All One River GIS

Core Logging, Sinaloa, Mexico, not saying where:

There has been a big black and white pig waiting for me I think every morning. It waits by a gate at the house next to our “compound” – (the drillers live in a row of rooms in a little house next to the house I live in and there is a system of multiple terraced little orchards within fences around us, all of which have gaps in them so I don’t know why they even bother with fences and gates)– but the pig (tall as table and fat as, well, a hog) waits each morning peering into the fenced area of the house next door. It seems to be thinking about something because it looks over it shoulder at me but then returns its gaze to the other house. They must be feeding it from time to time.

A little old toothless cowboy thin as a stick with one leg shorter than the other is the “caretaker” (I think) of our drillers compound because he opens our gate (which we have one made of two mismatched wrought-iron gates, one of which was smashed and has been straightened and the both of them combined look a lot like something in a Tim Burton movie, “Edward Scissors Hands” type of movie set) — the old guy opens the gate by untying an orange string that holds them shut together (if I come home late I have to untie the knot myself, step through the crazy gates and then retie it behind me so as not to violate any standing security protocol, I suppose). This morning the old guy wasn’t there (Was he on another duty elsewhere? Murdered in the night? Sleeping on the job? Promoted to Guardian of the Kitchen? Don’t know…) So, I let the gate swing open as we leave it that way during the day.

Said pig (I was talking about a pig, remember?) looked over his shoulder at me like usual but this time noticed the gates was ajar and literally strolled by me like I was a non-issue. I thought of approaching her (you could tell by her, um, parts a hangin’ that she was a female) and I decided that at my age I need to change what I think of as safely approaching a pig or dog or man being that I am older and wiser now. I have used this new frame of mind twice lately. Once was when we (other geos Ian, Rebecca and I) went on ATVs to the next three towns. Now, the people here ride ATVs like banshees from Hell. They learn to operate them (ATVs are called “quatro-motos”) as soon as their arms can reach the throttle and they go as fast as they can with complete anarchy on the roads. It is a mad house of chaotic ATVs all over the district packed with entire families, old women with shawls and tiny babies and people in piles on top of these machines, which by the way, they put a saddle blanket on like it is a horse.

In any case, I knew from personal experience that I do not belong at the controls of a quatro-moto. The exploration company here rents quatro-motos from locals to get whole crews of staff and equipment out into the field (geophysics, drilling, etc.). A couple of days ago the company bought a big brand new one — big as a car and shiny new white. It has chrome wheels like a fancy muscle car — spoke ones. You never saw anything so obscene. Immediately, Ian (the geo from Alabama, alias “Tall Muchacho”) wanted to take this vehicle and the boss  said, “OK”. Of course, I wanted to go too but not driving my own Q4, rather, I would ask Alberto the Head Muchacho (the laborers call themselves muchachos which is kind of like guys calling each other “boys”) to drive me on his quatro-moto. That was a good decision.

No headgear. No eyeglasses. No nuthin’ we tore outta here and headed up the hill in a cloud of roiling dust thick and tall as a volcano’s plume behind us. Alberto drives as fast as he possible can and I yell at him “Despachio!!!!” which means slower and he takes it down a notch for a while. He hugs the corners of cliffs and curves and the rearend skids around so I try to use my fat ass to keep it stable by leaning into the curve. I know he is a “safe” driver because he flashes his lights as we take corners and has this uncanny ability to negotiate large rocks in the road immediately as we come upon them. As I said, he has been doing this all his life as are all the other demonic quatro-motos which come at us head-on from the opposite direction. It all just seems to work out.

This thought occurred to me: ‘If you are going to be truly adventurous, there are times that you just have to let go and see what happens.’ — Michele Murray, 2008

We didn’t die though a wild dog chased us biting at our ankles and we were both screaming and laughing as Alberto drove faster and crazier to try and loose it. Ian was a master also keeping up with Alberto though he had to lag to try and keep out of the terrible dust. I rode with my hands locked on the seat rack using my arms like bungee cords as I had seen the locals doing. We zoomed through little villages until we ended up way the heck far away on an airstrip (of dubious origin? Marijuana region?) Alberto told us there was a seafood restaurant (camarones = shrimp but I know from experience will also have octopus in every dish) that served beer in the town and he asked if we wanted to go? Ian and Rebecca asked me what I wanted to do because, well, I guess because I question things, I suppose.

I envisioned writing home: ‘Dear Doug, the reason I am in a hospital in Mexico is because it was my big idea to buy beer for my driver miles from home.’

I suggested we should return to Tameapa and have beers there.

ZOOOOOOOOOOOOM back to Tameapa. Alberto bought beer at a store I love because it has chickens living in the tree (they stay up there and walk around on the limbs and eat the flowers that grow on the tree and I always look there to see them. Maybe they’re safe in the tree from pigs and dogs but not the little chicks…) Alberto works at this little store and had to work that night even though he just worked a full day at the exploration camp as Head Muchacho and then also took us on a quatro-moto tour. Whew! What a guy.

Ian, Rebecca, new Head Driller Boss and I stood around the new white company quatro-moto and adorned it in empty beer cans as we drank them. And that is what we do as core loggers in the evening sometimes.