Leaving Mazatlan – 5/30/2013
Jun 1st, 2013 by rallyadmin
We have to be in Mazatlan at the ferry for check in by 1:00PM for a 4:00PM departure and ferry check ins are usually madhouses. Some like the Dover to Calais ferry across the English channel are primarily for the onslaught of tourists to and fro the UK. The vessels are big and carry huge numbers of cars and trucks. The sheer numbers require that the check in and loading procedures work efficiently and quickly.
Suffice to say that we’re not crossing the English Channel to the UK or France. Efficiency isn’t a Mexican strong suit in the first place and couple that with the fact trucks get priority over cars and we feel a sense of urgency to get to the ferry terminal early and secure our spot in line.
Plus, although we got our passenger and car tickets last night on the Baja Ferries website, we couldn’t get a cabin for the 18 hours crossing to La Paz. Sitting in an aircraft style seat for 18 hours isn’t very appealing. We hope to get a cabin at the ferry terminal or at least egt on a wait list for a cabin. But first we have to get to Mazatlan.
We’re in Guadalajara and it’s 300 miles to Mazatlan. The good news is that most of the road to to Mazatlan is a toll road so there will be less stopping than on the libre (toll-free) road. The emphasis here is on “less stopping”, not “no stopping”. We may have less speed bumps but we’ll still have the check points, document checks and searches.
We’re on the road before dawn and out of town before the sun actually rises. There’s not much traffic so route finding is much easier but Guadalajara is a big city and it takes nearly an hour to get out of the city proper. Once on the toll road, however, we start moving quickly.
Until, as we drive down a hill, the Check Gauges light on the dashboard comes on. The voltmeter for the alternator has dropped to 0 volts and we suddenly have a big problem. We have a spare alternator and we could change it ourselves on the side of the road but the swap isn’t trivial and we don’t have a lot of spare time.
We turn off all the electricals (lights, GPS, video, etc) and John finds a pull off to stop the car and see if the fix is something easy, maybe a loose connector. We open the hood, locate the alternator (under the air-conditioner compressor – thanks Jeep, very helpful) and start poking about. We’re hoping that the problem is as simple as a loose sense line.
But if the fix isn’t a simple one, we’ll have to find a repair shop to fix the problem as quickly as possible. That would be much easier on the libre road rather than the toll road simply because more little towns may equal slower drive time but also would equal more little repair shops. The tool road looks like a very bad idea at the moment.
John tries to make sure that everything is connected and tight. I turn on the ignition and the voltmeter shows about 12 volts. That’s the battery voltage and it’s not 0 volts and that’s encouraging. I start the car and the voltage stays at 12 volts. Not so good. It should be over 13 volts indicating that the alternator is actually charging the battery.
But we close the hood. Get back in the car and start off again. We go a few miles and the voltmeters holds at just about 12 volts. We need to get the alternator working but at least we’ll be able to see if the battery is getting close to failing. And then the voltmeter goes to 0 volts gain. Crap!
We pull over again and I reach the sense line on the back of the alternator and try to disconnect it so that I can reseat it again. I can push it in a bit but I can’t get it out. That’s odd. Automotive connectors are intentionally hard to remove so that vibration won’t cause a disconnect but usually a little force and squeezing the correct release tabs will get them loose. On this connector, nothing.
I push on the connector and it feels as though the connector might have moved a bit. John starts the car and the voltmeter jumps to over 13 volts. Hurray! Problem solved. We’re back in business and on the way to Mazatlan.
We joke about the Cherokee having a twisted sense of humor and why wouldn’t it after what we’ve done to her. Good girl. Just gets us on the ferry. If there’s anything seriously wrong, we’ll fix it in La Paz.
We get to the terminal before 11:00Am is just about 4 hours. Check in to the terminal desk. A lovely young woman check us and the car in and gives us info about when and how we have to load the car. The car goes to the ferry staging at 1:00PMv with just the driver. The passengers go to the ferry terminal at 2:00PM for the shuttle ride to the ferry. We’ll meet up on the boat.
I ask her if there are any cabins available and she sadly says no. “Are there usually any cancellations? Is there a wait list?” “No. And, no there is no wait list. But come back at 1:00 and maybe there’ll be something available.” At least, there’s a chance.
At 1:00, I move the car to the ferry staging area gate and John heads back to the office in search of a cabin. Maybe John’s smile will work wonders. It has before.
I turn in the entry card, the gate goes up and a marine motions me to an area where the marines are searching cars. By this point in the trip we are so used to searches that we just start opening doors before the authorities even ask if they can search. The big, locked, galvanized storage locker is always too much for them to pass up. We’ve lost count how many times that locker has been unpacked and re-packed.
Doors open, marines swarming over the Jeep looking under the dash, under the seats, in bags and the drug dog sniffing and then walking off with a look of disappointment. (“There’ll be no reward ball play with my handler after this sniff. I’m going back to lay down in the shade. You can continue to search if you want to but there’s nothing in there that’s going to get the ball out. Cookies, yes – drugs, no. And what the hell good are cookies?”)
Search done, I’m directed over to lane 1 to wait until the remaining trailers are unloaded and the loading process begins with the departing trailers. They’ll load up deck 4, then part of deck 3 with trucks and trailers before loading the passenger cars down in the bowels of the ferry on deck 1.
In the hour and a half wait, a few cars come in and one the pulls in behind me has California plates. The driver, Bruce, has a home in Mexico and and is returning to his home in California. We start chatting and he fills me in on the rest of the loading procedure and the trip. (He’s made the crossing many times before.) The loading starts and, after we get the cars on board and parked, he leads me up to the passenger area.
We’re both traveling with John’s and we’re both trying to get cabins. He thinks that they have one booked but he’s trying to confirm that. My John isn’t anywhere to be seen (I can’t grasp whether that’s good or bad), a crew member shows me to the seat I’ve been assigned on my ticket.
I sit down to watch one of the large screen TV’s that dominate the seating area. It’s playing music videos from the ’80s and that just adds to the surreal air this crossing is developing. I wait for John who is condemned to the seat next to me for the next 18 or so hours.
Bud the travels gods are smiling on us. (Or John’s smile does its magic – at this point I don’t care or want to know.) John leans his head into the lounge area and calls my name. He’s got a cabin, en suite (with toilet – see earlier posts, much earlier), at that. We move to the cabin and settle in. It’s a little on the small side. Actually, it’s probably illegally small by current penal standards but it’s much larger than the seat in the lounge.
We go up on deck and meet up with Bruce and John, Bruce’s driving partner. Intros all around and a conversation develops. “Who are you?” “What are you doing?” “Now, about your trip around the world… How do you get the car over the ocean?”
The conversation always ends up here. At first, people don’t seem to question that you can drive around the land portion of the world. It’s the ocean crossings that they really don’t know about. But as soon as we tell them about container ships and RoRo’s (roll-on, roll-off ships), the realize that’s the answer is obvious. The real question then emerges. Just how do you do the rest of the trip?
While we’re talking another traveler walks up and asks if we’re the guys driving the Land Rover. “If you mean the Jeep Cherokee, that would be us.” “With the tires and jerry cans on the rack and the LondonTashkent stickers?” “Yes, tat would be us.”
He’s Roy and he and the lovely Jackie are from South Africa. They’re riding his BMW 1200 up to Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. They shipped the BMW to Buenas Aires and road down to Ushwaia and ridden to Mazatlan. Now, like us, they’re crossing over to Baja to continue their trip north.
He has done Capetown to Cairo in 2010 and I question him about that trip. Then he questions me about crossing Siberia. But eventually, all his questions are about the Dalton up to Deadhorse on Prudhoe Bay. I tell him about the potential problems about fuel and reservations and driving on the haul road with the trucks.
He’s so looking forward to the trip and I’m envious of him. I’d go up the Dalton again at any time of the year in any conditions. I tell him that and I think that just increases his anticipation.
We all head into the cafeteria looking for a beer and carry on the conversation there as the ferry finally leaves port. But as the ferry starts to move we all go back on deck to watch Mazatlan recede and the ocean surround us. Clearing the harbor’s breakwater, the small ocean swells start a slight, rhythmic roll and it seems like a good time for a nap. I’m back to the cabin and out in a matter of minutes. It must have been a long day. I never take naps.
We’re back up around 7:00PM for dinner byt then back to the cabin for the night. I try to read but I’m asleep again in just a few minutes. Tomorrow, we start the run up Baja.
Obi-wan