Yes, I do have alot of love for Canada. The lakes, SCTV, they speek engish, are masters of the "homegrown." and even with a 3400 mile shared border most people just prefer to stay there. In fact the imperial gallon doesn't even bother me. Not to mention Joni Mitchell, Linda Evangelista, Yvonne DeCarlo, Diana Krall, Shannon Tweed, Natasha Henstridge, Nelly Furtado, Shaina Twain, Rae Dawn Chong, and including Mary Pickford....... all from Canada. And a bunch of "hosers" also. (I know you see a theme working here.) The only small problem for me is when they start speaking French. I don't want to hear French people speak like Canadians, so what makes people think I want to hear Canadians speak like the French, ya betcha it's the Minnesotan in me.
About 2am "Duke", the frightening, but civilized camp 115 lb German Sheppard starting that now familiar bark that meant "no le conozco." I peeled back my shirt that was keeping the no-see-ums from flying up my nose and took a look. Didn't look like I knew them either. I saw the smoke before I saw the vehicle, sounded like a motorcycle to me. Travel Note: I have run into Canadians every where in Mexico, seems they seem to land in the same "dives" I do quite frequently. I've drank free beer, had ice cream served to me out of their motor-home and spent more than just a few evenings trying to figure out why they thought I was also from Canada? But, outside the ruins of Palenque was this very handsome lad staying at the Maya Bell campground. I noticed he was swamped with good looking women, young and old hanging around him all day. He was 22. One evening I was having a nightcap with a traveling family and they said, yup he's from BC. "He came down on a motorcycle and has been stuck here for about 5 weeks waiting for the right part from DHL, he needs a new sprocket." I was thinking, "who gives a crap about some sprocket, he gots what he needs right now."
Turns out he had never rode a m/c till he bought that one in Canada and both ended up in Chiapas. It was a 250cc. Now I know why all the lady friends, don't make me explain. That's quite an inaugural cruise on a bike sized to go 50 mph in ditches, but it came to a temporarily happy amorous end when he discovered the horrible vibration he was experiencing was not the Mexican roads. His drive chain had been so loose for the last 800 miles that the rear sprocket took the shape of a ripe mango . But man, that guy was good looking.
"Christ, that ball of smoke is backing down the road towards Pancho's." I flashed my then "pie-sized" REI headlamp at them and they stopped, for good. "Don't worry I'll help you dig it out in the morning, see ya then." I took a last look at that Winnebago Brave and, yep, those are Canadian plates, BC. But it was the bumper sticker that said, in bold Canadian colors, INVADE CANADA that caught my attention. I stayed up till about 3:30 just staring at the faint starlight skipping on the tops of waves and with myself in my hammock and Duke underneath we both fell asleep that evening to the sounds of pop-tops and "The Guess Who." streaming from the Winnie. I'm just happy it was pre Avril Lavigne and no one was speaking French.
Mornings are quite predictable around Pancho's. You have collected one more layer of salty paste from the evening on shore winds and then greet the new day by squinting thru the loops in your hammock. It's too early or too late or too hot for barking dogs. Beachcombers have taken their booty, and workers are gathering on site or waking up where they dropped the night before. The transient construction labor force is usually gathered from some very tiny villages in the Yucatan or maybe from as far as Chiapas. Many can speak Yucatec Mayan and about 100 pesos a day would be tip-top wage. Either way they both usually shared the same accommodations while working a job, not much or none. These little brown gangs would wander out of the forest at the end of each day and then head to the beach. On the way someone picks up a couple of 40's and then with timid motions they swim and prance together in their underwear like pre-teens that had never been in the ocean before. Turns out alot of them had not.
This morning I hooked up a rope to my van, tied it to the Brave and after some digging we got it out of the sandy beach at 9am. "Thanks pal, were going to make a beer run, need anything." Just a bag of ice will do, thanks. Before they drove off a large wooden box was slide out the door and there it sat till their return, on the side it said "ball-bearings" crossed out and replaced with Jon's tools (his father).
It took about 3 days to get to know the new arrivals. Generally I have found it best to be polite but not encouraging to new people at campsites. If you make it sound too terrific people will just stay longer or end up bringing other's. I was to discover this was to be the case this time. But during the two years I saw them off and on I found their ingenuity and work ethic far exceeded most people I meet on the road. And even though I never saw the "finessed project" I had seen enough to know that they grew up like I did and they knew they were doing something different maybe even special, something that dad, grandpa and the uncle's would be proud of.
The contents of that tool box reminded me of my "Dad's." Hand-me-downs, broken screwdrivers, many modified by grinding and bending, a hammer with a broken claw, cracked handles and chipped tines, barley a match in the lot....something you would typically see at an estate sale, in a cardboard box, the sign reading "25 cents each or the entire box for five bucks." These boys weren't the first to handle those tools, just like dad and myself back home.
Jumping ahead here I guess I now see why I was sometimes thought to be a countryman. A little too Midwest friendly, good with crap tools and mind full that I can do it better then most. I had introduced myself as Stephen but that didn't stick, so one night as we were adjusting the illumination to the area, by adding beer cans to the candle light string, I adopted the nickname LC after being called that for an hour or so. Later and just about every morning, LC (little Canada), would see "pops", we both liked to take our morning whiz near the same palm instead of waiting for the restaurant to open.........if it did at all. Even now my 84 year old dad finds the woods side of his garage more accommodating then the walk into the house, and he still uses those same old tools to get the job done, so do I on both counts..
In the long run it turned out they didn't speak any French, but a host of other languages. Two of the initial four had worked cruise ships from Perth to Tierra del Fuego and beyond, canned that action, bought a motor home, uprooted Mom and Dad off the sunflower farms in Canada and headed south. Dave and his lady friend were full of energy and they had a plan in mind. Not exactly what I initially thought but certainly something very original. They were going to stay as long as it took to totally strip and gut out the Brave, replace everything inside with local furnishings and then continue to South America. This was the plan, and after seeing that old chest slide out the door, I was a believer. Travel Note: While at Agua Azul between Palenque and San Cristobal a van pulled up next to me. Out piled about 8 "flower children" from Argentina. This was followed by flutes, drums, rain-sticks, gourds, candles and bags of copal. At the moment "Manson family, or maybe it was "Brady bunch" crossed my mind. What really caught my attention was the van they were driving was a copulation of symbols and glyphs that you would encounter at the ruins of Palenque, Copan, Tula, Monte Alban and Tikal. Attached to the exterior of the van there were snakes, the heavens, warriors, scribes, macaws, ball courts and various hieroglyphic renderings all done in plaster, wood, fiberglass and even paper mache. Now "Up in Smoke" came to mind. I stayed a few days. During that time a box was brought out and while working out of it they repainted, replaced and repaired their traveling museum.
When the Canadians finally unloaded that crate it was clear to me that forethought was in their travel plans. There were no electric drills, saws, lights, grinders not even a blender. Yes there was a generator in the "Brave" but.........it was a "Hach Winik" thing. This project was going to be done by hand. That's good because electricity didn't come to this portion of the beach till at least six years later. After a week of evisceration the guts of the "Brave" were neatly piled about 5 meters from their hollow home and all of it got there by the use of 2 claw hammers, a crow bar and tin snips. After waiting for some time, for "menos viento", it was finally torched with curt permission from Pancho. That night we carried "cubito's" of water from the nearby well and doused the side of the "Brave" while the heat tried to blister the surface. I was thinking maybe I should mention that van I saw at Agua Azul.....don't worry about the slight damage, just consider it a "tabla rasa" for more creative ideas. The pump at the well ran out of gas and we all turn into a Mexican fire brigade to keep the "Brave Cool." It was too striped to even move, no steering wheel for one. The only damage was that they had to replace their "Chinese patio lights" that were formed from beer cans over the past week or so. The strings that laced the cans started on fire.
Some of the best times were after mom and pop arrived in a 1985 Ford pick-up, this after they had spent their first 78 years on the farm. Neither one would have been allowed a drivers license in most places, even in Mexico, so it did take a few more days to catch up with their son in the Yucatan. Turns out that a short time later dad died and one of the kids drove mom all the way back in that pick-up. I think at that point another pyre should had been constructed. It was nice having them there. I have more stories of those days and other "extra-Canadian" experiences to share later.
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