I was going to count the ballots on the 13 factors we have been discussing this past week. But it appears that the absent President Jose Manuel Zelaya may have confused them for pre-marked referendum ballots when he scooted out of Tegucigalpa.
As soon as I can retrieve them, I will finish up the series.
But we do have one piece of unfinished business involving the transmission in my Escape.
When we last left this tale in geared for success, I had talked with the son of the mechanic who had been recommended to me. The bottom line on sábado was: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
However, I had enough information that the transmission was about to fail (including some fascinating information from my brother that 2001 Escapes are prone to transmission failures).
I was on my way back to the mechanic, but I ended up at a specialist. There is a shop in town where transmissions issues are referred far and wide in this area.
Even NOB, I am accustomed to specialists for cars. We have tire shops. Brake shops. Radiator shops. Oil change shops. And, of course, transmission shops.
The fact that Mexico follows the same tradition should not be surprising. This is, after all, the land of butcher, baker, candlestick maker. All in their own specialty shops.
I pulled up to a nondescript building and was directed around the side where I found what must have been close to 30 bays filled with cars and trucks, each with their transmissions pulled.
I wish I had taken my camera. The operation was as organized as any Porsche shop. The pulled transmissions were lined up in close order drill formation that would have made George Lucas suffer from clone envy.
I explained the problem. Out came a computer to check the electrical connections. All was well.
The owner himself offered to do the next test: a drive to listen to the transmission. He tried various maneuvers -- always listening with an obvious attuned ear.
His diagnosis: nothing wrong. But he did not like my description of the sounds I had heard. Rather -- he did not like what the sounds may mean.
His suggestion? Drive to Manzanillo and return the truck to his shop without turning the key off. He will then run another test.
I need to take Jiggs to the veterinarian in Manzanillo on Thursday (jueves) for a minor operation. I will followup on the transmission issue when I return to Melaque.
There is no logical reason why I should feel comforted by this process. If the transmission is going to fail, it very well may fail on the two hour drive to and from Manzanillo.
But I now know it is a potential issue, and I can work around it. If it fails. It fails.
And it will be on a better road than through the hills to La Manzanilla.
Then, I can get back to counting my ballots of Where Should I Live in Mexico.
As soon as I can retrieve them, I will finish up the series.
But we do have one piece of unfinished business involving the transmission in my Escape.
When we last left this tale in geared for success, I had talked with the son of the mechanic who had been recommended to me. The bottom line on sábado was: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
However, I had enough information that the transmission was about to fail (including some fascinating information from my brother that 2001 Escapes are prone to transmission failures).
I was on my way back to the mechanic, but I ended up at a specialist. There is a shop in town where transmissions issues are referred far and wide in this area.
Even NOB, I am accustomed to specialists for cars. We have tire shops. Brake shops. Radiator shops. Oil change shops. And, of course, transmission shops.
The fact that Mexico follows the same tradition should not be surprising. This is, after all, the land of butcher, baker, candlestick maker. All in their own specialty shops.
I pulled up to a nondescript building and was directed around the side where I found what must have been close to 30 bays filled with cars and trucks, each with their transmissions pulled.
I wish I had taken my camera. The operation was as organized as any Porsche shop. The pulled transmissions were lined up in close order drill formation that would have made George Lucas suffer from clone envy.
I explained the problem. Out came a computer to check the electrical connections. All was well.
The owner himself offered to do the next test: a drive to listen to the transmission. He tried various maneuvers -- always listening with an obvious attuned ear.
His diagnosis: nothing wrong. But he did not like my description of the sounds I had heard. Rather -- he did not like what the sounds may mean.
His suggestion? Drive to Manzanillo and return the truck to his shop without turning the key off. He will then run another test.
I need to take Jiggs to the veterinarian in Manzanillo on Thursday (jueves) for a minor operation. I will followup on the transmission issue when I return to Melaque.
There is no logical reason why I should feel comforted by this process. If the transmission is going to fail, it very well may fail on the two hour drive to and from Manzanillo.
But I now know it is a potential issue, and I can work around it. If it fails. It fails.
And it will be on a better road than through the hills to La Manzanilla.
Then, I can get back to counting my ballots of Where Should I Live in Mexico.
