russ took Misti and the kids on a glass bottom boat. We had a quick lunch and Misti, the kids and I caught the four o'clock ferry back to Playa del Carmen and the bus from there back to the trailer park. Russ and Rosemary stayed another day and took a Thursday morning flight back to Miami.
 
On Thursday Misti and I went into Cancun, without Gus whose insurance had expired several days before, to try to renew our insurance. After many futile attempts and many wild goose chases with insurance agents we finally decided to take the advice of one agent and drive to Chetemal on the border with Belize without insurance, a distance of about 200 miles on a narrow two-lane highway. I didn’t like driving without insurance but had no choice other than to take a two day bus trip into Merida to renew the policy which was ridiculous. We said our good-byes to the people we had befriended in the trailer park, packed up and left at 5:00 a.m. Friday morning headed for Chetemal near the Belize border. This leg of the trip would take us across the bottom of the Yucatan Peninsula and our maps showed virtually no towns or cities between Playa del Carmen and Chetemal. We were excited about the idea of going into another country but at the same time didn't especially want to leave the Yucatan which we were enjoying so much.

We arrived at the Mayan ruins of Tulum around eight o'clock and stopped to look around. These ruins are built right on the Caribbean Sea with temple tops looking across to white sand beaches and stretches of blue water; I can see why the Mayans chose this beautiful spot.  We also chose this place to get rid of the marijuana we had been carrying since home.  I had no fears about bringing it into and through Mexico, well hidden of course in a hiding place I built in Gus’s wall, but I decided it wasn’t a good idea to cross another border with it.  So we placed what was left of our stash on top of a trash can near the temple in Tulum, and I always wondered if someone saw and took it, maybe thinking it was a gift from the Mayan gods.

We reached Chetemal around noon, changed some pesos into Belezian dollars, the exchange rate was stable at two Belezian dollars for one US dollar, did some shopping and crossed the border into Belize without any problems at about 5:00 that evening. For the first time since early November we were in a country other than Mexico.  We’re hoping to continue through Belize to Guatemala, see the ruins at Tikal and then continue across to Guatemala City. This part of our trip depends on how bad the roads are. We’ve had mixed reports from travelers ranging from completely washed out and impassable to not too bad so we’ll have to go and see for ourselves.

Belize City, Belize, January 8, 1977

We’re spending the night in a trailer park in Belize City and plan to leave tomorrow morning for Guatemala and the ruins at Tikal. We may wait until Monday since we were told that it’s sometimes difficult to cross the border on a Sunday. Also, I'd like to buy a lug wrench and jack handle before we get to the Guatemalan frontier since we heard the roads were very rough.  We’ve traveled many thousands of miles without the lug wrench and jack handle and luckily haven’t had any tire problems.

We had an exciting ride this morning from Corozal near the border to Belize City, a distance of about 100 miles and a roughly five hour trip. We got an early start from the campground and drove about ten miles in heavy fog. At a fork in the road we asked directions and a woman asked if we'd give her a ride to Belize City; she had three children with her. We said okay and she, her three kids and four other people who were waiting there, all piled on Gus and off we went. The road was pretty bad, you could drive about 30 miles an hour but 20 would be better and less bumpy. The road was filled with small potholes, was very narrow and just not a good road. About half the distance to Belize we crossed a toll bridge and when we stopped to pay the toll several guys asked for a ride. I didn't have the heart to say no, so we took them on. I didn't count heads but including the four or us we were about fifteen on our way to Belize City. These people were of course, all Blacks, Belize being a predominantly Black country. They were all quite pleasant and it was a treat to be able to converse in English, although their accent, which is similar to Jamaica, made it difficult to understand them.
 
About forty miles from Belize City on a terrible stretch of road we got our first flat tire, one of the dual rear wheels, and unfortunately an inside one.  I quickly found out that the jack handle didn't fit the jack that we got with the bus when we bought it from the Hames Company in Fresno, something I really should have checked before we left the US. This meant there was no way to change the tire even though we did have a good spare. Three of the older guys who were riding with us and myself reviewed the situation and we decided that we would try to make it to Belize City with just three of the four rear tires. Frankly I was tempted to ask some of the people to stay behind to catch a bus because I was afraid the added weight would blow out the remaining left rear tire. But I didn't have the heart to strand anyone on that desolate road and we had become a pretty close knit group by that time. So I asked everyone to sit or stand as close to the front as possible to relieve the weight on the rear tires and hoped we could make the remaining forty miles to Belize City. I was told that the road improved in a short distance, which it did, and we made it without any trouble. It was an exciting ride.

One of our passengers, a young man in his early twenties, introduced himself as Wayne and directed us to a gas station where they quickly plugged the tire; the tires are all tubeless. Wayne was attracted to the novelty of being with some Americans and quickly attached himself to us. He volunteered to show us around Belize City and we took his offer of a short tour in Gus. We didn't especially want to encourage his staying so thanked him, got a recommendation for a restaurant and he went on his way. We gave him some books as a token of our thanks.  

We spent the remainder of the day looking around Belize City, an interesting place with many shanty type houses on stilts with tin roofs. The poverty of the people and the country is obvious but the people seemed happy enough. While the city is the major one in Belize, it’s quite small with a population of roughly 75,000.  Belize is so very different than Mexico and the rest of Latin America; the British influence is everywhere and it used to be called British Honduras.  All signs are in English which is the official language although most people also speak Spanish. There are British cars and trucks all over and the British army is very much in evidence, on guard against any possible invasion from Guatemala.  A refreshing change of pace from Mexico and before going into Guatemala.

On the road to Tikal, Guatemala, January 9, 1977
We’re stopped for the night alongside the road about 75 miles from the ruins at Tikal. At this moment we’re surrounded by about twenty very curious Guatemalan Indians who are looking in all of our windows and even climbing up the ladder in the back. The people are friendly enough but just are curious as hell, and fortunately we’re not scared. It’s dark and we have the lights on in Gus and can see all of these faces peering in, a bit unnerving.

We’re on the worst road that I’ve ever seen in my life and it promises to get worse before we eventually get to Guatemala City, a distance of about 300 miles. We knew the road was bad, we had talked with a number of people who had traveled it and they said it ranged from terrible to impassable, but we had to find out for ourselves. Besides, this is the only way through to Guatemala. If we didn't take this road we would have had to backtrack through the Yucatan to Villahermosa, cut through the mountains and enter Guatemala on the other side, quite a distance which involved a fair amount of backtracking. Also, we very much wanted to see the country of Belize, which most people have never even heard of, and the jungle and ruins at Tikal. So far we have no regrets.

We're in moderate jungle country, the heat is oppressive and it bothers us. Without the screening and skylights we'd suffocate in a short time. Some of the bugs are so small they go right through the screens, but we sprayed the screens with insect repellant which hopefully will keep the bugs out.

Guatemala City, Guatemala, January 13, 1977 ~

We’re finally in Guatemala City after an incredible drive through the state of Peten in Guatemala, about 300 miles on a terrible muddy road.  From the Belize border up to Tikal then to the city of Flores and on to the paved road which is about 250 kilometers from Guatemala City; quite an adventure and hard on us and Gus. The worst of the ride was getting out of Tikal.  It started to rain late in the afternoon of the one day we spent in Tikal and by the following morning the road was a swamp. We had been told that when it rains the roads become impassable. We left Tikal early in the morning, ignoring concerns about the road. We picked up an Italian couple who was stranded in Tikal since planes couldn't take off or land due to the heavy rain, and started the roughly thirty mile trip to Flores. We made it with some effort. It took four hours to go the thirty miles and there were several times when I was certain we'd bog down in the mud which was several feet thick in places.  

Twice on this short journey we jolted Gus so hard that I thought for sure we had broken a spring or axle. On the first bad one we came to a place where the mud was especially deep and I decided to try to power through it. I hit the gas to pick up speed and didn't realize there was a hole in the mud bog. We hit the hole at speed and bounced several feet off the road. The impact was so great that it broke all the bottles of beer we were carrying in a case on the bathroom floor.

Tikal was nice; the ruins are impressive even though we only got to see just a few of them. We stayed at the Tikal Inn rather than camping in Gus in a free campground. That was a mistake. We had to pay $40 for a room which included three meals for all of us, but the place was dismal and the food wasn’t very good. We would have done better to have stayed in Gus. One of the main reasons we took the room was to use the bathroom and take a shower. Luckily I took a shower immediately which was fortunate since all the water soon stopped working, including of course the toilet. I was annoyed that we had spent $40 for a room that didn't have either a toilet or shower.

In the museum in Tikal we talked with one of the guides, a young woman named Robby, and arranged for a short tour of the ruins. She and her British friend, Patty, took us and several others on a short but fascinating tour of the major ruins.  After the tour we invited Robby and Patty into Gus for an after dinner drink and gave them some ham and cheese which they regarded as a very special treat since neither is available in Tikal. We struck up a conversation and friendship with these two pleasant young women and spent an enjoyable several hours learning about Tikal and their lives there.

One of the reasons that we gave the two girls our last ham and cheese stocks is that we had lost our refrigeration several days earlier and were afraid they would spoil. On Sunday, after bouncing some distance on Belizean and Guatemalan dirt roads, we discovered that our propane was leaking, the same connection that had broken twice before, in Mulege and Mexico City. In Mexico City I had the tank lowered to reduce the vibration with Gus's body, but the bouncing on the bad roads was just too much. I shut off the propane at the main valve but the next morning we discovered that the connection was broken off and the regulator was dragging along the ground. Today is Friday and we haven’t had the use of our refrigerator or stove for five days. We've been eating most of our meals in restaurants and some from the supply of canned goods and crackers we had.

We had an especially nice experience on the road from Flores to the paved road. After having lunch in Flores and talking with some travelers from Indiana in a VW bus, and also meeting our friends from California who we had been bumping into ever since Cancun, we set out to drive until dark and then park on the side of the road for the night. The road was a nightmare and the driving difficult, hard rain and a muddy road that was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. In some places the road was washed out and we came upon two trucks trying to help each other out of the mud and up a hill. It was rough going but I loved every minute of it. It began to get dark and we were hoping to see a sign for a campground the people from Indiana had told us about. It was really very dark and between the hard rain, trees and dense jungle all around us and no moon, there was almost no visibility.
 
Our spirits were beginning to sag and I was beginning to think that our situation wasn’t improving. There was no place to stop and pull off the side of the road and suddenly we saw a sign for an inn, actually a finca which is what they call a ranch or farm in Guatemala. We stopped and a young man came up to the gate. I asked if we could get food and spend the night parked in their driveway off the road. He said yes and we pulled into the driveway. This turned out to be one of the most pleasant experiences of our journey. The young man's mother prepared a delicious hot meal of chicken and meat and frijoles and bread. We had cold beer and soft drinks for the kids. We ate with them at their dinner table and felt as if we had been invited to dinner with some old friends. After eating mostly cold and miserable food in Gus and in cheap restaurants since our propane went out, this was a real treat.

The young man and his father spoke some English and with my broken Spanish we struck up a conversation and a friendship. After dinner the young man, his name was Percy, came into Gus to see it. We spent the night safe and dry parked in the mud in front of their ranch, off the dirt road which hopefully would soon bring us to pavement. The next morning we had coffee and bread and some fantastic cheese and eggs for the kids. Total charge for all of this was $5 for dinner and $1 for breakfast for the four of us, and we felt we had been visiting with friends. Percy took a liking to us and we exchanged addresses. Just before leaving, he gave David a valued possession of his, a leather pouch from Argentina. He showed us around their ranch, showed the kids how they milk cows, and we bid them farewell again on our way to find the paved road that would take us to Guatemala City.  

Gus did very well on the bad roads in Belize and Eastern Guatemala.  In the crossing from Flores to the paved road which is about 200 kilometers, we saw only one passenger car and one VW bus, all the other vehicles were trucks and buses. There were no recreational type vehicles to be seen. It would have been impossible to pull a trailer over such a road and motor homes couldn't possibly take the punishment. I’m amazed at Gus's stamina and traction. I suspect the no-spin differential helped quite a bit.  We sloshed through deep mud, even going uphill, and always kept moving. I’m sure the low gearing in the transmission helped also, there were times when we stayed in first or second gear for miles. Gus has something called a “granny gear” which is an especially low gear for maximum pulling power; we often used it on these roads.

On the last twenty miles of the bad road, after crossing Lake Isabela, the road got a little better and we picked up some speed for the first time in several hundred miles. At about 30 miles an hour I began to notice a loss of power and difficulty in getting up some of the steeper hills. Apparently the many miles of dirt, dust and mud took their toll on Gus and there seemed to be a carburetion problem at higher speeds, which didn't surprise me given the gook we had just driven through. When we finally reached the pavement, after five or more days on dirt roads filled with potholes, it was quite a thrill. It was strange driving at forty and fifty miles an hour and everything seemed different about Gus, the steering and suspension especially. I guess it was just that we were accustomed to driving at five miles an hour through mud.

We stopped at a mechanic after driving about 25 miles on the pavement and he worked for several hours trying to find the problem I described. After a number of checks he thought everything was okay but a trial drive showed the problem remained. He thought we might have needed a new distributor cap and suggested we drive on to Guatemala City, which was another 75 miles, for repairs.

We spent that night off the road near a restaurant where we ate and limped into Guatemala City the next day with Gus sometimes being fine and other times having great difficulty getting up the hills. We finally arrived in Guatemala City and found the Chevy dealer. We explained the nature of our problem and they went to work on Gus after lunch. They replaced the Bendix in the starter; a mechanic in Chetemal had rebuilt the starter motor, for $5, but didn't get to the source of the problem The Chevy dealer tuned Gus, checked the various filters and charging system and said we should come back the next day to have the carburetor rebuilt. I couldn't believe the gas filter that they removed and replaced; it was packed solid with red clay and I’m amazed that Gus ran at all with that much dirt in the filter. They are now rebuilding the carburetor which has been removed and worked on four times in the past 6000 miles--it was cleaned in La Paz and Merida and checked by the mechanic outside of Guatemala City and now it’s being rebuilt with new parts.

Some thoughts and impressions about Guatemala and our trip through the Peten frontier. After seven weeks in Mexico the people here seem more easy-going and laid-back than the Mexicans. They are friendly, polite, honest and nice as can be. They mostly wave to us as we drive by and when we ask directions or information, they’re extremely friendly and helpful.

Driving through the back roads of Peten Department was quite an experience; seeing the primitive way the people live, the pigs and chickens everywhere and the thatched roof huts the people live in. The area is as primitive as I’ve ever seen and I doubt there are many places in the world that are more primitive. The chickens are the prettiest we’ve ever seen, multi-colored and cocky as hell, running everywhere. The ubiquitous pigs are huge, dirty and ugly.

As we drove through the small villages we were always the central attraction. Gus was a novelty and people stopped what they were doing and looked and waved as we went by. We were struck with the basicness of the people. Apparently most of the men earned their living as chicileros; they went out each day to gather chicle from the nearby trees. We noticed the absence of men, only women and children, as we drove by. Apparently the men leave for some period of time and return when their work is completed.

Amatitlan, Guatemala, January 17, 1977

We’re in a trailer park called Las Hammacas near the town of Amatitlan about twenty miles from Guatemala City. This is our second day here. We’ve mostly been resting and enjoying doing nothing after the difficult trip from Tikal and taking care of various problems in Guatemala City including getting more money to continue our trip. This is a lovely place, nicely forested and surrounded by mountains. The trailer park has a huge pool naturally heated by a nearby hot spring. The first day the kids spent the entire day in the pool and made friends with two kids from Canada, Andrea and Graham. Last night, Misti invited their parents, Rob and Margaret, for a drink and they stayed to share our dinner. They contributed a bottle of California wine which they had been saving for some time, a real treat for us.

On Saturday we went to the native market in Amatitlan and discovered some of the differences between Guatemala and Mexico. One difference is that the food here is much cheaper than in Mexico, that is, fruits and vegetables and meat. The variety is incredible, fruits and vegetables that we’ve never seen at home are available which are both delicious and cheap. For much less than a dollar we were able to buy enough food to last the four of us for several days. We mostly followed the rule of eating only those things that had skin on them.

Canned goods in Guatemala are expensive, much more so than in Mexico and liquor is not nearly as available as in Mexico, and is more expensive. We’ve gotten to like the local beer, Gallo (with a chicken on the label) and it’s what we’ve mostly been drinking.

Yesterday we made a major breakthrough in our meal planning. For the first time we went into a meat market and bought some meat. It tastes like beef, which they said it was, is a little tougher than what we’re used to, but was very cheap, about $1.00 a pound. Misti cut it into chunks and we had it in a delicious stew. Today we bought five more pounds which we plan to cook and refrigerate for future meals.
 
Amatitlan, Guatemala, January 19, 1977
I’m writing this from a bed in the Hospital Nacional de Amatitlan, recovering from a bad infection in my leg which I foolishly neglected to the extent that I had to be hospitalized. The doctor isn’t certain what caused the irritation that led to the infection. After we told him we had traveled through the Peten, which is Guatemala's frontier, he thought the infection was likely caused by an insect bite (mortida). This may be so, but I personally think the cause was a boil which I neglected and allowed to fester and become infected.

My leg had been hurting for several days with what appeared to be a boil. On Sunday the pain was very intense and Misti suggested I go to a clinic in Amatitlan, the nearest town and a name I will remember all my life. We went to the clinic and a doctor in the emergency room looked at the boil and apparently didn't think it was that bad; it wasn't infected at this point. He prescribed an antibiotic and pain killer but unfortunately we weren't able to fill the prescription for the antibiotic and the pain was bothering me too much to consider driving into Guatemala City.  At this point, Misti was driving Gus because my leg hurt too much for me to drive. So I just took the pain pills (Darvon) hoping the leg would get better which was pretty stupid. We did have our own supply of antibiotics including penicillin that my cousin Barry had put together for us before we left home, which if I had taken would probably have fought the infection. But we didn't think to do this.

That night the pain became intense and I started taking stronger pain pills with codeine that we had in our medicine kit. In the morning Misti drove me into Amatitlan to that same clinic; I was in bad shape moaning with the pain and barely able to stand up.

It was a Monday morning and the clinic was crowded with emergency cases. These were mostly poor people and most looked like they were badly in need of medical attention. While I was waiting my turn to see a doctor, the pain was becoming unbearable and I doubted if I could even walk the short distance into the doctor's office. When I was called I did manage to walk to his office and Misti found me a chair to sit in.  As she was trying to explain the situation to the doctor, I started getting dizzy and passed out from the pain. This attracted the doctor's attention and before I knew it I was lying on a gurney being given several shots, one for the pain and others to test for possible allergy to antibiotics.

I was a total basket case, the pain was intense, I was frightened from passing out and they said I had to stay in the hospital for at least one day and possibly longer. I had never spent a night in a hospital as a patient anywhere. As a kid I had been into emergency rooms for things like dog bites, but I never actually stayed overnight. Being in a foreign country and my use of the language still being somewhat limited didn't help any.  This was a small Indian clinic in Guatemala, but I knew that my body was in serious trouble and when I passed out I realized that I really needed medical help and I was comforted by the fact that there were people here who were willing to help me.
 
I was taken on the gurney to the men's ward and transferred to a bed. I. had been told that the infection was serious and it was necessary for me to receive antibiotics intravenously, which is what bothered me more than anything else. The thought of being hooked up to a needle and having fluid pumped into me was scary as hell. I’ve always had a fear of needles and will go out of my way to avoid one and now I was about to get the granddaddy of them all.

There was, of course, nothing I could do or say. I knew I was in big trouble and that I had better do what they said. They proceeded to give me the IV and it really wasn't as bad (at first) as I thought it would be.

It’s strange that my first experience in a hospital would be here in Amatitlan, a small town in Guatemala. I had always thought of hospitals as being very antiseptic places with rigid rules about everything. This place doesn’t fit that image. It wasn’t the cleanest place although that didn't bother me. There were eight other beds in the ward and most of the men were older and seemed as if they had been in the hospital for some time. I felt so sick and bothered by pain that I found it difficult to try to communicate with any of the other men.

Without Misti there to look after me, I don't know what I would have done. She brought me meals since one of the nurses said the food wasn’t very good and stayed with me even though it wasn't visiting hours. She did everything she possibly could to lift my spirits, which had reached a pretty low point. She got someone from the campground who spoke both Spanish and English to speak with the doctor and find out what was going on. Misti was my Florence Nightingale.

The first night was sheer hell, the worst I can remember in my life. The needle in my arm made it impossible for me to move around so I had to stay in one of several positions for hours. I was given penicillin every three hours around the clock and each time the pain of the antibiotic going through my system was unbearable. After each shot I would moan and groan in English and of course, no one could understand the words although they got the meaning. The guy in the bed across from me had his entire leg bandaged and must have been in incredible pain since he cried out through most of the night. To pass the time I read the book "Shogun" which is about an Englishman in Japan in the 15th century. The book is gory with detailed explanations of tortures and killings, but it served the purpose of keeping my interest and the time passed well.

The next morning things got better. Misti had me moved into a private room with a comfortable bed which made a big difference since the bed in the ward was the most uncomfortable I had ever slept on. This was sheer luxury, a private room with my own real bathroom, a bed that adjusted up and down, a nurse that came by every so often; I was in heaven and on the road to recovery. The hospital didn't want to give Misti the private room since they felt it was too expensive and not necessary. The cost of the private room was six dollars a day which included everything except the doctor who was another few dollars. The room and doctor in the ward were completely free even to people from another country like me. It’s interesting that the Guatemalans who are so poor are willing and able to provide free medical care to those who need it while we, who are easily the most affluent in the world, aren’t able, or willing, to do this.

This is now my third day in the hospital and tomorrow I leave to rest in Gus. I made a deal with the doctor that he would let me out of the hospital a day early, he wanted me to stay four days, if I promised to stop in a clinic to have my leg looked at. Even though my hospital experience was an ordeal, I have some pleasant thoughts about it. All of the people were extremely nice and helpful and throughout I had the feeling that I was being taken care of, and that’s important when you're as sick as I was. One nurse in particular, a sister Yolanda, was especially nice. She spoke a few words of English and tried to comfort me when I was in the greatest pain.

Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, January 23, 1977

We’ve been in a campground in the town of Panajachel on the edge of Lake Atitlan for the past two days. The lake is unbelievably beautiful with three majestic snow-capped volcanos dominating the setting. Panajachel is a gringo town, many North Americans and Europeans live and visit here. Because of my leg, I haven't gotten around much; my first walk in about five days was to the lake but I decided not to try to walk into town.

We’ve met some nice people, a couple named Bob and Carol and their young daughter, Rebecca, from Connecticut who had dinner with us in Gus last night. They suggested our going together to a small out-of-the-way mountain town or meeting them there, which sounds like fun and we’ll probably do it. Carol is a pediatrician and volunteered to look at my leg; she said it seemed to be healing nicely.

Parked across from us are four Canadians from Alberta traveling in a school bus very much like ours only bigger. They’ve broken down with a driveshaft problem and I lent them my shop manual but they need to get a spare part, probably from Guatemala City. Camped next to us are two young guys from Denmark who are bussing and hitchhiking their way to South America.

Last night was hectic in Gus. Another guy named Rene from Switzerland asked if he could use our stove and kitchen to cook some spaghetti. Between him cooking spaghetti and Bob and Carol visiting and the kids playing, it was hectic.

We’ve bought a number of lovely things in Guatemala, some from the market in the cities we’ve passed through and other things from roadside stands. Guatemala is noted for its Indian handcrafted materials, weavings of handbags, shirts, pants, and various other things. It’s all inexpensive and Gus seems to have unlimited storage space.

We stayed one night in Antigua after leaving the hospital in Amatitlan. We camped right on the street in front of the main plaza near an old church that had been badly damaged by the many terramotos (earthquakes) that plague Guatemala. That day we drove to San Antonio, a town about ten miles from Antigua, and bought some shirts and wall hangings. We didn't see much of Antigua because of my limited walking ability. What we did see was quite nice but the entire city appears to have been heavily damaged in last year's earthquake. We didn’t realize it at the time but we later found out that the earthquake was the worst ever to hit Guatemala.

The drive from Lake Amatitlan to Antigua, and then on to Lake Atitlan, was beautiful; through high mountainous country with spectacular views of volcanos. This part of Guatemala is noted for some of the most magnificent scenery in the world. The air is crystal clear from the lack of industry and vehicles as well as the high altitudes. The road that winds down from Solola to Panajachel is almost a straight drop with switchbacks and hairpin turns. The first view of the lake is breathtaking. Misti's description was apt, it looks just like Shangri-La.

My leg seems to be healing well. I’ve been taking a strong antibiotic orally four times a day and each day I seem to have more strength. The first day out of the hospital I wasn't able to walk at all. The second day I walked with the help of a cane that we bought in the market at Solola.  Now I'm able to manage short periods without the cane.  My illness has put a real burden on Misti, she has to do everything now, all of her chores plus all of mine. But she’s wonderful and doesn't complain at all. She’s nursed me back to health giving in to all of my cranky demands. A man couldn't ask for a better woman. Misti has had to do all of the driving for the past week and it’s been difficult since I had hogged the driving for most of the trip and she was out of practice. Driving a six ton school bus on narrow mountain roads in Guatemala is not for the faint of heart but she was up to the task.
 
San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico, January 25, 1977

We’re back in Mexico after spending two weeks in Guatemala and are now starting our long journey home. We estimate we’re roughly 4,500 miles from home and will take about four weeks to get back. I wish we had four months instead.

It’s good to be in Mexico again, kind of like coming home to a familiar place after being in Guatemala. Much as we liked Guatemala, the easy going manner of the people and the majestic splendor of the scenery, we never did get completely comfortable with its incredible basicness. Perhaps in more time we would have adjusted to the simpler life style. Also, in Guatemala we had the problem of my illness, three days in the hospital which slowed us down. And Gus had some trouble at the higher altitudes.

Yesterday morning we were to leave the campground in Panajachel and meet our new found friends, Bob and Carol, in the town of Totonicopan. They left first and we started about 15 minutes later, but stalled getting out of the campground and couldn't get Gus started. This precipitated a two-hour session with Gus's carburetor. It started with the Canadians who owned the other school bus. They gave us a jump from a spare battery and then helped us try to get the air cleaner to stay on. While trying to do this, a hippie type mechanic by the name of Kevin, who was a helicopter mechanic during the Vietnam War, offered to help. He said the problem wasn't so much the air cleaner as the carburetor itself. Apparently, when it was repaired in Guatemala City the mechanic put the float in backwards which was causing Gus to idle poorly and run rough. As we all smoked some good Guatemalan grass, Kevin took the carburetor apart and rebuilt it. In an hour's time he had it back together properly and installed on Gus with the air cleaner attached. We couldn't thank Kevin enough and we tried to give him something, not money which we knew he wouldn't accept but something else to show our appreciation. He said he enjoyed helping other people and that was reward enough. If there were more people like Kevin this would be a better world.

After Kevin did his magic Gus was purring and we started up the long grade out of Panajachel, an amazing climb which we did mostly in second gear. I drove Gus for the first time in a week and it felt good. We picked up three guys hitchhiking out of Panajachel, an American and two Europeans and gave them a ride to where we turned off the main highway.  We never did meet up with our friends but had a nice fresh fish lunch in Gus parked in the main plaza with about 25 kids standing on the hood and bumper watching us out of curiosity.

We left Totonicopan and drove to San Cristobal to see the native market which we had read about, but we couldn't drive to it because of extensive damage to the road from the recent earthquake. The distance was too great for me to walk with my leg still not fully recovered. We drove on toward Huehuetenango, had a poor dinner in a restaurant called the "Las Vegas" and spent the night
in Gus parked in the grease pit of a gas station.  The owner pointed out that it was the flattest spot
around.

The next morning we drove into the town of Huehuetenango and went to the market. We bought some material and baskets and then started on our way back to Mexico. The drive to the border was spectacular, mountains with fantastic vistas, and it reminded us of the highway into Yosemite.

We crossed the border with a minimum of hassle, had to pay $2 each to leave Guatemala (fifty cents extra each because it was siesta time) and another one dollar for Gus. No problem in entering Mexico, there never is, except they sprayed Gus inside and out to kill any Guatemalan bugs and we gave them whatever fruit and vegetables we had.

We tried to buy insurance in Comitan, the first town that we came to, but were told that no insurance was being sold to tourists. We plan to look again in the city of Tuxtla Gutierrez which is larger. Yesterday afternoon we drove on to San Cristobal de Las Casas in the state of Chiapas and spent the night parked by one of the many churches. This town is one of our favorites, it has an especially good feeling. It’s at a high altitude of 7,500 feet and the climate is on the cool side. We were snug in Gus and had to use the propane heater in the morning when we had breakfast. Last night we went to a hot springs bath house (los banos) and took a room where we enjoyed the steam (vapores) and the joy of an unlimited hot shower, a real treat.

We left San Cristobal de Las Casas, and drove a short distance to Tuxtla Guittierez, a larger city and the capital of Chiapas state. We hoped to get insurance for Gus here but it was the same story as elsewhere, no companies were selling insurance to tourists. While inquiring at the tourist bureau about our insurance dilemma we met a young woman from Poland named Kinga who also had a problem. She was going north to Oaxaca and there were no buses, trains or plane, that would take her out of Tuxtla. Apparently university students in Oaxaca had burned several buses in a dispute over student fares and the drivers went on strike. We offered Kinga a ride and she was delighted. It was just getting dark and we decided to spend the night in Tuxtla and get an early start the next morning. She spent the night with us in a campground, she got the table that converts into a bed and luckily was short enough to fit, and then she spent another night with us in Oaxaca.

Kinga was good company. She spoke English quite well; was a recently graduated anthropology student from Warsaw University and the Soviet government had allowed her to leave the country to travel before she took a job. She freely discussed the political and economic situation in Poland and the Soviet Union and she had no love for communism. The kids enjoyed having another English speaking person along and it was a nice change of pace having a guest on board.

The ride from Tuxtla to Oaxaca was long and tedious, about ten hours on winding mountainous roads, hard driving with Misti and I taking turns at the wheel. Gus was starting to backlash again, the first time since we left San Francisco nearly three months ago. It turned out later when we took Gus to a Goodyear dealer in Acapulco that we apparently had been driving for some time with the inside left rear tire flat and this caused the no-spin differential to create a jerking backlash motion.

We expected to like the town of Oaxaca and we did. A nice climate, warm during the day and cool enough to sleep comfortably at night. The trailer park we stayed at had two caravans, one was the same one we had seen in San Miguel de Allende about two months earlier. The park was filled almost to capacity with huge trailers and motor homes. We, of course, stood out like a sore thumb being the only yellow school bus in sight. The caravan leaders had arranged for a native dance the first night and the kids loved it. I was tired from the long drive and went to sleep early without seeing the dance.

We spent the first day in Oaxaca getting our insurance renewed which suddenly for some reason was no longer a problem. Then we called my office to let them know all was well and that we were planning to be back about the middle of February. I spoke with Merv (Merv Field was the owner of the company where I worked) for the first time since I had left and found out that Bob Heyer had resigned. Merv said things were busier than ever and they were looking forward to my return.

Kinga left us the first day in Oaxaca where she caught a bus to take her to Mexico City. She planned to take trains and buses from Mexico City to New York where she would fly back to Warsaw. We wished her a good journey and exchanged addresses.

After two days of sightseeing and shopping in the market we left Oaxaca headed for Cuernevaca about eight hours away.  The trip was again through mountainous terrain and it was to be the last of the high mountains that we’d encounter on the trip. The state of Oaxaca is pretty but not nearly as splendid as Chiapas which I think is the prettiest part of Mexico.

We stayed a day and one night in Cuernevaca at a KOA campground where we befriended some people from Switzerland. Our kids played with theirs and as usual they wanted to stay while I was anxious to move on. Misti wanted to stay another day but I wanted to get to the ocean and the beach which we hadn't seen since we left Belize.

We left that afternoon for Taxco one of the oldest towns in Mexico; very picturesque with cobblestone streets winding up and down the hills. Misti and I got into a fight about something or other when we first got to Taxco and I told her to sightsee with the kids while I stayed in Gus and brooded. After ten minutes and my first drink of Mescal, which takes some getting used to, I decided I was acting childish and went to find them. I headed for the largest cathedral, knowing that Misti couldn't pass a church in Mexico without going in to see it, and sure enough ran into them. We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Taxco and ended the day with a drink in a bar overlooking the Zocolo; Misti and I had made up.

At this point we were very low on money. We were down to our last 300 pesos, about $15 US, and were getting worried about running out of money completely. We planned to pick up $500 in Acapulco through American Express which we had done in Guatemala City and in Guadalajara. We decided to eat in a restaurant using a credit card and spend the night parked on the street as we often did. Rather than staying in Taxco we drove for about an hour in the direction of Acapulco to the small town of Iguala, and looked for a restaurant that took a credit card. This was a mistake. Igaula was another Acayucan, hot, dusty and ugly, and no restaurant was to be found that would take a credit card. We finally had dinner in an unbelievably bad place but it was cheap, about 50 pesos or $2.50 for all of us including several beers. We spent a restless night in Iguala sleeping in Gus in extremely hot and humid weather.

We got an early start the next day for Acapulco. The first sight of the Pacific was a welcome one, we hadn't seen it in almost two months since leaving Melaque for Guadalajara.

Pie de la Cuesta (Acapulco), February 1, 1977
This is our third day in Pie de la Cuesta (foot of the hill) a small town on the Pacific just north of Acapulco.  We’re staying at a beautiful campground right on a beach with golden sand and pure blue water. The surf is high to the point of being dangerous and we hear it pounding day and night.

We almost didn't come to Acapulco since we felt it would be touristy and it was bad mouthed by many of our fellow travelers. We actually came to make a money pickup through American Express and to buy a tire and we’re glad we came.  Regardless of what people say this place is stunningly beautiful. The weather is tropical hot, there are palm trees everywhere, lovely mountains and magnificent beaches in abundance. The campground is nice, compatible people, a beautiful setting with the ocean on one side and a protected lagoon on the other, bathrooms with toilets that work and showers with naturally warm water from a spring.

We stayed four days in Pie de la Cuesta and were reluctant to leave, it was one of the prettiest spots on the trip. The one drawback was the surf being too rough, the kids weren't able to go in more than a few feet and Misti was afraid to go in at all. I went in several times but after two really bad wipeouts and almost breaking my arm by giant waves I stayed away.

We met some nice people at the campground, Ray and Gary--a writer and photographer from Canada traveling in a Winnebago. Tate and Beverly and their kids--from Redding--who had stayed over a month in Puerto Morelos. And Ann and Guido--she a talkative lady from Philadelphia and he a Latino from Argentina. Our stay at Pie de la Cuesta was a welcome interlude after making our way north from Guatemala; a lot of time on the beach with no chores at all.

Ixtapa, Mexico, February 3, 1977
We’re camped on a jetty in a place called Ixtapa with a magnificent long white sand beach, completely undeveloped except for an El Presidente hotel. I suspect that in several years this place will be competing with Puerto Vallarta and Acapulco for the tourist dollar.  Ixtapa is next to the town of Zihuatanejo which we had read and heard about as being the new Acapulco. It’s an old and lovely town, undeveloped with a nice beach and a protected bay, but Acapulco it is not.

We’re camping with another couple, Tate and Beverly and their two kids, Todd and Brook, who we met at the trailer park in Pie de la Cuesta. We had a great fresh fish dinner with them one night cooked in Gus and spent a lot of time sunning, collecting shells, and playing in the heavy surf on one of the prettiest beaches I've ever seen. We didn’t want to leave, but our trip must end sometime and we have to face up to returning home and completing our voyage.

When we were in Cuernevaca about a week and a half ago, I was anxious to get home, and kept thinking of returning to the United States and California. But then we got to Pie de la Cuesta, Zihuatenejo and Ixtapa and I lost all thoughts of returning home. I would have been content to extend our stay by several months.

Mazatlan, Mexico, February 6, 1977
We’re quickly working our way up Mexico and have had several days of hard driving. From Ixtapa we drove about 300 miles to Urupan where we stayed the night. The next day we got an early start and drove all day to Tepic, a distance again of about 300 miles. Today we drove from Tepic to Mazatlan.

After the splendor of the southern Mexico beaches of Pie de la Cuesta, Acapulco and Ixtapa, we were a little disappointed in Mazatlan.  Misti and I were here ten years ago before David was born and it seems to have changed, for the worse. It seems overbuilt and crowded and has a lot of ugly architecture.

Mazatlan, Mexico, February 7, 1977
This is our second night in Mazatlan and we're enjoying our stay even though we haven't spent any time on the beach. Last night we took the kids to the Shrimp Bucket, a restaurant Misti and I went to when we were here ten years ago. It was the most expensive restaurant on the entire trip, almost $20 U.S. for the four of us compared with the usual six or seven dollars. But it was worth it, the food was excellent, the atmosphere pleasant, we had music with our meal and the experience was a good one.
Today we did some chores, renewed our insurance for three more days and went to the town of Concordia, about 25 miles east of Mazatlan in the mountains, where we bought a wood carved chair at a small furniture factory. We were trying to relive our experience of ten years ago when we went to Concordia and bought a high chair which we used for both David and Mike when they were babies. We wanted to buy a rocking chair and the price was a reasonable, $30, for a chair that would probably cost ten times that in the United States. But it was too big to put on top of Gus, so we settled for a smaller chair with a straight back. The chair was missing two carved parts for the top, so the seller took us to the factory where we watched a guy work for an hour on a lathe turning a simple block of wood into two nicely carved pieces.  Tomorrow we plan to spend some time on the beach and then drive about 250 miles to Cullican, then the next day on to Los Estados Unidos and home.

We got an early start planning to drive to Los Mochis where we had read of a campground that had a therapeutic spa. This sounded like a nice way to end the day after a long drive. We arrived late, around 8:00 pm, and easily found the trailer park, but the office was closed and of course, the water in the spa was ice cold. We never have gotten used to the scarcity of hot water in Mexico.

We left Los Mochis very early, about 5:30 am, and stopped near the city of Navajoa for breakfast. As we often do when we eat on the road we just look for a flat place to pull off and cook and eat  
In Gus. We prefer scenic spots but if we're hungry enough anything will do. The spot we chose this time turned out to be near a school, one with students ranging in age from 15 to 19.

As was our usual routine, we shooed the kids out of the bus to get some exercise and to give us some time apart from them. They were soon surrounded by about a dozen very curious Mexican students. We exchanged words and invited them onto Gus to see it. They poured onto Gus and were delighted that we were able to converse with them, even in our limited way. We chatted and then politely asked them to excuse us while we had our desayuno (breakfast).

After we finished eating they returned and invited us to see their school. The kids were marvelous; polite, handsome, friendly and eager to please their visitors from the north. They had many questions about us and the United States which we tried to answer as best we could. At one point about fifty kids, mostly girls, came out from a classroom and swarmed around us full of curiosity. They couldn't keep their hands off David and Michael’s blonde hair which is very unusual in Mexico where everyone is dark haired. Michael freaked and was frightened by all the attention and Misti took him back to Gus.

The tour continued, we were introduced to most of the classes, and they coaxed Michael back with a piece of candy. We watched the students do a native dance they were practicing wearing colorful Mexican skirts and blouses over their blue jeans. We took pictures, exchanged addresses and were back in Gus on our way to Guaymas. A great experience that we’ll remember all our lives.
 
We arrived in Guaymas early in the afternoon, toured the centro and had lunch in a not very spectacular restaurant. We went to a trailer park which had a swimming pool, not heated, of course. We decided to stay the night and try to make the border the next day, about a seven hour drive.

At the trailer park we met a woman named Edie Rohde who had traveled from Alaska (Fairbanks) with her three teenage kids in a converted school bus. We struck up an instant friendship which seems to happen so easily when traveling. We toured each others buses and they loved the way we had finished Gus. Edie had done all the work on her bus herself and did a really nice job. We compared notes on gas mileage and breakdowns (as school bus owners do) and started drinking Margaritas by the poolside, enjoying the last rays of Mexican sun. We were joined by an older couple from Illinois and proceeded to get drunk and enjoy good conversation. Misti, Edi and I had an excellent seafood dinner in the motel's restaurant, our last dinner in Mexico, and one of the best.

We got another early start; we were getting good at waking up early, from Guaymas determined to cross the border that day. Unfortunately we had another mechanical problem, this time in
Hermosilla, which delayed us for about four hours. It was almost a major problem but it was fortunate that the Chevy dealer had the part we needed, a balancer which cost 1600 pesos or about $75 US. It was David's tenth birthday and we were planning a special day for him. We had gotten him a beautiful onyx chess set in Mazatlan which we gave him at breakfast. We had our breakfast in the Chevy dealer as the mechanic worked on Gus, not a new experience for us. We paid for the work with our BankAmericard since our money was getting low and we had no personal checks left. The bill was about $90 of which only $12 was for labor. The real problem was a broken motor mount which through excessive vibration had caused the balancer to break. The mount was easily and inexpensively replaced.

While it’s true we had many repairs over the past three months, considering the beating Gus took on Mexican and Guatemalan roads and the low cost of repairs, we can’t complain about Gus’s reliability.  I think any other vehicle would have fallen apart long ago.  And our breakdowns gave us a chance to interact more with the Mexican people and improve our Spanish and most were pleasant enough experiences.

The last 100 miles out of Mexico were tedious. We were anxious at this point to cross the border since it had been our objective now for many days. It wasn't that we wanted to leave Mexico, but we knew the trip was coming to an end and we wanted to do what needed to be done. We reached Nogales, an ugly border town, in the late afternoon and had no difficulty getting back into the United States.

Before reaching the border, Misti and I had fears that an overly zealous border guard might decide that we looked suspicious and decide to tear Gus apart searching for dope or whatever. Even though we were clean as a whistle, we still were somewhat fearful since we didn't want to see Gus torn apart. We had decided that if that happened we would leave Gus at the border in Mexico and try to get an attorney to stop them, since we knew we could never put Gus back together again (like Humpty Dumpty).

Our fears were for naught, the border guard was an older man from New England who was very nice. We gave him some eggs and ham which can't be brought in and were on our way in about ten minutes.  It was good to be back in the United States and we were looking forward to experiencing amenities that Americans take for granted, like clean bathrooms, drinkable water, and good roads.

Oh the lovely roads in this country, you have to drive twelve thousand miles on Mexican and Central American highways to really appreciate them. We were thrilled with driving on wide, smooth roads with real shoulders, distinctly painted divider lines and two lanes on each side with a divider in the middle. True luxury after Latin America.

We drove as far as Panache Peak in Arizona which would be our first night in the U.S. and took the kids to their first American restaurant in three months for David's birthday meal.  A nice restaurant which was part of a small chain called Nickersons. After eating, we were tired and decided to just spend the night in the parking lot of the restaurant.

In the morning we picked up some groceries, our first visit to an American store in over three months, and had a connection repaired to the alternator which only took a few minutes. We drove all day and into the late night and got as far as Los Angeles where we spent the night in a rest stop on Interstate 5 near Magic Mountain. In the morning we helped a guy from Seattle get his truck started and proceeded home, a long and boring drive on Interstate 5 from Los Angeles to San Francisco. The highlight of the day was lunch at a newly opened Anderson's Pea Soup restaurant about 100 miles from San Francisco. We gorged ourselves on their split pea soup and onion bread and then drove the remaining miles home.  

San Rafael, California, February 11,, 1977
We are home and the trip is over. We drove hard from Los Angeles this morning and arrived in San Rafael about 5 p.m. this evening. Ann Frey and her new boyfriend, Chris, greeted us and then Penny and her friend, Pasha, came by; Penny had been housesitting for us for the last week.

I have mixed feelings about returning home but am very happy to be back in familiar surroundings after three months on the road. Our house looks and feels good and it’s good to see Georgie Girl and Coke, our dog and cat, and the kids are excited about being back home and can't wait to see their friends. But in many ways I'm sad that the trip is over, it was a wonderful journey with experiences and memories that will last a lifetime. We did what most people only dream about, and put off until they're too old to make it happen. We traveled over 12,000 miles in a school bus and saw many fascinating places and met many wonderful people. I think in many ways the trip has brought us more together as a family. We had our problems and ups and downs but were able to live together in Gus's close quarters for 100 days.

The trip has given all of us a taste for travel, seeing and experiencing new and different things. Making friends with fellow travelers and giving and accepting help. I think we're all agreed that sometime in the not too distant future, be it two or five years from now, we must do this again. Perhaps to another place, perhaps to retrace our steps and see how things have changed. In time we'll feel the need to roam and be obliged to answer the call. We’ve tasted the forbidden fruit of adventure and have been taken by its heady feeling. Most people don't know these feelings and never will, they’ll continue their lives working fifty weeks and taking two off until they finally retire at an age when they’re too weary for adventure. We’ve been fortunate to learn at a young age and will not to be our fate.

Gus was the perfect way to travel; he was our magic carpet taking us from one adventure to another in comfort and safety. It’s been a great thrill to conceive and build Gus, from an idea to a reality, and then for him to take us on this exciting trip. We don't know what we'll do with Gus in the future, we want to keep him since he’s become part of our family. Perhaps we can rent him out to friends to cover expenses and perhaps occasionally take short trips.
 
Epilogue - Saturday, March 12, 1977, San Rafael, California

We’ve been back from our trip for three weeks and Misti and I still have not fully adjusted to the trip being over. In the first week back we had a difficult time adjusting to the incredible affluence everywhere, money is spent like water and so many things seem to be more expensive now than before we left in early November. Everything is so clean here, maybe too clean, it’s as if we’re all afraid of ever being exposed to anything that is dirty or smelly.

It’s been good to see our friends, but nobody seems to be very happy, everyone seems tired, perhaps from working too hard or perhaps from leading lives that aren’t giving them the fulfillment that is necessary for the happiness we all seek. The first few days back at work were fine, meeting people that I hadn't seen for three months, relating my experiences and so forth. But the day-in-day-out grind of the workday role has set in very quickly and I’m constantly comparing it with the freedom and balance we had when we were traveling. Which is reality, or is reality simply whatever you happen to be doing at the time? Now I seem to feel pressured by time, much of my life now seems to be devoted to my job.  

Art Faibisch
San Rafael, California