Crashing Cancún

Daniel

After our minor problems with the police, we figured a tourist haven like Cancún would be the perfect respite. Ha. If there was an Olympics for misconceptions, we would be Usain Bolt's and Michael Phelps's love child. We found a spot on the side of the road, 100 feet from the beach, running water, trees for the hammocks. Local taxi drivers rested there too, and assured us they were watching our belongings as they urinated 30 feet from camp.

You can't just sign an American car over in Mexico. Our only hope was an American who could drive the Volvo home and register it in the States. John Reynolds booked a flight to do exactly that. Little did he know.

Then Kirk's bike was stolen. Someone punched him in the back of the head and ran off with it. The police took the report and assured us they would do everything short of looking. Downtown, people said stolen goods sometimes turned up in los tianquis. Those are flea markets. We found no bike. We found stolen lingerie, real-fruit sno-cones, and cow-intestine soup. Ten minutes from the hotel zone, a taste of the actual city.

There was slackline sharing at Parque de las Palapas, a park square near the hostel. A welcome break from the chaos and the tension.

Kirk's parents bought a touring bike in Atlanta. Alex boxed it. John carried it on the plane. And then, the morning John was boarding, Kirk was cut off in a roundabout, swerved, and hit two cars. Totaled. In Mexico, without insurance, you stay in jail until the damages are paid. David, who owned Hostel Ka'Beh, helped me through 36 hours of officials who could not agree whether Kirk would be out today or tomorrow, whether we needed the consulate, whether the number was a fine or an estimate. Mexican jail doesn't feed you. Kirk shared a cell with 30 people and one toilet. Rebecca, our consular agent, and the wired money, and five more hours, and he was led out in cuffs to make a statement and then released. He took a walk alone before coming back to the attention.

John and Kirk stayed to see about the impound lot. Logan and I could not wait. Ray had already been a week in Belize. We put the bicycles on a bus to Chetumal and crossed by ferry the next day.

David Uribe and Hostel Ka'Beh held Dion's bicycle for Ray, and tolerated a stay none of us had planned.