Saturday, November 22, 2003
Cops and the heat of Mexico City
We did everything we could to avoid Mexico City, but it sucked us in like a tiny asteroid drawn by gravity to a fiery end on the Sun?s surface. Fifty miles away one could see the exhaust fumes throwing up weird heat waves in the sky.
Are we going to Teohituatican or Tiotitucan QUICK, QUICK?damn that was our exit!
Beinvenidos a Mexico City!
Cars start to multiply exponentially as the road surface decreases and the traffic blazes by with horns on full. It is easy to become unglued in Mexico City, especially if you are lost, melting in full riding gear and getting crowded out of every lane, including the breakdown lane.
Backing our bikes up an off ramp against traffic did not raise any eyebrows from fellow motorists; I think they respected the shear insanity of the manoeuvre. Drastic measures had to be risked as we just broke through the first layer of M.C and things were really, really bad on the tarmac. Down a one way, EZ. Through an Autobus Plaza, accomplished. Avoiding an errant dog? old hat.
This really is not unlike driving in Boston. You see, Boston is not known for its traffic jams so much as its aggressive drivers. If there is a space, either you take it or someone else will that might not be in a position to take it. So, the eagerness to keep moving is institutional and everyone gets home in time for dinner. But, if you hesitate to switch into that faster lane or to cut off the dying Volkswagen at the pass, than you risk inviting someone else to attempt the manoeuvre?often at the risk of the defensive driver? IMAGINE? it does work!
Enough of this, now I will tell you about our ordeal leaving the city on our way to the Teohuatitcan Ruins. I think that is how you spell it, or was it? either way, things went from bad to expensive quickly.
Ever since living in New Orleans I have taken to throwing up a wave of hello to cops when driving. Partially a show of respect, but more just a sign of recognition.
¨I see you, and I will not be doing anything to prompt your attention any further than this wave. Hello and good bye! ¨ Always seemed to be well received in the States, but in Mexico I think the message might be read differently. ¨I am an American with money, please come demand I hand it over.¨
With trucks and school busses filled with machete toting fieldworkers flying by on either side, two motorcycle cops crossed a double line and flagged us to the side of the road.
I have heard that motorcycle cops in Latin America often stop other bikers simply to talk cylinders and horsepower, etc. This encounter started to pan out in this fashion. ¨1100cc, is too big no? ¨All the way from NY on those tires?!¨ We snapped pictures of them on our bikes and flattered them with compliments and historic facts about their bikes (Harleys).
¨Where you going now, we will show you the way.¨
Now we are really moving. The lights flashing Andy and I are given a full fledged motorcade parade through the city. Beyond that, the motorcops are hot-dogging it. Jumping curbs, racing at speeds of 90 through heavy traffic. The problem was that we knew were we were going and did not need a police escort, but every time we fell back a bit we would be waved forward? SPEED UP!
After about 15 minutes of this we were joined by two other motorcycle cops on Harleys. Andy and I are now moving beyond the city limits with four fully lit up police motorcycles leading the charge. I could not help but think?¨Man, this is going to make for a cool story on my site.¨ A story it is, cool? not really.
When we were waved over again I could see on Andy?s face that he was waiting for the trouble to start.
¨Señor, we have been following you and we think you have been going too fast. Mexico is safe roads, you need to go slowly. But, we can fix this problem.¨
¨But, BUT, you were leading us? You said follow YOU, man! ¨
¨I think you will have to go to the police station and pay two hundred of American dollars each, or, you can pay me and I will take it there for you.¨
Now I start to notice things. The Ray Ban sunglasses on the cop who wants me to teach him English. The snakeskin boots on the cop watching the road for? other cops. The manicured nails of the one that keeps asking for my smokes? These guys are like caricatures of slimy Mexican cops. However, I am not sitting in a deep cough watching them squirrel about in a western movie, I am on the side of a lonely road actually handing over my paperwork.
To make a twenty minute ordeal shorter, I pulled my fake wallet and offered the talkative one all of its contents, some forty American and some odd pesos. Andy was not so sly, he sadly forked over much more than that?no fake wallet.
I will never watch a western the same way again. ¨Badges, badges! We HAVE the stinking badges!!!¨´
--bfd122478cb38eff70475cca52c65b239--
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 7:23 PM
Are we going to Teohituatican or Tiotitucan QUICK, QUICK?damn that was our exit!
Beinvenidos a Mexico City!
Cars start to multiply exponentially as the road surface decreases and the traffic blazes by with horns on full. It is easy to become unglued in Mexico City, especially if you are lost, melting in full riding gear and getting crowded out of every lane, including the breakdown lane.
Backing our bikes up an off ramp against traffic did not raise any eyebrows from fellow motorists; I think they respected the shear insanity of the manoeuvre. Drastic measures had to be risked as we just broke through the first layer of M.C and things were really, really bad on the tarmac. Down a one way, EZ. Through an Autobus Plaza, accomplished. Avoiding an errant dog? old hat.
This really is not unlike driving in Boston. You see, Boston is not known for its traffic jams so much as its aggressive drivers. If there is a space, either you take it or someone else will that might not be in a position to take it. So, the eagerness to keep moving is institutional and everyone gets home in time for dinner. But, if you hesitate to switch into that faster lane or to cut off the dying Volkswagen at the pass, than you risk inviting someone else to attempt the manoeuvre?often at the risk of the defensive driver? IMAGINE? it does work!
Enough of this, now I will tell you about our ordeal leaving the city on our way to the Teohuatitcan Ruins. I think that is how you spell it, or was it? either way, things went from bad to expensive quickly.
Ever since living in New Orleans I have taken to throwing up a wave of hello to cops when driving. Partially a show of respect, but more just a sign of recognition.
¨I see you, and I will not be doing anything to prompt your attention any further than this wave. Hello and good bye! ¨ Always seemed to be well received in the States, but in Mexico I think the message might be read differently. ¨I am an American with money, please come demand I hand it over.¨
With trucks and school busses filled with machete toting fieldworkers flying by on either side, two motorcycle cops crossed a double line and flagged us to the side of the road.
I have heard that motorcycle cops in Latin America often stop other bikers simply to talk cylinders and horsepower, etc. This encounter started to pan out in this fashion. ¨1100cc, is too big no? ¨All the way from NY on those tires?!¨ We snapped pictures of them on our bikes and flattered them with compliments and historic facts about their bikes (Harleys).
¨Where you going now, we will show you the way.¨
Now we are really moving. The lights flashing Andy and I are given a full fledged motorcade parade through the city. Beyond that, the motorcops are hot-dogging it. Jumping curbs, racing at speeds of 90 through heavy traffic. The problem was that we knew were we were going and did not need a police escort, but every time we fell back a bit we would be waved forward? SPEED UP!
After about 15 minutes of this we were joined by two other motorcycle cops on Harleys. Andy and I are now moving beyond the city limits with four fully lit up police motorcycles leading the charge. I could not help but think?¨Man, this is going to make for a cool story on my site.¨ A story it is, cool? not really.
When we were waved over again I could see on Andy?s face that he was waiting for the trouble to start.
¨Señor, we have been following you and we think you have been going too fast. Mexico is safe roads, you need to go slowly. But, we can fix this problem.¨
¨But, BUT, you were leading us? You said follow YOU, man! ¨
¨I think you will have to go to the police station and pay two hundred of American dollars each, or, you can pay me and I will take it there for you.¨
Now I start to notice things. The Ray Ban sunglasses on the cop who wants me to teach him English. The snakeskin boots on the cop watching the road for? other cops. The manicured nails of the one that keeps asking for my smokes? These guys are like caricatures of slimy Mexican cops. However, I am not sitting in a deep cough watching them squirrel about in a western movie, I am on the side of a lonely road actually handing over my paperwork.
To make a twenty minute ordeal shorter, I pulled my fake wallet and offered the talkative one all of its contents, some forty American and some odd pesos. Andy was not so sly, he sadly forked over much more than that?no fake wallet.
I will never watch a western the same way again. ¨Badges, badges! We HAVE the stinking badges!!!¨´
--bfd122478cb38eff70475cca52c65b239--
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 7:23 PM
Cops and other problems in Mexico City
We did everything we could to avoid Mexico City, but it sucked us in like a tiny asteroid drawn by gravity to a fiery end on the Sun’s surface. Fifty miles away one could see the exhaust fumes throwing up weird heat waves in the sky.
Are we going to Teohituatican or Tiotitucan QUICK, QUICK…damn that was our exit!
Beinvenidos a Mexico City!
Cars start to multiply exponentially as the road surface decreases and the traffic blazes by with horns on full. It is easy to become unglued in Mexico City, especially if you are lost, melting in full riding gear and getting crowded out of every lane, including the breakdown lane.
Backing our bikes up an off ramp against traffic did not raise any eyebrows from fellow motorists; I think they respected the shear insanity of the manoeuvre. Drastic measures had to be risked as we just broke through the first layer of M.C and things were really, really bad on the tarmac. Down a one way, EZ. Through an Autobus Plaza, accomplished. Avoiding an errant dog…old hat.
This really is not unlike driving in Boston. You see, Boston is not known for its traffic jams so much as its aggressive drivers. If there is a space, either you take it or someone else will that might not be in a position to take it. So, the eagerness to keep moving is institutional and everyone gets home in time for dinner. But, if you hesitate to switch into that faster lane or to cut off the dying Volkswagen at the pass, than you risk inviting someone else to attempt the manoeuvre…often at the risk of the defensive driver…IMAGINE…it does work!
Enough of this, now I will tell you about our ordeal leaving the city on our way to the Teohuatitcan Ruins. I think that is how you spell it, or was it…either way, things went from bad to expensive quickly.
Ever since living in New Orleans I have taken to throwing up a wave of hello to cops when driving. Partially a show of respect, but more just a sign of recognition.
¨I see you, and I will not be doing anything to prompt your attention any further than this wave. Hello and good bye! ¨ Always seemed to be well received in the States, but in Mexico I think the message might be read differently. ¨I am an American with money, please come demand I hand it over.¨
With trucks and school busses filled with machete toting fieldworkers flying by on either side, two motorcycle cops crossed a double line and flagged us to the side of the road.
I have heard that motorcycle cops in Latin America often stop other bikers simply to talk cylinders and horsepower, etc. This encounter started to pan out in this fashion. ¨1100cc, is too big no? ¨All the way from NY on those tires?!¨ We snapped pictures of them on our bikes and flattered them with compliments and historic facts about their bikes (Harleys).
¨Where you going now, we will show you the way.¨
Now we are really moving. The lights flashing Andy and I are given a full fledged motorcade parade through the city. Beyond that, the motorcops are hot-dogging it. Jumping curbs, racing at speeds of 90 through heavy traffic. The problem was that we knew were we were going and did not need a police escort, but every time we fell back a bit we would be waved forward…SPEED UP!
After about 15 minutes of this we were joined by two other motorcycle cops on Harleys. Andy and I are now moving beyond the city limits with four fully lit up police motorcycles leading the charge. I could not help but think…¨Man, this is going to make for a cool story on my site.¨ A story it is, cool…not really.
When we were waved over again I could see on Andy’s face that he was waiting for the trouble to start.
¨Senor, we have been following you and we think you have been going too fast. Mexico is safe roads, you need to go slowly. But, we can fix this problem.¨
¨But, BUT, you were leading us…You said follow YOU, man! ¨
¨I think you will have to go to the police station and pay two hundred of American dollars each, or, you can pay me and I will take it there for you.¨
Now I start to notice things. The Ray Ban sunglasses on the cop who wants me to teach him English. The snakeskin boots on the cop watching the road for…other cops. The manicured nails of the one that keeps asking for my smokes…These guys are like caricatures of slimy Mexican cops. However, I am not sitting in a deep cough watching them squirrel about in a western movie, I am on the side of a lonely road actually handing over my paperwork.
To make a twenty minute ordeal shorter, I pulled my fake wallet and offered the talkative one all of its contents, some forty American and some odd pesos.
Andy was not so sly, he sadly forked over much more than that…no fake wallet.
I will never watch a western the same way again. ¨Badges, badges! We HAVE the stinking badges!!!¨´
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 7:08 PM
We did everything we could to avoid Mexico City, but it sucked us in like a tiny asteroid drawn by gravity to a fiery end on the Sun’s surface. Fifty miles away one could see the exhaust fumes throwing up weird heat waves in the sky.
Are we going to Teohituatican or Tiotitucan QUICK, QUICK…damn that was our exit!
Beinvenidos a Mexico City!
Cars start to multiply exponentially as the road surface decreases and the traffic blazes by with horns on full. It is easy to become unglued in Mexico City, especially if you are lost, melting in full riding gear and getting crowded out of every lane, including the breakdown lane.
Backing our bikes up an off ramp against traffic did not raise any eyebrows from fellow motorists; I think they respected the shear insanity of the manoeuvre. Drastic measures had to be risked as we just broke through the first layer of M.C and things were really, really bad on the tarmac. Down a one way, EZ. Through an Autobus Plaza, accomplished. Avoiding an errant dog…old hat.
This really is not unlike driving in Boston. You see, Boston is not known for its traffic jams so much as its aggressive drivers. If there is a space, either you take it or someone else will that might not be in a position to take it. So, the eagerness to keep moving is institutional and everyone gets home in time for dinner. But, if you hesitate to switch into that faster lane or to cut off the dying Volkswagen at the pass, than you risk inviting someone else to attempt the manoeuvre…often at the risk of the defensive driver…IMAGINE…it does work!
Enough of this, now I will tell you about our ordeal leaving the city on our way to the Teohuatitcan Ruins. I think that is how you spell it, or was it…either way, things went from bad to expensive quickly.
Ever since living in New Orleans I have taken to throwing up a wave of hello to cops when driving. Partially a show of respect, but more just a sign of recognition.
¨I see you, and I will not be doing anything to prompt your attention any further than this wave. Hello and good bye! ¨ Always seemed to be well received in the States, but in Mexico I think the message might be read differently. ¨I am an American with money, please come demand I hand it over.¨
With trucks and school busses filled with machete toting fieldworkers flying by on either side, two motorcycle cops crossed a double line and flagged us to the side of the road.
I have heard that motorcycle cops in Latin America often stop other bikers simply to talk cylinders and horsepower, etc. This encounter started to pan out in this fashion. ¨1100cc, is too big no? ¨All the way from NY on those tires?!¨ We snapped pictures of them on our bikes and flattered them with compliments and historic facts about their bikes (Harleys).
¨Where you going now, we will show you the way.¨
Now we are really moving. The lights flashing Andy and I are given a full fledged motorcade parade through the city. Beyond that, the motorcops are hot-dogging it. Jumping curbs, racing at speeds of 90 through heavy traffic. The problem was that we knew were we were going and did not need a police escort, but every time we fell back a bit we would be waved forward…SPEED UP!
After about 15 minutes of this we were joined by two other motorcycle cops on Harleys. Andy and I are now moving beyond the city limits with four fully lit up police motorcycles leading the charge. I could not help but think…¨Man, this is going to make for a cool story on my site.¨ A story it is, cool…not really.
When we were waved over again I could see on Andy’s face that he was waiting for the trouble to start.
¨Senor, we have been following you and we think you have been going too fast. Mexico is safe roads, you need to go slowly. But, we can fix this problem.¨
¨But, BUT, you were leading us…You said follow YOU, man! ¨
¨I think you will have to go to the police station and pay two hundred of American dollars each, or, you can pay me and I will take it there for you.¨
Now I start to notice things. The Ray Ban sunglasses on the cop who wants me to teach him English. The snakeskin boots on the cop watching the road for…other cops. The manicured nails of the one that keeps asking for my smokes…These guys are like caricatures of slimy Mexican cops. However, I am not sitting in a deep cough watching them squirrel about in a western movie, I am on the side of a lonely road actually handing over my paperwork.
To make a twenty minute ordeal shorter, I pulled my fake wallet and offered the talkative one all of its contents, some forty American and some odd pesos.
Andy was not so sly, he sadly forked over much more than that…no fake wallet.
I will never watch a western the same way again. ¨Badges, badges! We HAVE the stinking badges!!!¨´
posted by Xavier - RoadWarrior on 7:08 PM
