Rich, Carol, Stuck at Presa Zarco
08/06/2001 01:24:17 PM
Subject: Rich, Carol, Stuck at Presa Zarco
Classification:
Rich, Carol, and getting stuck
The morning I left Batopilas I picked up a couple passengers. My first
passenger was Rich a reformed Canadian now living with his wife in San
Diego. Rich had worked for several years in radio and TV broadcasting then
concluded he could find something better to do. He started by quitting his
job and travelling through South America for six months with his future
wife. The other person I took out of the canyon was Carol. Carol lived in
Colorado and was spending her summer in Mexico before resuming her studies
in ethnobotnay. "Ethnobotnay?" I thought to myself what kind of craziness
is that. However, I was quickly won over to her cause after she explained
that one of the two Texas dikes at Juanitas had given her $50 US "To further
the cause of ethnobotnay". Fifty bucks, American money just for mentioning
ethnobotnay. That was all I needed to know. I was officially on the
ethnobotnay gravy train. Later that day the rain started and the three of
us were crammed inside the cab of the Grey Ghost. Rich and I took the
opportunity to insist that there was a quid pro quo between Carol, the Texas
dike, and the fifty bucks. We also insisted that ethnobotnay was not part
of the quid pro quo.
For most of the day Carol rode in the back of the truck while Rich and I
sat up front. I pointed out to Rich the wanton look in the eyes of the
people as we passed through town after town. They were looking at us with
that wanton look. I explained to Rich that it was the look of "tire envy".
These people had never seen 34 inch tall Super Swamper radials before, but
they wanted them. At first Rich seemed skeptical of my assessment but by
the end of the day he was pointing out people suffering from acute "tire
envy". In between my babbling about "tire envy" and searching for circus
music on the radio Rich told me about himself and what he thought was worth
seeing in South America.
We reached Hidalgo de Parral during the hot hours of the day. Carol
spotted a drive through liquor store that looked like a huge can of Tecate
(thats a Mexican beer Mom) laid on its side and half buried in the desert.
This got her and Rich to start haranguing me to turn around and get a beer.
Of course I wasn't going to stop for beer. Then Carol started to make it
sound like a dare and back we went. We drove through the drive through
liquor store, Rich bought us some beer, Carol took some pictures, and the
people there just looked at us, funny like. We pulled out of the drive
through liquor store and pulled the tabs on our beers as we pulled onto the
road. We pulled into a gas station and tanked up, so to speak. We pulled
out of the gas station and onto the road and then pulled over again. This
time one of the local representatives of law enforcement wanted to talk with
us. The policeman approached my window as I put my beer down. He only had
one question, "Were we drinking?" Rich, who spoke Spanish, answered. I
didn't understand any of the conversation, and sat there hoping Rich wasn't
telling any lies we couldn't prove. Moments later we were driving down the
road again. Rich explained that he told the cop we were drinking and then
adroitly added that we were trying to find the road to Durango, which we
were. The cop forgot about the drinking and began to explain that we
shouldn't go to Durango because the road was dangerous. You know Mexican
bandits, Injun outlaws, cattle rustles, corporate raiders, and the like. He
strongly suggested we stay with the highway we were on and go to Jimenez.
OK, I didn't believe him but we went to Jimenez anyway. Adios Durango,
hello Jimenez. We said our good byes to Rich at Jimnez. Rich was taking the
bus from there back to San Diego. Carol and I left Jimenez and made camp in
a wheat field several miles outside Jimenez on the road to Torreon. On the
road to Torreon the next day I tried to explain littering in Mexico and
cultural acceptance to Carol. She in turn tried to explain pronunciation of
Spanish vowels to me.
That ominous metallic sound was back and demanding attention. I had Carol
drive while I ran alongside and did everything short of hanging underneath
the truck trying to determine exactly where the noise was coming from. I
couldn't find the source of the noise so we turned the circus music up
louder and continued on our way. As we were leaving Torreon I handed the
map to Carol and said, "Do you see that lake there by the highway? Let's
stop there and cool off. I'm sure it's just a mud hole but lets have a
look."
Soon we were cooling ourselves in the tepid waters of Presa F. Zarco
southwest of Torreon. (25deg 16' N 103deg 50' W) Carol wanted to swim over
to a point in the lake, but I didn't want to leave the truck unlocked. I
went to get the truck and drive to the point where she was swimming. I
decided to cut a half-mile out of my drive by taking a short cut across the
dry lakebed. The big cracks in the dirt attested to its not having had
water for a long time. I turned across the lakebed, went about 120 feet and
could go no further. I jumped out of the truck to lock in the hubs. My
heart sank when my feet hit the ground. Through the cracks in the ground I
could see water standing six inches below. Walking on the cracked ground
felt like walking on jello. The situation was looking grim. The closest
anchor point that I could use my winch on was a quarter mile away. I didn't
have that much tow strap. I had never been stuck in mud like this but I
knew what it was. It was a bottomless pit of silted in lake mud. I barely
tried to back out in 4WD but as I expected I only dug myself straight down.
For those of you who do not make a habit of getting stuck let me explain.
Not all mud is created equal, and this mud is some of the worst. The only
situation that would be worse is to be stuck in quick sand or a rising
river. In either of those cases your truck gets swallowed unless you get
out immediately. Here in the mud of Presa Zarco my only good luck was not
having my truck sink under its own weight.
I walked over to Carol and pointed out that we were really, really
stuck.....bad, bad, stuck. She took the news calmly. Around the reservoir
there was a nest of houses. Carol and I walked to them and found only three
with any habitation. Into all three of them we went explaining our
condition. Without going into detail I'll just summarize their responses
like this "Stuck and desperate huh? Yeah....well, that happens.", and then
they would return to the lakeside version of plaza life. With only the
three doors to knock on we quickly ran out of options. Carol and I decided
to return and talk to the guy who had the most caring in his voice when he
told us he didn't care.
I thanked Carol for knowing Spanish and I thanked God for making her cute.
I have no doubt that had I been alone asking for help the guy never would
have told us "Well I have a cousin who has a farm, and on that farm he has a
tractor." Many hours and $25 later in the fading light and heat of dusk his
cousin hooked onto the other end of 160 feet of yellow tow strap stretched
across the cracked lakebed like a life line and pulled my little truck free
of its muddy dungeon. I think I felt a tear in my eye. Carol as much as
the tractor had gotten me out of this one. All I had to do was create the
problem. As we cooked dinner that night on the shore of Presa Zarco I looked
at Carol and said, "I think I need a beer, how about you?" As I drove to
get the beer it occurred to me that Carols bad influence was rubbing off on
me.
We left Presa Zarco for Zacatecas the next morning. Although we left the
reservoir behind it was still with us in the form of mud packed on the
wheels and axles. That ominous sound was back. I jacked the rear axle up
and listened while Carol ran the Grey Ghost through the gears. I heard
nothing. I shook the tires suspecting a bearing, but I felt nothing. I
crawled all around under the truck. I saw the antisway bar had broken away
from the frame. As I was under the truck removing the antisway bar I saw
Carol throw some trash in the ditch. Mabey all that cultural acceptance
crap was starting to make sense to her. Maybe I was just a bad influence.
We continued toward Zacatecas where Carol would catch a bus to Merida (way
down south). Along the way she managed to throw some more trash out the
window. She wasn't up to yelling "Viva Mexico!!" yet , but I think the
potential was there. We arrived at the Zacatecas bus terminal with no time
before her bus left. We said a quick goodbye as she grabbed her backpack
and headed for Merida. I headed back into Zacatecas for a few days.
I thought about Carol as I drove to my hotel. She had been a real trooper.
Throughout the ordeal of being stuck she never got anxious or upset. She
was the one that had to do all the pleading, and she did it all without
tormenting me for doing something so stupid. Thanks Carol.
Considering everything it's probably best we parted company when we did.
Obviously we were bad influences on one another. She had me drinking and I
had her littering. Another week together and I pictured us teamed up as a
couple Mexican bandits. Mexican bandits "Pancho and Butterfly". (Rich and
Carol told me I was more Pancho than Pablo so I changed my name again.
Carol had a fascination with butterflies thus Butterfly.) I could see it in
my mind "Pancho and Butterfly" driving drunk around Mexico throwing trash in
front of motorist until they stopped and then stealing all their beer.
After some reflection I'm sure it's best that we parted company when we did.
