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Smoke was billowing into the cockpit as Johnny Saturday called out to Boly over our two way radio. Fortunately I found a patch of dirt on the side of the treacherous highway to pull the Clipper onto because she completely lost power and I was rapidly losing my ability to see through the thick, acrid smoke. A cursory look at the engine compartment revealed all I needed to know... a fire had run its course through most of the wiring harness, leaving our fearless staph, effectively, dead in the water.
We were on the side of the road, in the middle of the Mexican desert, with nothing but a growing contingent of circling vultures to look to for help. We did have beer though so we cracked a couple of cold ones and planned our next move. I jumped in Boly's rig and headed off to the next small town that could be seen on our map. After inquiring at a few ramshackle homes in my broken Spanish (fortunately my vocabulary has improved 10 fold when it comes to automotive problems) I was able to locate Umberto... praise the Lord.
Umberto drove out to our stranded rig and, over the course of 4 hours,
proceeded to rewire the Clipper with scavenged wires from other abandoned
vehicles. My ignition got fried as well so we ended up hot-wiring
it to my fuel pump so that the Clipper could sail. $25 later and
we were on the road again, heading North through the gas gap, towards the
relative safety of civilization*.
Boly and Johnny Saturday kick back as Umberto works his
magic.
* Never eat Chinese food in Mexico. I know it sounds self-explanatory but we almost lost Johnny Saturday to a vicious egg roll attack outside San Quintin.
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