18 minute read
typical cruiser's day
The damned thing won’t start. I cussed while pulling mightily on the oars, glaring at the Evinrude 11 outboard on the stern of the inflatable getting a free ride to shore at my expense. Between the NAO Yachts buoy where Yanqui D.ollah is
Author Rathfelder, shown here at Sea of Cortez Race Week, is on the extreme left wearing the white hat and the ‘Baja tuxedo’.
Advertisement
moored and the beach is a two-knc^t tide travelling with a three-knot wind, both abeam of my desired course. To reach the beach only 300 yards away I must aim the dinghy almost into the wind and tide, and row through half a mile of current to keep from being swept downstream.
Two days ago I spent four hours in the cockpit overhauling the sick outboard motor. 1 dismantled and cleaned the carburetor, re¬ moved the float and freed the sticking float valve, removed the flywheel, cleaned and reset the points measuring their closed resistance at less than 1/2 ohm, changed the capacitor, and measured the sparkplug wire to ground resistance at 6,000 ohms to check that the coil wasn’t open and the connec¬ tions 7were good. Then I put it all back together and prayed.
In reassembling the motor 1 followed the usual procedure to check compression by pulling it through with my finger in the spark¬ plug hole. To check for spark I held the plug against ground and again got an electric shock when the boat rolled and 1 lost the ground. Finally I removed the low-speed fuel-control screw to see if gasoline was get¬ ting into the carburetor via the cranky float valve.
The thing about outboards is that they usually go bad little by little. When no amount of cussing, cajoling and hand-crank¬ ing will start them, when you have changed your last spark plug and when even a shot of ether from a can of Thrust squirted into the air intake won’t start them, you’ye no other alternative but to face reality. It’s time to haul the sucker aboard and do all of the above to clean up the problems that have been mak¬ ing your life miserable every v time you jumped into your dinghy. Then maybe your old decrepit corroded outboard will serve you faithfully for another month — if you’re lucky.
I pulled the cord, the engine roared, and I sighed with relief. Relief because I had in¬ vited three hefty ladies to come to the boat the next night for a drink and to watch Old Sol take a header in the west. I jrad met them while dancing to a great band at the Gran Hotel Baja — in front of which 1 was moored on the Bay of La Paz. I had heard the band while lazing offshore in the cockpit one night. Their music was so good I had to go see for myself.
The ladies must have grossed 450 pounds, which is quite a load for my fourman Achilles inflatable. I sure didn’t want to row them back and forth against the tidal current. So now the moto{ was running and it would be a nice sunset visit all around.
Guess what? You got it! Halfway to shore N. elbow room. I row out, row back with the
Evinrude getting more free rides. After again rowing to the boat for the last time that eve¬ ning I fell exhausted into my bunk and swore to nual the blankety-blank outboard to shore for repair. I will take it tomorrow to the Senor who has 235junk outboards besides his casa next to about 15 that he is currently repair¬ ing.
I I ere 1 am next morning rowing mighti¬ ly against the tide with my laundry in the bow, the balky hitchhiking Evinrude on the
to pick up the ladies, the Evinrude quits and won’t start for love, coaxing, or scatalogical abuse. I also break the pull cord. So I give up, put one lady in the bow and the other two side-by-side in ^he stern to give me
stern, and making for the beach. 1 load my car with the Evinrude and laundry, and am off to the lavamatica.
The car is a 1963 Chevy II with three wheel brakes and a bashed-in trunk. Its up¬ holstery on the front seat is shredded down to the wire mesh and it is dragging its right rear leg. But it is wheels. The car has been passed from yachtie to yachtie for $200. It has old California plates and hasn’t been registered for three years. One of the previous owners tried to re-register it in California but found that there were so many parking tickets and other violations against it
that it would cost him over $100. All I have is the old pink owner’s certificate with the quit-claim signatures of the three previous owners.
It is dragging its right rear leg because one day while going down a winding mountain road near the little pueblo of San Antonio I tried to apply the brakes but had none. I finally stopped by using the hand brake and throwing the transmission into reverse. Upon removing a rear wheel and brake drum I found that the brake cylinder was squirting brake fluid.
Three locals in a 1974 LTD stopped to help and said, “No problema, Senor."
One of them went to a nearby fence, pulled a nail, cut off the nailhead and put it
in the coupling to the hydraulic line. It plugged the flow of brake fluid to that wheel. They filled my master cylinder from their can of brake fluid, replaced the wheel, and handed me a plastic shopping bag of brake shoes and parts.
They smiled and said, “Ahora tiene tres frenos. Vaya con Dios, Senor." (Now you have three brakes. Go with God.)
Being concerned 1 asked, “Pero no esta peligroso?” thinking it might be dangerous to drive with only three brakes. /
“No, no, Senor. No esta peligroso. Mi
“Damned ingenious these Mexicans. They have so little they learn to repair with nothing."
XLTD tiene solo tres frenos por dos anos.”
Thanking them I drove to Cabo San Lucas and returned to La Paz with three brakes and
“no problemas". Damned ingenious these
Mexicans. They have little so they learn to repair with a little bit of nothing.
S o this morning I drive to the laundro¬ mat. I must have looked funny walking into
p*-Til
in\ 1 Tiro 11| > i
the lavamatica with my laundry. You see, all of my shorts were dirty except one pair that 1 had soaked in a bucket of laundry detergent and water on deck for three days. When they were rinsed in salt and then fresh water they came out beautifully clean, almost new looking. Nevertheless when I put them on to wear to town the fly zipper was so corroded that it broke. No problema, I thought. I will wear my swim trunks to the laundry and motor repair place, and then change to clean shorts when I pick up my laundry. But then 1 would have no pockets to carry my wallet, cigarettes, keys, etc. So I slipped my clean shorts, sans fly zipper, over my dark blue swim trunks.
Walking into the lavamatica I held the laundry bag in front of me. But going out I must have shown what looked like a great expanse of dark blue pubic hair. I got a lot of startled stares. No matter. We gringos always look funny to the locals anyway.
A huge bag of laundry including towels, sheets, etc. can be left for washing, drying, folding for 500 pesos ($2.50). They do a beautiful job and tell you to come back for your laundry in an hour.
At the outboard motor junkyard I am im¬ pressed with the mechanico. He does all the things 1 had done two days before. He checks for spark and tries to start it. It won’t start. He dribbles gasoline into the sparkplug hole, replaces the sparkplug and tries to start it. It won’t start. Then he checks the com¬ pression with his finger in the sparkplug hole. It must have had low compression because he removes the cyclinder head and shows me a crack in the head gasket.
“This is the problem, Senor. Your motor will not start because the cracked head gasket makes low compression.”
I nod my head and smile. He installs a new head gasket, replaces the cylinder head and tries to start it. It won’t start. He gives me a puzzled look because everyone knows that if a gas engine is getting spark, gas, and com¬ pression it should start.
I’m sitting there in the heat watching all this instead of going for some breakfast, because there is one thing you learn in Mex¬ ico. If the mechanico tells you to come back at 4 p.m. to pick up your repaired motor, you can be sure he won’t start on it until you arrive at 4 o’clock. If he says it will be ready manana, we cruisers have learned that manana down here does not mean tomor¬ row like it says in the dictionary. It only means “not now”. When you return the next day he will tell you it will be ready manana.
So I sit there and watch while he replaces the capacitor, cleans and adjusts the points, reassembles it and tries to start it. Guess what? It won’t start. Then he dismantles the carburetor, cleans the sticking float valve, replaces the carburetor gasket, reassembles it and it won’t start.
He is getting pretty discouraged by now. I know how he feels. I go down to the corner store and bring us back two Pepsi colas be¬ cause it is hotter than stink there in the mid¬ day shade. He finally takes the flywheel off again. (This is the third time.) He replaces the high-voltage ignition coil, reassembles the engine and, viola, it starts right up! I grin,
Running errands on a c/pical da/ in La Paz.
he smiles then lubricates all the joints and ad¬ justs the speed controls.
“F s lista” he beams and charges me 2500 pesos ($7.50) for three hours work, two gaskets, a capacitor, a high-voltage coil, and a new pull cord. Fifteen hundred pesos is a day’s wages for a local here. He’s happy, I’m happy. You can’t beat the price.
Motor fixed, I pick up my laundry, change to a clean pair of shorts — with zipper — and drive to th£ office of the Port Captain to check the mail. There are some 350 pieces of mail in the box at the port captian’s. You must look through all of the stacks each time because they are continually being shuffled by the other yachties while searching for their mail. Some of the letters are over three years old.
Finding nothing for me, I am about to leave when the assistant port capitan hands me a small stack of about 15 letters.
“It’s new,” he says.
I think, “Oh boy, the package of mail my son forwarded to me 13 days may have ar¬ rived.” But still no mail for me, so I will
return in a couple of days and sort through the 350 pieces of mail again.
By this time it is 1:30 and having had only a cup of coffee and the Pepsi, I’m ravenous. I didn’t dare leave the mechanico even long enough to get breakfast or my motor would be ready “manana”. So 1 stop at the coffee shop beside the big CCC market and eat a bowl of fruit, a hamburger with fries, and a beer for 450 pesos. 1 had hoped to return to the boat in the af¬ ternoon to do some work, but now it is 2:30. 1 am to pick up my new windscoop about 5 o’clock so it doesn’t seem worth while to make a round trip to the boat.
I will visit with Nancy and Margurita at The Pad. Margurita and Nancy are two exyachties who jumped ship and rented a beautiful apartment overlooking La Paz har¬ bor. It is known as The Pad. They keep the fleet exchange library and every Sunday afternoon from 3 to 7 p.m. hold open house where the yachties gatherto gossip and swap sea stories which always begin — “No shit, there we were at sea in the middle of the howling gale ...”
After a nice chat and a few games of back¬ gammon I leave at five o’clock to pick up my new windscoop at the tailor’s, buy half a roasted chicken (300 pesos) for my next two dinners, and return to the boat. It hasn’t been a bad day, as days go, but a long one. I will be happy to relax in the cockpit, martini in hand, and watch another of La Paz’s magnificent sunsets. Sunset is about 6:45 and I can just make it. Dreamer! \
Today is Monday. Saturday afternoon I had taken my old delapidated windscoop, complete with 15 patches of duct tape, to-the tailor. I asked him to make me a duplicate using the old one as a pattern.
“No problema, Senor. Ira 1500 pesos ($7.50) y lista a las cinco en la tarde, Lunas,” he assured me.
Will I never learn? When I arrive at 5:15 he says, “Momentito, Senor, momentito. Returna en una hora. Ira lista.”
I shrug, reluctantly giving up the martini at sunset, and think I can at least use the hour to do a little shopping, pick up my half a roasted chicken and get back to the boat at dusk. I have been up since 0630 when I caught the Amateur Radio “Sunrisa Net*’ for all the cruisres in the Sea of Cortez. Now I’m getting a bit tired what with sweating in all the heat while watching the mechanico.
When I get to the roasted chicken place it’s closed. Oh well, even though it is a little early for dinner I will got the Peninsular Restaurant where I can have their Comida Corrida. For 300 pesos ($1.50) it is quite a meal. They bring you a large bowl of delicious beef and vegetable soup, a cold rice salad with pickled vegetables, and a huge plate of pork ribs that have been simmered in the mouth-watering sauce. And, a chili relleno and refried beans. They finish off with a little cup of fruitflavored jello. My saliva is oozing just think¬ ing about it. 1 order a beer and1 a Comida Corrida.
“No Senor. Esta termina,” the mesera says.
I ask why, because I have had the Comida Corrida as late as eight in the evening.
She shrugs and says, “Esta termina.” Well, that’s Mexico. 1 don’t want to spend three dollars for din-
Checking the mail — again — at the Port Captain's in La Paz.
ner again tonight so I settle for a half a char¬ coal broiled chicken from Super Polio (still 300 pesos). 1 don’t like it as well as the roasted chicken, but it will have to be dinner for the next two nights. Little did I know.
Returning to the tailor at six o’clock I find he is just starting to cut the material using the old windscoop as a pattern. He works diligently while 1 sit on his doorstep and talk to him about his family and his visit to Los
III II ill!
Angeles — except for breaks when he stops to talk with visiting locals. He has a shop near the center of town and gets plenty of walk-in traffic. Not for business, you under¬ stand, but just to pass the time of day.
Hot during the day, La Paz cools down in the evening. After siesta the businesses open again until 8 o’clock. Half the town turns out to stroll the streets and visit with the shop keepers. It is really a nice time of day.
There is no sense in getting upset. I just sit there and try to improve my Spanish by lis¬ tening to the local gossip during the almost constant interruptions, occasionally explain¬ ing what this weird thing the tailor is making for the crazy gringo. Finally after 8 o’clock he is finished.
“Es lista,” he beams holding it up proudly.
I compliment him on his workmanship, pay him 1500 pesos, and head for the dockside after a stop for a bag of ice.
When I reach my inflatable dinghy I find that one side is partially deflated. It would be difficult to row to the boat with the dinghy in that condition, but with my newly repaired Evinrude I should make it okay. The pump to inflate the dinghy, of course, is on the boat.
BecauseM never wear them on the boat, I keep a few clean clothes for evening in a valise in the bashed-in trunk of the car. With both car doors opqn for unloading I have my head in the trunk sorting the laundry to put my land clothes in the valise. Perro Blanco and his two companions see me and trot over.
These are three crazy-looking dogs that have adopted the marina for their home and feeding ground. Perro Blanco is a friendly all-white mongrel with the body of a hound and the legs of a dachshund. It is a shock, until you get used to it, to see many of the Mexican dogs with short legs. I’ve seen pointers, setters, retrievers and even labradors running around with their bellies just clearing the ground. Some mighty horny and determined dachshund must have trav¬ elled Mexico a long time ago.
Finished sorting my laundry I look up to see Perro Blanco with what appears to be a chicken breast in his mouth. It doesn’t register at first. Where did he get that? I am thinking. Then the light glawns. I check the front seat. Sure enough Perro Blanco with his keen nose and short legs has climbed up on the front seat and helped himself to half of my half a chicken. Out of a plastic shop-
ping bag yet! At least he left me half of my two night’s dinners.
I shoo the dogs, close the car doors and after mounting the outboard, finish loading the dinghy. The outboard lists a little to star¬ board, toward the side that is deflated, but it will be alright until I get to the boat and the airpump.
I must make a round trip because NOA Yachts prohibits us from parking in front of the dock overnight and 1 must move the car.
The Evinrude starts first pull. What a nice feeling. At the end of the dbck, which is about a third of the way to the boat, it quits! I hang on to the dock with one hand and try to start it. It won’t start. 1 unscrew the lowspeed control valve and find no gas in the carburetor. Did I forget to open the fuel valve? No, the float valve is sticking again. To free it I must disassemble the carburetor when I get to the boat. But not tonight with the wind blowing up a chop and the boat rolling. Manana!
So here I am pulling mightily on the oars against the wind and current with the Evinrude on the stern getting another free ride at my expense.
“Manana does not mean ‘tomorrow’, it means 'not
i 11 now .
At the boat, with another round trip to make to move the car, I’m lower than a clam’s clavicle. 1 feel like leaving the car where it is. Neverthelessthe world looks a lot better after two drinks of the excellent Mex¬ ican rum (Ron Castillo Imperial, 800 pesos) ($4 a quart) and a dinner of corn tortillos and my 1/4 chicken. At least Perro Blanco left me my favorite dark meat.
I pump up the dinghy, row to shore, and move the car. While I am here I might as well go to the Mezzanine of the Gran Hotel Baja and say goodbye to the three beautiful ladies who are going back to Newport Beach to¬ morrow morning, and dance to that great band.
As days go it has not been a bad day. 1 just tried to schedule too much in one day. For a good cruising life I should have taken the laundry, repaired the outboard and picked up the windscoop on three separate days. But all the clothes were dirty, the outboard was down and the last two nights it was hot in the bunk without my windscoop. The Coromuel breeze that usually cools La Paz on summer nights failed to show on the only two nights I was without my windscoop.
Gee, I wish I could find another intelligent, compatible lady to share with me this wonderful, relaxing, sometimes frustrating, but always fascinating life on the Sea of Cor¬ tez.
— vern rathfelder
SIMPLY UNIQUE
I.O.A.42'6" L.W.I. BIAM.!2’11" DRAFT. DISI’l.28,104 lbs BALLAST.. . SAIL ARKA. 1,208 sf HLADROOM
Designer: Stan Huntingford Built to ABS Standards Perkins 4-108 diesel engine Fiberglass/Airex Hull Construction Balsa Core Deck Construction Extensive list of Standard Equipment
EXCLUSIVE NORTHERN CALIFORNIA DEALER
