2011 08 31

Guarded warfare continues, although Shadow has decided that his Two-legger allies are to be tolerated and that Bruce is his bosom buddy once more.  Oh goody, cat hair in the sheets once again.  We are hoping that the situation continues to improve and that detente is reached among the herd in short order.

Where were we?  Oh right, Las Vegas.  Did you know that the name means 'fertile lowland' or 'meadow'?, actually the plural thereof, but you can manage that on your own.   Kind of obvious to anyone who has visited Las Vegas that the name is a joke.  Anyway, brand-new tyres, 114F, no air-conditioning and our intrepid travellers hit the road.  Leaving Las Vegas is always more fun than entering Las Vegas, in my humble opinion.  The sense of relief ...  The road rapidly takes one to the Hoover Dam, over which one drives.  On a two-lane road, with millions of tourists.  The fun in that is not immediately apparent.  However, the scenery is fun, sand-coloured rock hills surrounding sand-coloured concrete dam with a lot of blue water off to one side and a precipitous fall to the other.  The G and the Mutt suffered the heat for many miles until the belt on the fan for the air broke.  Changing the belt required a step-tool, padding on the hot radiator and still resulted in a third-degree burn on Gary's arm.  Finally reached Phoenix, where G thought they might find somewhere cool to hang out until evening.  This proved harder than he had anticipated, but they survived until cooler temps and then got to our friends' place in Tucson.  Our chums made them welcome, and happened to know a mechanic who, for a reasonable fee, did what he could to repair the air.  Oooo, that rhymes!  He also did something else to the truck that I can't recall, and things were looking up for the remainder of the trip.  After a few days' rest and recuperation, they were once again on the road, heading for Nogales Arizona/Sonora.  At 114F.  With the windows open the interior temperature was probably only 130F.

There were a couple of snags that we expected to complicate the crossing, so G was prepared to spend some time sorting some bureaucratic shite in Nogales.  The first of these is called 'menaje de casa', which is either required or not required or being phased out.  It is a list of everything that is being imported into Mexico, with serial numbers and ages of the articles and maybe cubic size of container but maybe not and is required to be in quadruplicate, translated into Spanish, and approved by the Mexican consulate.  This G duly wrote up and translated and printed and copied and submitted.  The Consulate added its stamp of approval and a cover letter.

Trip One to the border

Under the current American state of permanent paranoia, American customs agents stopped G at the border, asked all the usual asinine questions and then made him exit the vehicle, remove the bicycle from its rack at the back door, unlock the truck and then wait 'over there'.  They opened the door.  They gazed in awe at the solid wall of things that greeted them.  They conferred briefly with themselves and then waved him away.  G closed the door, mounted the bicycle, caught the cat, got in the cab and proceeded into the almost Mexico zone that exists between the two countries.  There was a man standing in the middle of the road, leaving G the option of running him down or stopping.  He chose to stop, which in retrospect he might change.  No uniform, no identification, no proof that the man was what he claimed to be:  'working with' Mexican Customs.  He instructed our hot and tired Intrepidness that he would have to drive 12 kilometres along this road, where Unidentified Stranger and his partner would meet him and deal with the rest of the process of entering the country.  Twelve kms and 88 pesos toll later, the G pulls up to a parking area and gets out to talk to these guys.  At 114F.  With no shade.  They glanced at the approved menaje.  They said:  380.00 US fee, please.   They then escorted G to Aduanas, where G continued through the identification process, the wait around and see process, the I don't know what to say process and the maybe this maybe that process.  During one of these mysterious goings-on, the Customs agent discovered that the Consulate had used the legislation that applies to Mexicans returning to live in Mexico, not foreigners moving to live in Mexico and refused to accept the menaje without alteration.  Meanwhile ...

Problem Two.  There are some strict rules about importing a vehicle into Mexico.  Drugs, slaves I mean illegal emigrants, guns, bombs, gangsters and prostitutes cross the border with impunity, but if a foreigner manages to leave Mexico without returning the Temporary Vehicle Import sticker, all hell ensues.  At 114F.  With no shade. Guess who left Mexico without returning his sticker three years before?  The Unidentified offered to fix the problem for $600US and three days.  Banjercito, the company that actually is responsible for the issuance and control of said stickers said well, no, maybe, sometimes, in the future, or maybe never.  How the Unidentified intended to deal with this in three days remains unknown, as by this point, the G-man had decided that this was nuts.  He returned to the truck, paid 88 pesos to drive the 12 kms back to American Customs.  Usual asinine questions, park over there, remove bicycle, open door,  take cat and go wait in there because we are using dogs. At 114F.  With no shade.   Sniff, stare at wall of things, talk amongst themselves, and wave G back to the truck.  Close door, mount bicycle, enter truck and the G is back on the road to a motel on the Arizona side.  Next day, visit Consulate, get proper wording on paper.  Be really fed-up with treatment at Nogales crossing and decide to drive to Douglas Arizona/Agua Prieta Sonora, where the problem sticker was issued in the first place.

Stay tuned!  Coming Soon!  Will our Intrepidness really get across the Border?  Trip Two next time!