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WideAngleWandering
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Wandering Baja
For background, you can see some info in my planning thread.planning thread.
Photos can be found on the blog: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/a-mexico.html
I'm not too lazy to copy paste the text so here goes:
After several nights at the El Centro Motel 6 (recently renovated with new veneers and everything, quite nice) I was really ready to move on. The heat
was wearing me out but I still managed to fix my broken a/c, a windshield washer line and hardwire the chargers for my various gadgets from the
parking lot.
In Calexico I stopped at a bank to get some cash. As I stepped out of the truck I saw a young woman frantically trying to open the doors of her
running car as her mother sat in a wheel chair in the sun. In Spanish she asked me if I had a stick that we could use to try and unlock the car door.
Amazingly, I understood most of what she said. In the tailgate I found the perfect implement – a 3' length of aluminum flat stock, which I bent into
shape and forced through the door jam and down to the lock button. While saving the day I noticed I had left my fuel cap back in El Centro.
An hour later I was back at the border, now with cash and fuel cap, and made the easiest border crossing of my life. Simply drive on through – no
hassles! On the Mexicali side, however, confusion reigned almost immediately. My Garmin is nearly though not completely useless. Eventually I gave up
finding my way in the truck, so I found a place to park and promptly locked my keys in the car. Unlike the woman in Calexico, I had planned ahead for
this and used the spare from my wallet to get back in. I need to establish a routine or by the time I get home I'll have nothing left but the shoes on
my feet.
While not necessary in Baja Norte, I wanted to get my tourist card at the border to avoid having to figure it out when I reached Baja Sur. I walked
back towards the border until I found a Grupos Beta emblem, which I recognized as the sign for immigration from some photos on bajanomad.com.
Determined not to get stuck with a 30 day visa like the first time I came into Mexico (requiring a confusing revisit to immigration for a renewal) I
chatted up the officials, told them I was visiting Mexico on my “gran aventura” and asked for a 180 day visa. No problema. Next time I will just fill
that line out myself but I couldn't spot it on the form before he snatched it away from me.
FMT in hand, I got back in the truck and set out to find my way to MX-2 to La Rumorosa. The Garmin insisted that the best route was back across the
border, over to San Diego and down through Tijuana. I turned off the routing and ended up using it as a really small, really annoying map and compass.
Between the compass and the mish-mash of signs for Tijuana I eventually found my way.
La Rumorosa is nearly a straight shot up MX-2. The only maneuver required came at the junction of the free (libre) and toll (cuota) roads. Even though
I was on the free road I still had to pay 20 pesos to intersect the toll road. I passed through one military checkpoint where I was waved through
after a cursory peek through the windows. Betsy was doing fine, for the most part, but I was usually forced to keep the a/c off and I had to stop
several times to let the engine idle and cool down. It was 115f when I left El Centro so this was understandable, albeit annoying.
In La Rumorosa I found my turn-off to the Parque National Constitucion easily thanks to the one thing the Garmin does well – notify you of upcoming
waypoints. Had I thrown it out the window like I considered earlier, I would have just stopped for directions and probably found my way just as
easily.
I followed the dirt road passed numerous ranches. The scrubby brush gave way to taller brush and then to pine trees – they look like the Ponderosa
Pines you found in the southwestern U.S. There were myriad trails and paths leading off from the road I was on so I guessed which paths were most
likely to lead to the park and after two hours I did find my way. I was surprised on arrival to see so many people camping in the park. I'd been
forced into low range twice to climb over steep stretches of road to get up here and I didn't quite understand how the 2wd pickups and passenger
vehicles I'd seen had made it. Perhaps with long running starts and Dukes of Hazard-style jumps. One of the inclines was so steep it caused my jug of
diesel additive to leak through the closed cap. I got to enjoy that smell for a couple of days afterwards.
At 1600m it was still hot up here but the mountain breeze made it all quite comfortable. I built my camp, complete with a hammock strung between Betsy
and a tall pine, had a snack and laid back to relax and reflect.
By about 11PM, however, it was too cold to stay out in the hammock, even with thermals, a fleece, heavy socks and a wool blanket. Reluctantly I
retired to the truck for a more comfortable sleep.
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WideAngleWandering
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Laguna Hanson
Photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/laguna-hanson.html
I woke up this morning with a splitting headache. I figured it was dehydration but drinking water didn't help. That headache didn't go away until I
had a cup of coffee. Apparently my daily visits to the Chocolate Fish in Sacramento left me a caffeine junkie.
After coffee I moved to the hammock. I lounged all morning. The last week in the heat of the Sonora really wiped me out. Once the sun had reached an
annoying height, I erected an aluminet shade over the hammock and went back to napping.
While camping in Canada and Alaska, I found I had forgotten how to tie some of the knots I find most useful, like the bowline. I brought a book of
knots with me for reference but for the life of me I could not translate the diagram into a proper bowline. The only way I can tie a bowline is
one-handed and around my waist as I'd learned to do in rescue training as a Boy Scout 20 years ago. It is strange what one remembers and one forgets.
All I have to do from now on is pretend my left arm is broken whenever I want to hang my hammock. These days I wish the scouts weren't being directed
by a bunch of bigoted ultra-right religious fundamentalists. Why should one have to stand on the wrong side of history just to learn to tie knots?
With camp set and napping taken care of, I set out to explore the park on foot. This late in the season, the lake was more of a mud flat, though still
intriguing with the huge granite boulders scattered in and about. A herd of cattle wandered through and then a group of horses, leaping and snorting
and generally making a fuss over nothing. I saw raptors flying overhead and a pair of feral dogs hiding in the grass with only their ears poking up –
looking more like coyotes than dogs.
The people were the real novelty. It seems that when Mexicans visit a national park, they like to pile into their pickup trucks and drive around the
park honking and yelling and waving at each other before returning to camp to crank up their stereos. I was bombarded by norteña, ranchero and banda
music by day and latin electronica at night. Occasionally some classic Madonna was thrown in.
During the day this didn't really bother me but as night fell and I lay back in my hammock I was dissuaded from night photography by the trucks
driving around with blinkers flashing, the people shining flashlights in every direction and the marooon across the lake playing with his high-powered
spotlight. This went on well into the night.
Instead I just lay back and looked upward. As the sky turned black, a dusting of stars was revealed and to my delight, the satellites and meteors that
one never sees when a city is nearby. I counted nine shooting stars - some faint and in the periphery, others bright but momentary and a few so
brilliant they were like tracers from a celestial machine gun, each destroyed by the atmosphere, leaving a bright trail.
Come morning I resolved to move on to a quieter and more photogenic location – the National Observatory to the south. I packed up the truck, got some
directions from a neighbor and hit the road at the crack of noon. The Garmin, even loaded with their official maps of Mexico, doesn't show any of the
roads in this area so I just started driving south. I made it to MX-3 in an hour, only 10km off course to the west.
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Ateo
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Sounds like a helluva lot of fun! Thanks.
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WideAngleWandering
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San Felipe
Photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/san-felipe.html
There was a seemingly large storm coming up behind me as I reached MX-3. As lightning flashed in the distance, I turned west towards Ensenada to get
some diesel at the Pemex. I drove through another military checkpoint to get to the Pemex 100m further on. The soldier waved me through without much
of a glance. At the Pemex I found the big diesel sign was a lie. The attendants weren't sure where I could find some.
I turned back towards the checkpoint. Although they had just seen my oddball vehicle pass through 2 minutes before, the soldier working the eastbound
lane was curious about me and directed me aside for a search. I chatted him up, both to distract him from his poking around and to try and figure out
where to find some diesel. He wasn't sure but figured there'd be something an hour or so to the west. Betsy is full of gear in all her nooks and
crannies. Between my mishmash of random stuff and my constant questioning he didn't get very far before passing me on with a smile.
I hadn't acquired any provisions yet on the trip. While camping at the national park I used my emergency supply of spam and ramen noodles (mmmm).
Feeling quite peckish, I stopped for a coconut and asked the coconut lady about diesel. She figured there'd be something about an hour or so to the
west.
By this point the storm had caught up with me. Lightning strikes, thunder and giant raindrops cut visibility to nothing but Betsy handled it with
aplomb. At one point the road was pretty heavily washed out and a line of traffic was backing up on either side. If I'd been alone I probably
wouldn't have tried to cross the torrent but I watched a less capable vehicle than mine make it. I pulled out of line, bypassed all the pansies and
plowed through sending 10'of muddy spray off each fender. It was a glorious scene.
At this point I decided to scratch my trip to the observatory. I wasn't sure how far south the storm would move, making for potentially ugly roads on
the climb up and a cloudy sky once I got there.
Instead, I pushed on to San Felipe. I wandered around town and found most of the hotels were in the $550MX range. Not wanting to start blowing my
budget on fancy hotels this early in the trip, I opted for a $250MX spot in a campground, 50 feet from the water, with an electrical hookup and wifi
connection. It seems I'm the only idiot visiting San Felipe in the dead of summer so I've got the place all to myself.
[Edited on 2012-8-13 by WideAngleWandering]
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WideAngleWandering
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Ateo
Sounds like a helluva lot of fun! Thanks. |
Indeed - baja rocks. I should have canceled my "no driving in mexico" rule a long time ago.
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WideAngleWandering
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Mike's Sky Ranch
Photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/to-mikes-sky-ranch...
Last night was tough to sleep, even with the fan. The fisherman use the beach access from the campground to launch and retrieve their boats, I assume
with the tides. Between the heat, the noise and the fish smell my campsite was becoming less desirable.
San Felipe, for travelers, is a town past it's prime. This much is evident by the table dance bar and the shuttered nightclubs on the malécon, the
trash-strewn beach, the dearth of budget accommodation and the greasy soup, shrimp and cheese sunk under a mass of tomato broth, I found for dinner.
Ramón, the waiter who brought the fatty bowl of soup last night, spoke exuberantly about his life. Between trips to other tables he came stopped to
show me pictures of his infant son and to talk about his tortilla business. On one pass he asked why I was in San Felipe and I told him I was escaping
the thunderstorms but that soon I'd be fleeing the heat. Eventually I wanted to be on the mainland. He told me about his last roadtrip through México
and with a smile lamented that he wouldn't be able to take another, on account of his son.
This morning I woke with sunrise and was driven from the truck by the heat around 8AM. I had breakfast at a cafe, took a swim (dodging diapers and
plastic bags on on the beach) and then set off for supplies and to re-attempt my trip to the Sierra Pedro Martír park and national observatory.
On my way back north I re-crossed the military checkpoint. This time I went through the most invasive search yet but it still wasn't that thorough or
inconvenient. I know the military in México are the good guys but I still bristle every time I approach a checkpoint. Whether it be police, military,
border patrol, TSA, at home or abroad, I resent the intrusion. To keep my blood pressure down I make a game of it. I ask questions, distract the
soldiers, answer their questions with a smile, try to get information out of them, crack jokes, whatever it takes to feel less like I'm being examined
by an authority looking for an excuse to up the ante. This time I spent a good while talking about my first-aid kit. I explained that I wasn't a
doctor, just “bién preparado,” to which the soldier pointed out that I didn't have any snakebite anti-venom. Not so preparado after all.
Driving west on MX-3 I saw a local police truck on the side of the road with it's lights flashing. The officer waved me on and I passed by a semi that
had flipped on it's side. It looked like the truck just drove off the side of the road and flipped over for no apparent reason. It was probably
overloaded. Just past the truck was another officer, who looked me over as I drove by. He whistled and through the rear-view mirror I could see him
waving. Did he want me to stop? I figured he wasn't too likely to leave the scene of the accident to pull me over so I just kept driving. Betsy is
about as far from non-descript as it gets in México so I'm hoping I don't drive by that guy again.
If I do get pulled over, assuming I've done nothing wrong, I have a multi-step plan for avoiding the gringo shakedown.
Speak and understand no Spanish. Since many folks down here know some English, I'll use the only German I know to keep the officer confused.
“No, no, apple strudel with ice cream. Two beers please. Airport. And no eggs!” Once I run out of German I'll use the only Thai phrase I know: “I'm an
American. I like big boobs.” If desperate, I have one Cantonese phrase: “my kung-fu is better than yours.”
If that fails, I'll pull out my Guía Roja and ask for directions to random places in the area. "Do you know how to find the road to the place
with the hot springs and the good tacos?"
Next I'll start taking notes and perhaps pull out my camera and take pictures while smiling like an idiot. No cop wants to be photographed
asking for a bribe.
If the officer won't have it, I'll hand over my old spare driver's license. As long as he doesn't have my real license there's no leverage.
If he still insists on extracting a bribe, I'll call his bluff and offer to follow him to the police station to sort it all out.
Fortunately he didn't give chase. I turned off the a/c to continue climbing to the turn-off for Mike's Sky Ranch, about 30 minutes up an old dirt
road. It used to be a popular stop for pilots but they say the military made Mike shut down the airstrip (or post a 24/7 security guard). Now the
place serves off-roaders.
The drive up was good. The road was just rough and steep enough to justify low range and while 4wd wasn't needed it gave me an excuse to try out
Betsy's new autolocking front differential. I pulled into the ranch around 5. The place was empty aside from the three folks who run it.
Day's EndSince I was the only guest, I opted against a room. I didn't see a point if I wasn't going to be staying up and socializing. Instead I got a
$10 camping spot in the parking lot and asked them if they could make something for dinner, which they seemed willing to do.
An hour later I sat down to a well lubricated fried steak, surrounded by gobs of semi-solid beef fat, some rice and vegetables. In some ways it was my
first decent meal since arriving in Mexico. Although it was strange to dine alone in a room that could have easily served 50, with only the ticking
clock to keep me company, I imagined the place full of loud tourists who would have arrived on dirt bikes and quads and appreciated the solitude.
At sunset I retired to the truck, to read from Paul Theroux's Patagonian Express, and fall sleep early.
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WideAngleWandering
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Photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/all-part-of-advent...
Last night I asked Pedro to wake me when the coffee was ready in the morning. At 7AM he knocked and I crawled stiffly out of the truck and found a new
vehicle in the lot, belonging to Chris and Lucky, father & son returning home from a fishing trip in Baja Sur. The staff offered us breakfast, but
with the caveat that it would be $10 each. They seemed surprised when we accepted. I did so for the chance at an English conversation.
Lucky had been working in Montana until recently, and spoke fluent Spanish from working with hispanic laborers. He and his father, from San Francisco,
told me about spots along the coast of Baja where the fishing is fine and the villages free of gringo resort homes.
After our mediocre breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes and tortillas, we asked Pedro about the road and routes out to the national observatory. He
told us that the road would be rough, with loose rocks at first, but then it would smooth out. I paid my tab (somehow they extracted $40 USD from me
on top of the camping fees) and organized the truck for the drive. Lucky decided against it since he didn't want to waste the day if his Volkswagen
didn't have enough clearance to make it.
As he and his father drove off, Lucky told me he hoped I would find what I'm looking for. I think he was speaking philosophically because at this
point, nobody thought I'd actually get lost looking for the observatory.
Following Pedro's directions, I set off for the observatory via Rancho Coyote. For two hours I followed the road, which quickly degraded into a 4wd
trail. I climbed up over loose rocks, followed ridges overlooking brown valleys mottled with green shrubs, crossed arroyos smeared with dried waves of
mud, drove through quartz deposits erupting from the roadbed and found occasional oases.
Eventually the road ended in a washed out creek bed. I never found the turn-off that Pedro had described, through the cattle gate, to Rancho Coyote.
As I made my way back out to look for the gate, Betsy let out a squealing and crunching sound that surely indicated a problem. Nothing critical looked
awry, though the steering stabilizer was hot to the touch and had a sizeable dent in it. Satisfied that this was probably the cause of the noise, I
resolved to ignore it and continue on. Further up the trail I hung up one of the rear leaf springs on a rock but freed myself with a traction mat and
a pile of stones. Getting out was a bit harder than getting in.
Back at Rancho Mike Sky, Pedro laughed and insisted I had missed the cattle gate. He didn't seem to know anything about the washed out road but since
trucks went back there every few days and usually didn't return, the way through must be possible. He described two other routes, one a rough road
through a neighboring ranch where I'd be charged by the owners to cross (a reasonable requirement given the number of off-roaders who pass through
here) or a longer route across easy dirt roads via Valle Trinidad. I opted for the latter route in case Betsy decided to start squealing again.
At the turn-off for Valle Trinidad, I discovered I could no longer turn more than a few degrees to the left. Instead, I continued slowly up the road
to a driveway marked by beer cans overturned on the cactus plants. Fortunately it was on the right and I eased my way in.
Inside I found Juan, the owner of this ranch. I explained my problem and he grabbed a tarp while I got my tools from the truck. He too suspected the
stabilizer but after removing it we found I still couldn't steer. I said this must be some bad luck but Juan replied “No, no, this is part of the
adventure!” While we pondered the problem, I gave him and his friend Emilio some of the beef jerky I had brought from California. Juan gave me a
roasted ear of corn and a handful of fresh pine nuts.
We decided that the best thing to do would be to drive slowly up to Ensenada, two hours away. Since it was already late afternoon, I speculated that
the morning would be a better time to go, to which Juan unreservedly offered to let me camp on the ranch. “Very tranquil here”, he said, before going
back to work. Emilio showed me around the ranch, a ramshackle collection of structures surrounded by goats, geese, roosters, fields of beans and
vegetables, apple and pine trees. The roosters, he said, were for c-ckfighting. I declined to share my opinion of blood sports at that point, yet he
went to explain with a shake of his head that “that's what people want, so we raise them.” The largest of the fighters, he said, was always sad in the
off-season but perked right up when it came time for combat.
Emilio too had work to do so he left me to relax in an easy chair under a corrugated tin roof where I munched on pine nuts and read from Dove, Robert
Graham's story of circumnavigating the planet alone at the age of 16. In between pages I thought about how to fix my steering. At nightfall I went to
sleep early, to the sound of barking dogs and growling roosters.
In the morning I woke up to find Juan making tortillas and Emilio pouring me a cup of coffee. I gave them the coconut I'd been carrying for the last
few days and Emilio gave me an apple from their orchard. I countered with a bag of frijoles that I wouldn't be eating due to my aborted camping trip.
When I was ready to hit the road, Juan told me to come back anytime. Emilio asked that if I did, to bring them a book of apple marmalade recipes as
they were inclined to make some for sale.
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TMW
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WAW you went about a mile and a half too far for the gate to turn for El Coyote. Here are the routes around Mike's Sky Ranch.
http://forums.bajanomad.com/viewthread.php?tid=58890
Here is a trip out of Mikes I did last March in my Toyota Tacoma. I went the same way you did but where the road ended at a wash I went down the hill
about 50-75 feet from the end of the road then down the wash and up and out the other side. I'm surprise someone has not dug out the embankment to
cross the wash where the road ends.
http://forums.bajanomad.com/viewthread.php?tid=58819
Thanks for the report, I find it an interesting read. Keep going.
[Edited on 8-18-2012 by TW]
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WideAngleWandering
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Thanks for the tip. I know it must have been out there somewhere. I'm going to retry this (from the opposite direction most likely) after I get the
truck fixed. For now I'm lounging in Ensenada, with fish tacos to fill my days.
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David K
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See if you can get a copy of the Baja California Almanac... You need some good maps!
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BajaBlanca
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hope that vehicle gets fixed fast so you can continue your adventures !
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WideAngleWandering
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Full post with photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/ensenada.html
Freelensing Ensenada Ships
I left the rancho in the morning. Before pulling out I checked my turning radius. Now left turns were ok but right turns were limited. Then neither
were limited. The problem seemed intermittent but my troubleshooting wasn't as deliberate as it should have been either.
The drive back up to Ensenada was uneventful, though I found that nothing concentrates my mind more than a mountain drive with the prospect of limited
steering. As I approached the city, the sprawl of squat square buildings laid out over the surrounding hills came into view.
Not knowing anything about the city other than "it's bigger than San Felipe, you'll find a mechanic there for sure" I elected to stop and ask around
at the first mechanic I could find. He looked and listened and declared the problem was with the steering box. I wasn't convinced by his confidence
but it didn't matter - he said I would have to find and bring him a steering box as he couldn't get one. I moved on.
I drove down to the central area, near the waterfront, and found a hotel offering rooms for $29 a night or $149 per week. I checked in for a week and
hit up bajanomad.com and and my friends and mechanic in the states for advice via hotel wifi. In the evening I walked the malecón and sought out fish
tacos. Most of the stalls in the fish market were closing early, but one, the best one as it turned out, was open. 10 pesos for tacos and each was
better than the last.
On Friday I spent the day talking to folks in the states and trying their suggestions. A further range of diagnoses brought me from stabilizer to
power steering pump to steering box and finally to an axle.
I jacked up each wheel and found that with one hub locked, it was binding and hard to turn. This would be a clear sign of a problem with the axle
except that I have an autlocking front differential - a noisy contraption on a good day. Clearly I was going to need to take it apart to go any
further.
Fortunately, bajanomad.com came through with a recommended mechanic in Baja, but I would have to wait until Monday to connect. Over the weekend my
notebook gained two more contacts and hand-written maps. It seems that everyone has a favorite mechanic down here.
I spent the weekend wandering the streets of Ensenada. I had a fantastic molé at one of the many small joints away from the tourist district, tried
fish tacos at several places before deciding the first really was the best, photographed the malecón in the evenings and found two bars with decent
draft beer. By Sunday night I was getting quite bored with this pleasant, easy routine.
[Edited on 2012-8-25 by WideAngleWandering]
[Edited on 2012-8-25 by WideAngleWandering]
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willardguy
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I see you visited louie's tequila bar for the borracho special!
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WideAngleWandering
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Hah, i love it. Not yet but I'll take that as a recommendation.
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bajadock
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W.A.W.
Thanks for call yesterday afternoon. It will shock nomads that I turned down your beverage offer, but, thanks.
Have guests in and just was unpacking from 6 days away from home here in Punta Banda.
Hope your mechanical fix progresses and that you discover the fun of Ensenada. Catch you next time around the block.
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WideAngleWandering
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No worries. If anybody else wants to show a newbie a decent watering hole, I'll be around till Friday.
That's four days to see if my parts actually show up (Mex Correo - will you surprise me?) and one day to install the junkyard part that Monchie found
me when they don't.
Then, it's off to San Pedro Martír.
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BajaBlanca
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sure hope you fedexed it ... otherwise you will surely have a long wait. which of course gives you time to find more watering holes
and just for fun, you might want to write on bloody decks site as well, if you haven't already.
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WideAngleWandering
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I haven't seen bloody deck's site - I'll have to poke around. URL?
The parts were sent US Priority Mail. I called up to pay the bill and was more than a bit concerned when I heard that. I made a plea for DHL but it
was too late.
They say they've done this before and i should take 3 or 4 days. I'm not so confident ...
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WideAngleWandering
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| Quote: | Originally posted by willardguy
I see you visited louie's tequila bar for the borracho special! |
I figured that since my photos already look like they were shot by a drunk, I should at least enjoy the inebriation.
Louie, however, no longer serves the borracho special, not that you can't still get muy borracho if you hang around in his bar long enough ...
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WideAngleWandering
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Full post with photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/rite-of-passage.ht...
My First Broken Birfield by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr
For some roadtrippers, the foreign breakdown is sort of a rite of passage - albeit one I really didn't think I would experience. I chose my vehicle
carefully and pre-emptively tackled all the maintenance that might have reared it's head in the next 30,000 miles. I planned to stick to roads and
occasional trails - nothing too technical.
Still, the birfield joint, mechanical marvel that it is, is a weak point in the Toyota solid axle setup, especially if you abuse it (uhm, yeah, we'll
just leave it at that). The trailside birfield replacement is also a rite of passage for Toyota solid axle owners, or so I'm told. I didn't carry a
spare birf in my box o' parts so it doesn't matter for me - instead I limped out, spent the night on a chicken farm and drove to the nearest town in 2wd the next morning.
With the support of the good folks on www.bajanomad.com, I made contact with a trusted mechanic who pulled the axle apart and all looked fixable. I settled in for a few days of fish
tacos and Tijuana draft beer while waiting for Betsy to come back good as new.
Unfortunately nothing goes according to plan in Latin America. The plan is more like a rough outline of what might happen. Since I didn't know how
to say "birfield" in Spanish and the mechanic didn't know how to translate the Spanish equivalent into English, I was confused when he called to tell
me I had a broken housing. A broken axle housing? "Bad luck my friend, he said, this part is not available in México. Can you get one from the
states?"
When it comes to international parts shipping and diagnosis, I am developing a less-than-stellar reputation. One wrong part was ordered and another
almost ordered before my mechanic in the states insisted I get him a photograph of the damaged part. The local mechanic dropped it off for me and I
was surprised to see a simple cracked birfield. I suppose it does house some bearings - that's where the language confusion kicked in.
The next decision was where to find the replacement. My local mechanic was right in that a 60-series Landcruiser outer axle / birfield would be an
unusual part in México, but he didn't know that '81-85 Toyota pickups use the same outer axle. Using that information he located a part but I'd
already come up with a better plan. I would order a couple of upgraded outer axles. Any time something breaks I become a neophile - why use the same
old boring Toyota axle when I could get a shiny new upgrade?
Finally, I had to figure out how to get it to me. I could either have it shipped to San Diego where I could pick it u after a two-hour bus ride and a
two-hour walk across the border or have it shipped directly to me in México while I indulged in the aforementioned tacos and draft Tijuana Morena
beer.
I chose the latter and one week after limping into Ensenada I thought I had it all figured out.
I didn't realize the package would be coming via US Mail, however. That would mean no tracking after the hand-off to the Mexican postal service. I
wonder how long that will take ...
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