I've only had one blowout in my life (which has been long). I was on MX Hwy1 in Baja California halfway between Tijuana and Cabo San Lucas out in the middle of the Vizcaino Desert. I ran over some debris in the road and it cut my front tire. I had to keep driving at a slow speed until I could find a safe, flat place to pull over. The tire was in shreds by that time but no worries, I had a spare. With some difficulty, rolling in the dirt, I was able to pull the spare out from up underneath the passenger van I was driving. I used the included jack to remove the destroyed tire and install the spare. Good to go? Nope, spare was essentially flat!
(my bad, I had failed to check my spare because it was out of sight, out of mind before heading off on this 1200 mile journey). No worries, I would just hitch a ride on this relatively well traveled road ( maybe a car every five minutes) to somewhere, anywhere to get some air in the spare. I asked my wife if she wanted to stay or come along. She said she preferred to stay because she had her Sudoku book to entertain her and besides, she said, there are no murderers, rapists, and criminals out there in rural Mexico, contrary to popular belief in the US.
I stood at the roadside with the spare by my side and stuck my thumb out. In no time at all, I saw a car coming down the road in the distance and thought "I'm in luck." As the car got closer, I could see it had Oregon plates. Yyyyyyyyyyyyea, go Ducks! Car zoomed by without even slowing down or waving. But wait, another car in the distance, more Oregon plates. I love Tillamook cheese! Car zoomed by without even slowing down or waving.
I hate the Ducks and Tillamook cheese makes me puke.
I have now lost faith in my fellow man and don't feel very confident when a third, rather dilapidated car comes down the road with Mexican plates. The car slows and rolls to a stop adjacent to me. Fortunately, I speak Spanish and tell the driver what my plight is. He instructs me to throw the tire in the back, hop in, and he will take me somewhere, anywhere to get some air for the tire and if the spare has a leak to get it repaired. GRRRRRRRRREAT, we're making progress. As we proceed down the road, I use my best Mexican manners and very formally introduce myself. I ask him what his name is, and he simply says "Jesus."
I am born again, praise the lord! (Full disclosure, Jesus is not an uncommon name for a male in Mexico, but still).
We drove for a few miles and happened onto a small village out in the middle of the desert and Jesus drove me directly to a tire shop. Jesus seemed familiar with the village, named "Jesus, Maria, y Jose", and I asked him if he lived there. He said "no" he lived about 40 kilometers further down the road in a town called Vizcaino. The "tire shop" was a ramshackle building made out of various pieces of scrap wood, cardboard, corrugated sheet metal, and chicken wire. The "doors" were open and there was an 18 wheeler big rig parked in front. Okay! this looks promising! I pulled the flat tire out of the car and thanked Jesus for his kindness and wished him well. Jesus said, no, I was now his personal responsibility and he would take me back to my car when finished. I said, "I suppose you have never been to Oregon." He said, "Senor, I don't know what you mean." I said, "Ni modo, {nevermind), it was a joke." I looked around the one room tire shop, stacked with dead tires whose only remaining useful purpose in life would be to paint them white and use them, half buried, in a Mexican garden or for soles of Mexican sandals. The shop owner was no where to be seen. The big rig driver was standing in the corner eating a taco. I asked him where the llantero (tire man) was. He said, "Senor, I don't know where he is, he will be back soon, you must have patience." Okay, patience is my middle name. I looked around the room and spied a large compressor with an air hose coming out of it. My patience was now at an end and I walked over and tentatively pressed the lever on the end of the air hose. DRATS, nothing!
So the only thing to do was have more patience and I engaged in friendly banter with Jesus and the truck driver - family, type of work, expound on the philosophy of life, etc. After a few minutes of conversation and a shared taco, I heard a door slam out in back of the tire shop and I saw a man emerge from a wooden outhouse in a field with a newspaper in his hand.
The llantero walked into his shop and asked how he could assist me. I explained my situation. He said, "Senor, no te apure, este salvo y sano ( sir, do not worry, you are safe and sound)." He waked over and flipped the switch above the compressor and it came to life with a determined rumble. My tire was filled with air and then the llantero dunked it into a tub of what he said was "water" but to me, it looked and smelled like recycled horse urine. There were no bubbles rising from the slimy brine, a good sign! I asked Senor Llantero what his charge was. He said, "Senor, it is air! Does God charge you for the air you breathe? There is no charge for air! You insult me!" I apologized profusely and thanked him sincerely and quickly made my getaway, rolling the tire as fast as I could. Jesus was waiting for me with his car door open and we returned back down the dusty road to where I had left my car and dear wife, probably beaten and bloody by then. No, she was salvo y sano. She rolled down her window and asked why I was back so soon. She said she didn't even have time to finish solving the Sudoku puzzle she was working on. I unloaded the tire and thanked Jesus for his help. I asked Jesus if I could pay him something for his time and gas. Jesus said, "Senor, you insult me. Does God charge you for his time?" Etc. etc. etc. I apologized profusely, then I had an idea. This incident occurred the week before Christmas. Christmas in Mexico is a religious holiday, not a gift giving holiday. Gifts are given on Kings Day (Epiphany), January 6. I said, "Jesus, you told me you have four young children, could you do me a big favor?" Jesus, "Of course Senor, it would be an honor." Me, "Jesus I want to give you some money to buy your children some presents for Kings Day from Santa Claus. Could you do that for me?" Jesus, "Of course Senor, I would be honored!" Some pesos were exchanged, Jesus went on his way, I installed the spare, we proceeded on our way, and we crossed the border back into California later in the afternoon. Honestly, it was a bit depressing looking at all the busy people, with no patience, surrounded by abundance, and charging for air.
I swear to Jesus this story is true, you can't make this stuff up. Some experiences in life are worth more than financial riches. If I see one of my Mexican amigos stopped alongside the road here in California with a blowout, I will stop and offer assistance - what goes around, comes around. If I see someone with Oregon plates stopped alongside the road here in California with a blowout................................I will stop and offer assistance - what goes around, comes around. God does not charge for his time, why should I? BUT I STILL THINK THE DUCKS SUCK AND I WILL NEVER EAT TILLAMOOK CHEESE AGAIN!